[nsfw, story] The two mistakes that left my little girl’s dignity in tatters

[chateautal]

So the following is a little bit of DDLG fiction I recently wrote (cross-posted from Fetlife). It's a scenario that's been bouncing around my mind for quite a while, and I thought it would be interesting to really think through how it might play out. I hope here is an appropriate venue to share it. If you enjoy reading it, please let me know! - C

 

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A few days ago, I had invited a couple of my closer kinky friends to catch up with me over a glass of whisky – and it is this evening that they’re planning to come around. It will be the first time that you’re introduced to them. However, today has been so miserably cold and wet that you and I decided to stay indoors, playing board games together. It is so warm and cosy in my apartment that even in the late afternoon, you are still wearing almost exactly what you’d woken up in: a sky-blue cotton onesie, and – as befits my little girl – a pair of cute purple pull-ups that I’d changed you into just before lunch.

 

As we pass the afternoon together, you learn that your ability to cheat at board games is not quite as good as your Daddy’s ability to catch you cheating! Or perhaps your ability was in fact better – and you only let me catch you at inconsequential times, in order to lower my guard for the really egregious cheating was about to occur. In any case, we are sufficiently engaged in our dice throws and card reveals that we don’t notice the clock creeping up on us. The tie-breaking match has been risen to exceedingly high stakes - apparently, “the loser is a poo-poo head” – but you only decided this after receiving your suspiciously lucky starting hand! Thus, it was only after this final match had been resolved (it doesn’t count, because I never agreed to such conditions in the first place!) that we notice how soon it will be before our guests would arrive.

 

“Oh!” you exclaim standing up, “Your friends will be here in twenty minutes. I’d better start getting dressed…”

 

Automatically, you head over to the closet, to find some of your more socially acceptable clothing. This makes sense to you, after all – whenever we’d been out together in public (or gone to munches), you had at least dressed in an ostensibly adult manner. The usual rule was Kinky and little attire at home – something more discrete when we’re outside. You’re therefore quite confused when I grab your wrist just before you can open the wardrobe door.

 

“Not so fast, sweetie,” I say. “You should remember that Daddy decides what you wear.”

 

A flash of impatience crosses your eyes, but this is indeed one of our agreed rules, so you concede, “Yes, Daddy. But we should hurry…”

 

I hush you with a finger to your lip. “I already have an outfit in mind.” You look curious, slightly confused. If I’d chosen an outfit, why wouldn’t I let you open the wardrobe? I continue, immediately answering this, “But it’s not in the big girl wardrobe.”

 

I walk to the nearby dresser, and open the top drawer. Your face turns first white with shock, and then red with embarrassment as you see what I take out. It is a pale pink onesie, accompanied by a shock-fuchsia tutu. I may indeed call for discretion outside – but tonight we are at home.

 

“Seriously?” you ask, “That looks so childish…”

 

You’re not wrong – but that’s exactly the point. “What’s the matter?” I ask. “You’re my precious little girl, are you not?”

 

“Yes Daddy,” you agree. But the thought of dressing like that in front of people is overwhelming. “But it’s so embarrassing…”

 

“You’re embarrassed to be my little girl?” I tease – knowing full well this isn’t what you mean.

 

“Nooo - ” you protest, “But…”

 

I interrupt, “So why shouldn’t I proudly show you off in front of my friends? This tutu is just right for a little girl like you! You’ll be the perfect picture of sweetness.”

 

In fact, my friends will be more prepared for this evening than you are. Little did you know that I had conspired with them when I first invited them: I had asked them to interact with you not as if you were an adult, but rather as if you were my little child.

 

Maybe my arguments about pride convince you. Perhaps you also realise that your choice will be either to wear what I say, or to wear nothing at all. Whatever reason doesn’t really matter – as ultimately, it’s your Daddy’s will that is important here. “Okay, Daddy,” you resign yourself.

 

I’m not finished, though. From another drawer, I pick out a diaper – it’s mostly white, but with light pink wings and a cute unicorn motif on the landing strip. It’s clear from its thickness that this will not be particularly subtle underneath the onesie, and your protests begin anew.

 

“Seriously! In front of your friends!” you gasp, “In that outfit… they will know I’m wearing a nappy…!”

 

“But you do wear nappies, honey,” I reply matter-of-factly. “So if Alice and Matt know it, it’ll just be the truth. Besides, you wouldn’t want to have any accidents while they’re here, would you?”

 

“But I can be a big girl, Daddy,” you whine. “I don’t need to wear diapers…”

 

“You’re my little girl,” I correct you sharply, “And if I say you belong in diapers, then you belong in diapers.”

 

This is a debate we’ve had before, and we both know how it ends. “Now,” I declare, “if you’re going to make a fuss – well – there’s not much time until my friends arrive. So, when they come in, the very first thing they’ll ask is why you’re in the corner nursing a freshly reddened bottom! So, if you don’t want them to see you like that as their first impression, I suggest you be a good girl. Understood?”

 

You nod in acceptance – and I’m quietly relieved that I don’t have to carry through on the threat. If necessary, it would transpire exactly as I said – but such punishment might colour the mood of the evening.

 

With the outfit selected, it was time to get you dressed. I pop open the stoppers of your light-blue onesie and pull it up over your head. There’s a crackle of static electricity as the cotton rubs against your hair, messing it up. I brush your ruffled hair out of your eyes, and kiss you on the forehead. Carefully, I slide down your now-revealed purple pull-ups. You step out of them, and I pick them up from the floor to throw into the rubbish. As far as I can tell, you’ve not used them, despite having them on for many hours. Perhaps you had thought since my friends were coming over, you would wait until you were out of diapers and take the opportunity to use the toilet then? But the evening wasn’t going to go quite how you expected – and you realise later on that by not using your pull-ups when you had the chance, you had made your first fatal mistake for the sake of your dignity!

 

Laying you on the bed, I quickly clean you with a baby wipe. Alas, there really isn’t much time until my friends arrive, so your diapering will have to be swift. I slide the nappy under your bum, and massage a puff of baby powder into your skin - I don’t want my precious princess to chaff! Quickly, I pull the front of your diaper up, and carefully affix its tapes onto the landing zone. The unicorns – which looked cute in the pack – look absolutely adorable as worn by my little girl! With you wrapped to my satisfaction, I pat you lovingly on your diaper, and then pull you upright into a hug.

 

I help you stand up, off the bed, and lift your arms into the air. I guide the onesie-tutu combination down over you, and roll it carefully over your torso before tugging it down to just cover your diaper. It takes a few moments to fiddle with the poppers to secure it at the crotch, and then after a quick adjustment to even out the tulle skirt. Voilà, you’re dressed!

 

“Beautiful!” I say, leading you to the mirror, and I mean it. As you look at how you’re dressed, your blush renews. There’s absolutely no hiding that you’re diapered under the tutu! Not only is your bum’s shape clearly padded out through the otherwise tight onesie fabric – but the colourful papery wings of what is unmistakably a nappy peek out through your leg cuffs. And even if it wasn’t obvious from sight – the loud crinkling each time you move would give it away.

 

I can see you’re the verge of being overwhelmed by the prospect of appearing in front of other people dressed like this, so I embrace you into a tight hug. “You’re such a good girl,” I reassure you popping a pink pacifier into your mouth, “and I’m so proud of you. You know I’m dressing you up like this so I can show off to the world what a wonderfully good little girl I have.”

 

“Love you, Daddy,” you mumble through your binkie into my chest, enjoying the hug.

 

“I love you too, Pumpkin,” I reply, stroking the back of your head. And I know when you’re dressed like this, you will be on your best behaviour this evening.

 

* * *

 

As predicted, this evening is perhaps the shyest I’ve ever seen you. When my friends arrive, they are immediately delighted by how cute you look. They even compliment me on how well-mannered you are, when you politely return their “good evenings”. Alice had kindly brought a colouring-in book with her as a present for you! After minor prompting, you manage to squeak out a “thank you” – though you barely can manage eye contact, dressed as you are. Seeing that you are on the verge of non-verbality, I fetch your crayon set down from the shelf, and set you up with them in a corner on the floor of the living room. It’s a makeshift play-area with a puzzle mat and a couple of your beloved stuffies for company. I help you pick which picture in the book to colour first (a bear, making porridge!) so you can at least occupy yourself while the grown-ups talk. Since every movement risks a blush-inducing crinkle, you sit quietly, colouring in as you suck on your pacifier.

 

After serving my guests something peaty from the Isle of Islay, I fill a sippy cup with Ribena for you, which you take thirstily with a kiss on the cheek. On another night, we might have shared cider together, but tonight you’ve been dropped so deep into little space that the very thought of alcohol would feel jarring to us both.

 

It’s nice to hear from Alice and Matt about their exploits. They’re both active in the kink scene themselves, and while not particularly into DD/LG, they appreciate Dom/sub high protocol enough to at least appear unfazed that you were sitting quietly in diapers in the corner of the room as we enjoy ourselves over a glass of whisky. Some of the tales they share with me give me the impression that this might not have been the weirdest evening they’d had even this week! This relieves me slightly, when I think about what’s to come later. It’s not clear how much you are listening to our talk, or how much of your attention is spent on the colouring in.

 

The adult conservation continues for a while, but as Alice begins to describe an impressive shibari performance she had watched the other day, I can see that you’re beginning to squirm. This is not so much a reaction to the topic at hand – but rather the Ribena. An extra burden added onto an already nearly-full bladder. Alice continues to talk about the rope show – but at this point your squirming has progressed to outright fidgeting, and the accompanying crinkles are bordering on distracting to us.

 

“Excuse me, Alice,” I apologise to my guest, before turning to you. “Come here, sweetheart,” I beckon.

 

At this point, you’re not quite sure whether to stand up and walk over, or to crawl. The net effect is that you shuffle a bit on your knees, but eventually make your way to my chair, and kneel down beside me.

 

“What’s wrong, honey?” I ask – knowing full well what’s troubling you.

 

“Daddy…” you say, but seeing the guests, you lean close in to whisper shyly into my ear, “I need to go … you know… to the potty…”.

 

“I can get the potty down from the shelf for you, sweetie,” I reply, making no effort to lower my voice. “I’ll set it up in the corner, and help you to use it.”.

 

You turn crimson. The aforementioned ‘potty from the shelf’ is a pink Disney princess affair – clearly for toilet-training toddlers. The very thought of having to undress and squat over it in a room filled with other people is beyond terrifying. You flush at the very prospect.

 

“Nooo, Daddy,” you whisper frantically – desperately hoping that my trap you’d just sprung was a miscommunication, “I mean – you know – maybe the big girl… toilet…?” Your words falter as you speak them, realising before they’re even fully out of your mouth that this is not going to be an option.

 

“Don’t be silly, honey – you’re much too little for that,” I rebuff. You begin to reply, but the look I give you is more than enough to close that line of inquiry. “Now, do you want me to get the potty down for you or not?”

 

You calculate for a while, but in the end make the choice I was 95% certain you would. “No daddy,” you frown, “There’s no need to get the potty”. I was prepared for either eventuality, but this was to be the particular humiliation you had chosen.

 

“Okay then, my Sweet Pea; then I want you to go back to your corner and be a good girl for me.” I kiss your forehead “But you had better stop fidgeting – or I will be … cross.” This ominous instruction alongside a pat from me on your diapered bottom as you shuffle back makes it abundantly clear what your only remaining option is for relief.

 

Matt restarts the adult conversation, by prompting Alice about the last thing she had said. I’m only half paying attention to it now, as I want to keep an eye on you. Your squirming indeed doesn’t continue for much longer. After a couple of minutes, your fidgeting stops and we all know why. You know we all know why too, and a blush of shame warms your face nearly as much as your pee has warmed your diaper.

 

* * * 

 

The second mistake for the sake of your dignity was to assume that using your diaper was be the least embarrassing of the two choices presented. You see, the potty may have been mortifying while you were using it – but then at least that would have been the end of it. With diapers, though, the problem sticks around – and I’m not the type to let a good opportunity for teasing to pass.

 

So, the evening goes on. Over an hour and a half goes by, and we’re now onto something much sweeter at the adult table (still fiery, but aged in sherry casks). Your sippy cup of juice had also been topped up. (You thought briefly about refusing – but it took just the single word ‘behave’ from me to immediately halt that nonsense). The adult topic had turned to discussing quirky local places to go drinking, when I start to notice you fussing again in the corner.

 

This time, though, I can tell it isn’t a potty dance. Indeed, by my calculations and observations, you had probably wet your diaper once more at some point in the past fifteen minutes – this time with the good sense not to effectively announce it to the entire room beforehand (you’re a clever girl, after all – and wouldn’t fall into the same trap twice). But there’s a reason babies cry when they need changing – full diapers are just not that comfortable to sit in!

 

Once more, I excuse myself to my guests, and beckon you over. This time, it’s totally impossible for you to move without a degree of waddling, and the crinkles are noticeable.

 

“Do you need a change, sweetie?” I ask, in a normal speaking voice. “Is your nappy wet?”

 

“No!” you deny instinctively – horrified to have been asked this so bluntly in front of the others.

 

A Daddy can always tell when his little girl isn’t being truthful – but this kind of falsehood requires absolutely no cunning to detect.

 

“Do I need to check?” I ask.

 

“No, Daddy!”

 

I’m not sure if you’re answering my question – or protesting against the action I’m about to take, knowing my question was, in fact, rhetorical.

 

Trust is something that’s earned, but sometimes a lie is just so obvious that it can’t be ignored. With no concern for your modesty, I reach my hand under your tutu, and pop open the crotch of the onesie. Losing this support, your diaper immediately sags down slightly between your legs. The next step is utterly redundant – but I relish the opportunity to perform it any anyway: I stick my hand down the front of the diaper to check its state. Your skin is hot, and the diaper is every bit as wet as it looks. Alice and Matt have the good grace to converse among themselves as this is going on – but I can tell it is not easy to ignore.

 

“Oh, this is very wet, indeed!” I remove my hand, and fold my arms, as if annoyed with you.

 

“I’m sorry Daddy, I needed to…” you start explaining.

 

However, it’s not the wetness that I’m annoyed about. If I didn’t want you in diapers, I wouldn’t have you wear them in the first place. But a little girl must be honest to her Daddy at all times – even it’s embarrassing.

 

“You lied to me!” I say.

 

“No… it was just…”

 

“Yes, you lied to me - and I’m disappointed! But I will give you one more chance to tell the truth…”

 

Maybe if we were in private, you might have got stroppy at this point. Thrown a tantrum, or denied it – if feeling particularly bratty. But you honestly have no idea how far I would go in front of guests, and are really not keen to find out. So instead, you take the life-line, and mumble, “Sorry, Daddy.”

 

“Now, sweetie, tell me the truth: Do you need me to change your nappy?”

 

“Yes, Daddy,” you mutter.

 

“Sorry? Speak up, darling.”

 

“Yes, Daddy. Please change my nappy.” This time, you’re much clearer.

 

“And why do you need your nappy changed?” I ask and wait.

 

You say nothing, but neither do I. There’s a lull in Alice & Matt’s conversation, and the silence makes you feel as if the whole room is waiting to hear your answer. Eventually, you give up on your prayers for the Earth to swallow you whole, and decide to answer – the only way to break the deadlock.

 

“Because it’s wet, Daddy.”

 

That’s not quite enough for me. “Why is it wet, honey?” I pry.

 

“Please, Daddy- please change my diaper. It’s wet and icky and please…. I promise I’ll be good.”

 

“Why is your diaper wet, honey?” I prompt again.

 

You give in, “Because I went pee-pee in it, Daddy,” you mutter. As you make this admission, your face turns a never-before-seen shade of red, and tears are start to well up from the edge of your eyes.

 

“Aww, honey,” I stroke your cheek. “That’s totally fine – you’re just a little baby, after all – so you can’t help it. Daddy will sort you out.” I wipe the tears with a handkerchief. “We’ll get you fresh and changed!” I stand up, “Now, go get another diaper from the dresser,” I instruct.

 

Embarrassed, you shuffle past Alice and Matt into the bedroom, your wet nappy now quite clearly on display under the tutu. Meanwhile, I take a packet of baby wipes and a bottle of powder from the bathroom closet, and bring back them to the puzzle mat in the living room. You’ve not yet returned, so I look up to see where you went. You’re lurking in the bedroom doorway – a fresh folded diaper clutched to your chest like a teddy bear.

 

“Come on, honey,” I encourage. “Put your bum down here,” I pat the puzzle mat on the floor.

 

“In… the living room?!” You stand, petrified in the doorway. Once again, I seem to have exceeded the limits of your imagination for humiliation. To be changed in such a public way – in front of our guests, no less!

 

“Be a good girl, and don’t make a fuss,” I stand up and walk towards you. I take your hand, and exchange the diaper you’re grasping for a real teddy bear. I lead you back to the mat, popping your pacifier back into your mouth. You’re too shocked for further protest as I lay you down on the floor.

 

“It’s not like they’ve never seen a baby having her nappy changed before,” I explain to you. In fact, Alice and Matt have the decency to look away (and have continued their conversation) – but the fact that you know they’re entirely aware of what’s going is powerful enough. Ashamed, you cover your face with the teddy bear once you are in position on the mat.

 

I hitch up your tutu and the bottom of the onesie over your torso, so that it’s out of my way. I can’t resist a teasing tickle of your belly button – and you squirm instinctively. I untape your soiled diaper. Unlike the afternoon’s pull-up, this one is definitely soggy. As I clean your vulva and surrounding areas with the baby wipes, I notice that urine isn’t the only source of wetness down there: but this is something we might have to see to after our guests have gone home! I pull your legs into the air to make sure there’s no moisture on your bum either: unlike the hasty diapering earlier, now I’m taking my time. But with imagined eyes staring through the tatters of your dignity, even if I had only taken five seconds, it would still feel like an eternity to you.

 

Only once you are clean to my satisfaction do I unwrap the fresh diaper – it’s pert white fluffiness in stark contrast to the soggy mess I’d just removed. I lift your legs into the air again, and slip it in place underneath your bum. Once everything’s lined up, I seal you into it with a spurt of talc. One at a time, I peel back and fasten the tapes until you’re snugly padded once more. I run my finger into your diaper around each leg cuff, making sure the cuff-guards are in order. Satisfied, I carefully pull your onesie back down. It only takes a moment to button it up again (it’s easier when you’re lying down!), and the change is now complete.

 

I prop you back up in the corner – but seeing how deeply the experience has dropped you into subspace, I realise you won’t have any further interest in colouring in this evening – and it would be cruel to abandon you! Thus, I instead lead you to sit at my feet under the adult table for the rest of the evening. You tightly hug my legs from the floor.

 

“She’s a very good girl, isn’t she!” Alice remarks.

 

“Yes indeed,” I reply, stroking your head as you bury it into my lap. “But better than that – she’s my very good girl.”

Edited February 14, 2020 by chateautal

[Guest stjerneanni]

I liked it, I liked the colors you mention, baby blue pink and purple, I like that you describe the feeling of the situation, it leaves a comforting space to read the story, blue onesie, talc, it's fun to see such creativity  

[Guest LittleMissMissy]

I love this! Like I couldn't put my phone down to take a break. I would love to read more stories by you! Edited February 14, 2020 by LittleMissMissy

[Guest Lavendar Bunni Wubbins]

Great story & lovely detail, thanks so much for sharing! Would enjoy reading more.

[chateautal]

I liked it, I liked the colors you mention, baby blue pink and purple, I like that you describe the feeling of the situation, it leaves a comforting space to read the story, blue onesie, talc, it's fun to see such creativity

 

Thank you!

 

 

I love this! Like I couldn't put my phone down to take a break. I would love to read more stories by you!

 

I'm glad you enjoyed it! I have a couple more already written that I will eventually cross-post to here, and I hope to write some fresh ones in the future (though usually, I can only write when I've been on holiday for a while, as writing things is too close to my day-job...!)

 

 

Great story & lovely detail, thanks so much for sharing! Would enjoy reading more.

 

Thanks for reading!

[LittleCelticLass]

I read this on your fet-life. It's quite good.

[Prin. Chris]

This was a very good cute story. I would have enjoyed it except for one thing. This is completely my personal preference, but I really don't like 2nd person perspective. It makes even the best story hard to read. For me, 3rd person, past tense please. Other than that, it was really cute, though it sounds like this baby girl could use some extra cuddle time.   

[Guest Looby-Lou]

I enjoyed your story soooo much 

 

It's clearly written, felt authentic ... and also just FUN!

 

I was completely absorbed in it and could easily imagine myself in the little rôle. I'd behave slightly differently, but your writing left plenty of room for me as the reader to imagine subtly different versions of the story.

 

I'm curious about the whole diaper thing so other people's experiences interest me. Your insights & opinions on this topic are so well thought through and eloquently described (here and on Fet) that they've been particularly valuable to me

Thanks for sharing.

 

Looby 

[little-luna]

i wanna read more...   

[LittleKitty666]

I really loved this story it kept drawing me in and i didn't want to stop.

[KittyCat2020]

I liked the part with the stuffies and cute clothes

[KittyCat2020]

I really loved this story it kept drawing me in and i didn't want to stop.

[KittyCat2020]

I felt the same about the story

[Guest UnicornPuff]

Edited March 21, 2021 by Jayniepuff

[moondust mochi]

Omg I almost cried from embarrassment just reading this story. This level of embarrassment would make me lose some trust in Daddy actually. I wouldn’t want to go into Little Space for a while.

 

The story is engaging and well written. I would like to read further.

 

same.

i'm imagining that in this story, the two involved had already discussed this scenario and negotiated consent because otherwise?

yikesarooni! 

[chateautal]