Daddy releases one of my wrists and palms the bulk between my legs. When his hand slides up to my belly and finds my bladder, I wince. “Is that what you want, baby girl? Would you like Daddy to restrain you so you can use your diaper?”
I swallow, feeling my face heat. Finally, I nod. “Yes, Daddy.” I’m embarrassed, but as I think about it, I realize I can’t fully relax until he confines me in some way. It’s as if the restraint takes away my power, and then it’s not my fault I wet myself.
I shudder as Daddy steps across the room. I hear a drawer open and close, and he returns with two pink Velcro cuffs. He puts them on my wrists and attaches them to the sides of the crib. There’s some give—a few inches on both sides. I’m not bound too tight; I can squirm. But I also can’t touch myself with my hands, and there is no way I would be able to escape.
Daddy pats my diaper again. “I’ll come back in a few minutes. You can call out to me when you need me.”
When he leaves, a rush of arousal consumes me, causing me to arch my chest and moan. I’m stunned by my reaction to everything that has happened today. A bit nervous too. I was right when it suddenly occurred to me my anxiety about using a diaper had mostly to do with a fear I might like it.
Daddy is fully in charge of everything. It’s refreshing after weeks of me misbehaving. Was I trying to get his attention? I’ve got it now.
I tug on my wrists to no avail, perhaps to reassure myself I can’t move. I’m helpless. I’m an infant. And I need to pee.
Also, my nipples are hard. Butterflies are fluttering in my tummy, and my pussy is wet and swollen. Daddy gave me pleasure when he changed my diaper. How many times a day is he going to let me come?
Out of desperation from multiple fronts, I force myself to relax, take several deep breaths, and for the second time since I was a baby, I release my bladder into my diaper.
I’m panting from the exertion. “Daddy?” I call out in a soft voice.
He returns in moments, smiling down at me. Without a word, he lowers the side of the crib, releases my wrists, and lifts me into his arms. Setting me gently on the changing table, he reaches across and grabs the strap, binding my wrists and my belly as he had earlier.
Once again, a rush of arousal assaults me. I bite my bottom lip, but I can’t stop the shiver. He can’t miss the tight points of my nipples either. In fact, he slides a hand up to cup my breast and thumbs the tight peak. “If I’d known how you would react to regression, I would have brought you here months ago,” he teased.
His hand disappears, causing me to whimper. It takes only moments for him to remove my diaper and slide a new one under me. I don’t know why I fought against this. It’s no big deal. Besides, the reward is proving to be in my favor.
By the time Daddy finishes wiping my skin clean with a cool wipe, I’m gritting my teeth and digging my heels into the pad on the changing table. “Daddy…” I beg.
He ignores me and smooths ointment all over my private parts before returning to my clit and giving it extra attention. “Such a needy Little girl. Make sure you don’t try to manipulateme into changing you. It will backfire.” He glances at me with a brow lifted.
“Yes, Sir,” I breathe, my legs shaking.
He thrusts his finger into me and resumes thumbing my clit until I can’t hold back, and I cry out as my orgasm rushes through me. I’m still panting, my body quivering, as Daddy secures my fresh diaper and helps me sit.
He points at a pile of shirts on the shelf. “What color are you in the mood for, baby girl?”
“Pink,” I declare.
He grabs a shirt and unfolds it. “Arms up.”
I lift my arms and let him slide the soft cotton over my head. The shirt is tight and made of thin material. It has short sleeves that hug my biceps, and it’s not long enough to reach my diaper. My belly is exposed.
I look back at the shelf, thinking he will put leggings or a skirt on me next, but I don’t see anything like that. “Where are my clothes, Daddy?”
He taps my nose. “At home. You won’t need them here.”
I frown. “What do you mean? You brought my things in a suitcase.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. Only my things. The boxes have your toys, but the only thing you’ll wear on the island is shirts and sandals.”
I squeeze my knees together futilely, recalling that although I didn’t spend much time looking at the other Littles this morning on the ferry, it’s true I saw a lot of diapers. Nothing covering them.
“Daddy?” My lip quivers at this new piece of information.
He chuckles as he lifts me from the table and sets me on my feet. “It’s all part of the experience, baby girl. Cute little diapered bottoms.” He pats my bottom for emphasis and nods toward the door. “I set up a play area for you. Would you like to see?”
I nod and turn toward the door to my nursery. My first step is very awkward. The second is no better. I’m waddling. I can’t bring my thighs together. When I glance over my shoulder, I find Daddy is watching me. He’s smiling his approval. “You’re adorable, Little one. Go on. But be careful you don’t fall.”
My balance is off, so each step has me swaying before I set my next foot down. I must look like a toddler taking her first steps. I feel like it. And Daddy enjoys the view from behind apparently.
