Alby & Max (Part 8) (Patreon)

(Part 8)

Max allowed the hints of a smile to play at his lips.  He grabbed a roll of toilet paper and unwound it a little, tearing a chunk and folding it.  “Okay, little girl,” he said. “Stand up and bend over for Daddy.  You’re cleaned out, now let’s get you cleaned up.”

He saw Alby’s eyes light up with apprehension and surprise.  “Hm? Wha?”  When Max had discussed giving Alby the ‘full’ treatment, he’d prepared Alby for the enema but had neglected to mention some of the more delicate implications.

It took extreme discipline for the wolf not to smile more than he was.  As excited as he was, he wasn’t trying to play it off as punishment or any kind of cruelty.  A full toothy grin, seeming too excited, threatened to spoil the normalization aspect.  

That…and Max had other fantasies he intended to have play out this weekend.  He’d dreamed up several surprises, and didn’t want to give the game away by seeming overeager.

“You don’t think you’re big enough to wipe, do you?” He asked.  “You need more practice. Don’t want to miss a spot and stain your pretty panties, right?”

Alby’s head started to wobble slightly, as if she’d just stepped off a carnival ride and the world was still spinning. She was getting such an endorphin and headspace rush at the moment and Max was thrilling at the effect it was having on her.  Her?  She? Yes. However Alby was at work, Alby was very much a little girl right now.  If Max got his way she’d be much smaller. ‘She’ fit.

“I…” she stammered. “Huh…uh…yeah.”

Max cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah?”  A gentle reminder about language.  Alby thrived off rules.

“Yes, Daddy.”  Alby quickly corrected herself.

“Come on,” Max coaxed. “Stand up, turn around, and bend over.”  He stepped away and pivoted slightly so that Alby had room to move and not be staring directly at the plastic potty she’d just vacated.

The little dog obeyed Max’s command and ‘assumed the position’ grabbing her ankles and staring down at the bathroom floor, while lifting her tail and putting her but straight up in the air.  She still whimpered slightly at the embarrassment.  It had been a long time, since she’d been like this, no doubt.  If Max got his way, she wouldn’t be doing this long.  Standing changes and the like were even less convenient for the caregiver than they were for the toddler.

 “Don’t worry,” Max promised. “You’ll get to plenty of practice wiping yourself after this weekend. But I think it’s for the best if you take a break and let Daddy take care of this part.”  

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl.”

There was so much to unpack about that promise.  It both was and wasn’t a lie.  Of course Alby was going to go back to adulting and doing things like taking care of their basic hygiene.  Alby was fully capable both physically and mentally.  But this weekend? If Max had his way, Alby wouldn’t make it through in even training panties.

It was, Max reflected, almost like there were two Alby’s.  There was the competent, yet cocky, office manager, and there was the shy and insecure little girl. Very little. Very, very, little.  Or perhaps, Max mused as he wiped, it was more like the little girl was the real Alby, and the cocky doberman Max had tolerated at best was a part she played on television.

“Hrn, hrn. Ug…uck.” Alby moaned and groaned in strained gasps and grunts, but didn’t otherwise complain.

Max was wiping extra hard, some might say unnecessarily so.  “Can’t…miss…a…spot…”.  Had Alby a camera back there, she would have been Max roughly wiping several spots that didn’t need it.  It wasn’t supposed to be comfortable, it was a subtle stick to hold over Alby’s head…or her bottom as it were.  

After Max had scrubbed the little dog’s hole to feeling almost raw, he leaned back over to the toilet, and plucked a single, moist flushable wipe from its packet resting on the tank.  He gently glided the adult baby wipe over Alby’s newly sensitive skin, being as gentle as possible.

“Hhhhhhhhhhhh, “ Alby exhaled and sighed in relief. She untensed, letting her head dangle from her shoulders.

“That’s right,” Max mouthed to himself.  Already an association was being made. Toilet paper was rough and uncomfortable.  Wipes were cool, refreshing and gentle.  

Max tossed the wipe into the toilet bowl with the paper he’d used.  “Okay,” he said, and flushed.  “You can stand up.”

Alby did and turned around, her tail lightly wagging, and ready for some fun.  Little did she suspect that the fun had already begun for Max.  Max took the training panties he’d picked out for her and popped them open.  “Step in,” he gently ordered.

“Yes, Daddy.”  Alby did so, holding her breath until the thick cotton panties were up and over her waist, their placement punctuated with a light snap.

“Okay,” Max said. “Let’s talk about the rules, little girl.”

Alby folded their arms in front of them, right over the childish underwear they were adorned in.  “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good,” Max said. “That’s rule one.  While we are here together, you’re to call me Daddy.”

“Yes Daddy.”

Max pointed at the training panties. “You’ve already got a head start on rule two. No wearing adult clothes for you. Those panties are as a ‘big girl’ as you’re going to get this weekend. Understand?”

As expected, the reply came. “Yes Daddy.”

“Good.  No potty mouth language, either.” Max continued. “That’s a bad habit that will not be tolerated.”

Alby broke eye contact and tucked her tail slightly.  Evidently Alby felt that rule might be harder to follow than the others..  “Yes…Daddy.”

“Hm?” Max asked, giving just a hint of teasing in his tone.  “What was that, little girl?”

“Yes Daddy.”  Alby’s own competitive nature could be used to motivate good behavior.

“Rule four: If Daddy tells you to do something, you do it. You can ask questions if you don’t understand what I’m asking, but you still have to obey.”

Alby’s competitive nature and insecurities could also be a hindrance, Max knew. Self-sabotage was a hell of a drug.  Time to reel it back in a little. He put a hand on Alby’s shoulder and made eye contact.  “You are still allowed to safeword out. If things get too intense, you always have that option.  That part isn’t a rule. It’s a right.”

The doberman ground her teeth together nervously.  “I know. Yes, Daddy. Thank you.”

The pup’s headspace had been threatened. They’d sobered up almost instantly.  Time to fix that.  “Rule five is you’re not big enough to go to the bathroom by yourself.  If you need to go potty, you have to ask and wait for me to take you.”  he pointed back to the full plastic chair.  “You’ll use that.”  He saw Alby’s snout wrinkle and allowed himself a chuckle, “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it, I’ll clean it.”

Alby noticeably unstiffened. “Yes, Daddy.’  

Perfect. Time to lay the seeds for the real fun.  “Last rule,” Max said. “No pretending you’re older than you really are.”

Alby cocked her head to the side. “What does that mean?”

Max scratched Alby lightly under the chin.  “It means that if I catch you dressing or acting older than you really are on the inside, we’re going to get some new rules.”

“How is that different from the other rules?” Alby asked.

She would find out soon enough. “Let’s get you dressed,” Max said instead.

It wasn't long before Max returned with a childish dress in hand.

“I don’t think you’re quite big enough,” Max teased, “to dress yourself, Princess.”  She definitely wouldn’t be by the time he was done with her. Arms up.”  

Alby raised her arms obediently and closed her eyes while the dress was slowly tugged over her head.  Max turned her towards the mirror so she could get a good look.  “What do you think?”

It was a simple enough thing. Just a one piece dress made of rosy pink.  Alby’s eyes glistened with happiness like it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever worn. “It’s…beautiful.”

“I”m glad you like it,” Max gave her a quick peck on the forehead and took her hand.  Now come on.  There’s some toys downstairs on the floor that you can play with.”

*******************************************************************************************************
“Thumb out of your mouth, Princess”.

Alby looked up from her spot on the floor and took her thumb out of her mouth. She suppressed a groan and a grimace. “Yes, Daddy.”

“That’s the fourth time,” Daddy said.  Despite this being the most exciting time Alby had had outside of cosplaying at an anime convention, Daddy was playing at being a wet blanket.  Still…it was playing.  Every Usagi needed her Luna as it were. “Big girls don’t suck their thumbs, do they?”

“No, Daddy.”

“Do I need to get you a pacifier?”

Yes. Yes! Yes! Yes!

“No, Daddy…”

“Okay, then.” Daddy said. “If you do it again, you’re gonna get a spanking. Understand?”

Inwardly, Alby recoiled and thrilled at the prospect.  “Yes, Daddy.”

“Take a sip of your juice.”

Alby grabbed the sippy cup and tilted it back to her lips, and gulped it down.  “Yes, Daddy.”

Daddy went back to scrolling on his phone. Alby was certain that the wolf wasn’t actually looking at it, but instead closely monitoring Alby, waiting for the doberman to slip.

Several hours into it and Alby was deep, deep, deep into headspace. So deep that Alby didn’t care about the seeming contradictions in the agreed upon rules.  For example, the preponderance of ‘big girl’ talk coming from Daddy.  

On one hand, he’d made it very clear that Alby wasn’t supposed to be ‘big’ this weekend. It made perfect sense to Alby that she should be allowed to suck her thumb.  She was dressed like a toddler, in a fluttering pink dress that just barely concealed her thick cotton training panties. Toddlers often sucked their thumbs as holdovers and soothing techniques leftover from infancy…but Daddy kept telling her that if she wanted to be a ‘big girl’ she should stop sucking her thumb.

Contradiction! Hypocrisy! Rules Violation!  Offsides!

Yet…isn’t that the sort of thing that parents did to toddlers? Didn’t they encourage them- sometimes even threaten them- to grow?  Alby’s own memories of early childhood, though hazy, indicated as much.  As a result, Daddy’s constant reminders for Alby to be ‘big’, were having quite the opposite effect.

In a way this was almost like being drunk again. Alby had two voices in her head; her own, and one telling her to do things. In this instance, the one telling her to do impulsive, silly, whimsical things was the one firmly in the driver’s seat.  And the one whispering to her how absolutely ridiculous, ill-advised, or contrary to common sense and rules her actions were was just a quiet voice on her shoulder.

Alby the office manager was the one shoved far into the background.  Alby the little girl stared out through renewed eyes.

She took another swig of ‘juice’ from her sippy cup, and continued playing on the floor with her toys.  It wasn’t really juice. Juice had a flavor besides ‘red’. This was something hyper processed and overloaded with sugar and artificial flavoring, the perfect kid drink.  It was lovely. Positively lovely.

Alby rolled over onto her back and held a few dolls over her head, muttering and mumbling unseen melodrama to herself, creating a story in her head, revising and reviewing every thought as she had it.

So freeing!

“Legs down, Princess.”  

Alby wrinkled her nose, taken out of her stories by Daddy’s intruding voice. She’d lifted her legs up towards the ceiling for no other reason than it felt right in the moment. She’d lifted her arms up above her chest, dangling her toys and making them fly, why not make her legs massive pillars, beams shooting up into the infinite sky?  Why not stretch without standing?

She snorted softly and huffed.  “Yes, Daddy…”  

Inside her mind, the Office Manager railed against Max’s authority.  Daddy was spamming the ‘obedience’ rule.  It was just a whisper, though.  Alby had never been this comfortable before, felt more like herself.  She lowered feet to the floor, and kept her knees bent.  If her toys didn’t have a background, she could still make mountains of her knees or give her dollies something to lean against and keep her hands free.

Daddy wasn’t satisfied.  

“Big girls don’t show off their panties to everyone,” he said.

“It’s not to everyone, Daddy,” Alby tried. “Just to you.”  Alby was technically correct; THE BEST KIND OF CORRECT!  

Sadly, the argument fell on deaf ears.  “Practice makes perfect, Princess,” Daddy smirked.  “If you’re flashing your panties off here at home, you’ll get in the habit of showing them off to everyone when we’re in public.”

PUBLIC?!  

The fearful, paranoid, neurotic side..the office manager came screaming to the front of Ably’s consciousness.

“Mmmaaaa…?” A muted warning look from the wolf on the couch stopped Alby from breaking the rule.  “Daddy?!”

Max correctly read the signs of very real distress on Alby’s countenance.  “I don’t think you’re ready for that, yet, though,” he said. “That’s why we’re practicing at home. With great panties comes great responsibility.”

Oh. Ooooooooh.  This was all part of the game, still.  The damaged young man quieted down and stepped away from control of Alby’s synapses. They weren’t really leaving and going into public like this.  In the world where they were Alby and Max, co-workers, it would be frowned upon to be seen like this.

In the world where they were Daddy and his Princess, where Alby was a little girl, why would they stay confined to the house?  They weren’t hiding away. There was nothing to hide.  They were just having themselves a relaxing and lazy weekend at home, that was all.

Relaxing. Lazy.  Those words felt almost alien to Alby; both parts.

Alby slid her legs down and smoothed the hem of her dress back down over them.  She allowed herself a pout and a huff at the inconvenience of it all. Daddy made no comment, merely smiled to himself and rolled his eyes.

This was fun. It was freeing in a way, being allowed to express negative emotions. To pout. To whine. To complain. Being powerless meant that she was at the mercy of someone else as far as doing anything about it was concerned, but it also meant no one was going to tell her to solve her own problems.  She was allowed to whine because she wasn’t allowed to take care of it herself.

An odd thought: A bit of the fantasy mixed in with Alby’s need for thoroughness and continuity.  “Daddy?”  

“Yes, Princess?” he asked. “Do you need to go potty?”

Heat radiated off of Alby’s cheeks.  This wasn’t the first time Daddy had asked. The rule was supposed to be that she had to ask for permission to go potty.  Not that he’d check up on her…but nothing said he couldn’t ask.  “No, Daddy.”

“Are you sure?”

She’d already been taken about an hour ago. Asked and everything.  Tinkled right in front of him. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Okay…” Daddy said, doubtfully.  “Take another drink.”

Still laying on the floor, Alby did and finished off her sippy cup.  Her fourth by her count.

Daddy leaned forward off the couch and took the cup from her.  “Empty,” he pronounced. “Be right back.”  He rose up and walked quickly but confidently to the kitchen.

Alby smoothed the hem out of her dress again, and sat up, watching him go and refill her cup. He was really having her pound this stuff back.  If not for the trust he’d earned and Alby’s own experience with liquor, he might suspect he was being drugged. The funny thing was, it was really as simple as Max pumping Alby full of liquids.

Neither aspect of Alby could fully appreciate why.  The adult side’s shame and self-loathing and the little side’s complete incomprehension of ‘grown-ups’ made it so that Alby didn’t even consider that Max might be getting something out of this or that there was anything beyond wanting to keep her hydrated.

Daddy came back and gave the sippy cup back.  “Here you go, Princess,” he smiled warmly and Alby chugged nearly half of it in one go.  The look of satisfaction and quiet encouragement coming from the wolf was enough that Alby didn’t want to stop despite not having any thirst.  

She’d have to go potty again soon if she wasn’t careful…

Alby suddenly remembered the question she was going to ask.  “Daddy?” she said again.

“Yes, Princess?”

“You said that this is practice, right?”  

Daddy remained standing.  “Mhm?”

“For public?”

“Mhm?”

Fantasies of holding his hand and walking down the sidewalk as if it were the most natural thing in the world poured into the back of Alby’s eyelids.  The more paranoid, self-loathing and fearful version was getting further and further away from the controls.  

“What do I normally wear?” Alby asked. “In public?”  She envisioned herself wearing colorful legging under her princess dress, something that would protect her modesty whenever she bent over.

“Have you forgotten already?” Daddy chuckled.  “Diapers, princess. When Daddy takes you out of the house, he puts you in diapers.  It’s too hard to clean you up if you have a potty accident in public.”

Diapers?  Diapers?!  Really?!  Diapers?  

Dollies fell from her hands, forgotten. She opened and closed her mouth several times, a fish gasping for breath.  Her hands retreated to her eyes. She buried her face in her paws, as if that might hide her from the world and not the other way around.

“Awwww!” Daddy said, sweetly and condescendingly.  “Wussamatta, Princess? Are you embarrassed?”

Eyes still covered, and now drowning in what until now undiscovered headspace, Alby nodded.  Images of pink and white tights traveling up from childish light up sneakers all the way up to her waist were replaced with a puffy white diaper, so big that the very tip of it could be seen poking out from the bottom of her dress.

That? That’s what this version of her wore? In public? With Daddy?  Yet as much as Alby tried to erase the image, she could not find the lie.

Daddy’s hand came down and rustled the top of her head.  “It’s okay, Princess,” he assured her. “Plenty of girls your age still need diapers. Nobody thinks it’s strange at all.  We’re just at that stage where we’re still practicing at home and being careful about it in public. Don’t worry, you’re not a baby. You’re still Daddy’s big girl.”  He punctuated it with a kiss on top of her head.

Seated on the floor, Alby squirmed, caught in a bizarre Schroedinger’s box of emotion. Her skin tingled and crawled.  She had butterflies in her tummy and wanted to vomit.  She wanted to drool even as her mouth went dry.   “Nnnn…” she said. “Nnnn…nnnn…”

Alby wanted to say ‘no’, to refute it and refuse. To whine and reject.  The catch was, she didn’t know which thing she wanted to reject: Was it that she didn’t want to be a baby? Didn’t want to wear diapers and sit in high chairs and have to be spoon and bottle fed?  Or was ‘toddler’ the problem, the supposed ‘big girl’ who really wasn’t?

In Alby’s mindscape, the doberman was in a tunnel. At one end of the tunnel was ‘Adulthood’.  There were signs dotting the horizon. Alby couldn’t read them, but knew what they said anyways; Alby’d gone down this path before.

The signs were all warnings and limitations:

“Must be in school by this point.”

“No cartoons or toys beyond this point.”

“Must be in college by here.”

“No more candy. Booze only.”

“Must have a job by here”

“Do not pass until promotion.”

And so on and so on and so forth it went.

The sign nearest to Alby read, “Merge onto potty training soon. No more diapers.”  The sign directly behind her was “Thumbsucking prohibited.”

Ahead of her was a road of giving up everything she’d craved and wanted.  The signs behind her all had ‘Wrong Way’, but the light at that end of the tunnel was soooo much closer than the other end.

She took a step in the wrong direction and froze. Holding her breath. Certain an alarm was about to go off or that the red and blue lights of a police cruiser would flash.  She wanted to go back…farther back…farther and farther back.  

Much like how Alby hadn’t considered cute cotton training panties over silky satin and lace, diapers and pacifiers hadn’t been on the table until Daddy had brought them up.  Rather, they had been there, they’d always been there, it just hadn’t occurred to Alby that they were an option.  One can’t go backwards if they don’t know that backwards is an option.
But going backwards was against the rules.  Alby truly, madly, deeply, abhorred going against the rules.

Daddy’s rules? Maybe. Maybe not.

Society’s rules? Yes.

Father’s rules. Definitely.

“Princes?” Daddy asked.  “Do you need to go potty again?”

“No, Daddy,” Alby said, staring far off into the kitchen.  She looked down at her thumb and stopped herself from sucking it.

“Do you need a pacifier?”

“No, Daddy.”  

“Do you need diapers?”

“No, Daddy.”

What Daddy didn’t know is, every time he asked those questions, Alby wasn’t hearing the wolf’s voice, nor was he saying ‘Daddy’ with anything other than his lips. A pouty Princess Alby wasn’t talking to her Daddy, even if she seemed like it.  Deep down in the darkest reaches of his mind, Albert Madden junior was hearing the interrogating voice and responding to the inquiries of a very expectant and inevitably disappointed Albert Madden Senior.

Alby just wanted to be good.  Being good was at completely cross purposes with being herself.

Or so Alby thought…

**************************************************************************************************
Well…shit…

While the scene had been eye opening and frightening for Alby, it was getting to be the worst kind of tease for Max.

The wolf Daddy suddenly had the damnedest intuition that he’d laid it on a little too thick with the ‘big girl’ stuff.  He’d planted the seeds for what was going to happen, but he might have over-watered it. Put too much water on a seed too fast and you drown it.

Alby wasn’t drowning…yet.  But his new little pup wasn’t reacting as positively as he’d hoped to the potty checks, sippy cups, and calls for modesty.  He’d been prodding because he thought Alby’s natural stubbornness and desire to transgress would cause her to rebel. Make her grow tired of being checked on so she’d wet her pants.  Or get frustrated with calls for modesty and  strip naked.  

“Princes?” Max asked, trying to give Alby an opening to make a fun mistake.  “Do you need to go potty again?”

“No, Daddy,” Alby said, staring far off into the kitchen.  She looked down at her thumb and stopped herself from sucking it.   That would have sealed the deal!  

Imagine Max’s disappointment when she showed restraint. “Do you need a pacifier?” he offered.  

“No, Daddy.”  

No thumb sucking either…damn.  Come on, Alby. Don’t resist so much. Stomp your foot or something!

“Do you need diapers?”

“No, Daddy.”

Regrettably, Alby’s fear of authority and humiliation was keeping rebellion in check in a bad way; like driving cross country with the parking brake on.  Darkly, Max wondered if he should’ve greased Alby’s wheels by giving the doberman something stronger than Kool-Aid, but that wouldn’t have ended well for either of them.

Should have gone with the gaslighting fantasy. Gone more slow burn with it. Should have left her alone and let her play in her little girl clothes, then put her in diapers for bed ‘just in case’, and then hidden anything more mature than a one and a half year old would wear while she was sleeping and insist that she’d always worn them.

Meh. That one wasn’t as fun, though, even if with Alby’s mouth it would have resulted in some spanking play no doubt. To get the full effect he’d have had to have found a way for her to fall asleep in the guest room and wake up in the nursery.  Doable, but not ethical.

Presently, Alby seemed to be treading water in headspace. Bathing in the thoughts and imagery Max was planting but afraid to plunge deeper despite the desire.  Afraid to go further back, struggling internally.  Uncomfortable and not knowing which way to go.

Alby’s mouth…

Hmm….

It is a common misconception that people suffering from a heart attack have their heart stop completely.  That just isn’t true, though. Most of the time the heart has lost its rhythm. It’s not pumping right, it’s just quivering awkwardly, (kind of like what Alby was doing on the floor).  It’s not pumping, just shaking.

That’s what defibrillation was for.  Shock the heart and stop it. Smack it with lightning in the hopes that the muscle will reset and find its rhythm again.  It hurt like hell, but it was better than the alternative.

That’s what Alby needed right now.  Max too.

Time for some headspace defibrillation…

“How about some lunch, kiddo?”  Max asked.

Alby’s eyes lightened and she looked up at Max from the floor. With only Kool-Aid in her belly and her bowels having been recently irrigated, Alby more than likely felt famished. “Okay, Daddy!”  she popped up, automatically taking Max’s paw.

Good. Comfort and connection re-established. Guard lowered.  

He led Alby into the kitchen as if Alby didn’t know the way. “Come on.  Let’s go. This way.” He was gentle. Subtle. Cunning.

He brought his little girl over to the table and pulled out a chair for her.  She sat down, grabbed the sides of the seat and tucked her legs back off the floor. Max took that as cue to slide her in.  He was right.  Her tail wagged happily while the chair legs skidded across the floor.

“I think peanut butter and jelly would be appropriate,” he said.

“Yes p’ease!”  She lisped, not so much sinking deeper as much as floating in headspace.  Max wanted to go deeper, though. That meant making the current level slightly less palatable.

Time for a calculated risk. He opened up the refrigerator and took out two jars of jelly.  “Purple?” he asked. “Or red?”

“Purple, p’ease!” Alby smiled cheekily.  

Damn.  Max had been aiming for the red.  He could have flexed his authority and demand Alby to eat the correct jelly, but that would change the nature of their interactions and Alby’s headspace.  He didn’t want to force Alby to be littler than she already was; merely to help her realize the downsides of being a big girl.   “Oh…” Max said, not hiding his disappointment.

The doberman in the princess dress instantly picked up on it.  “What?”  Alby asked.  “What?”

“It’s fine, Princess,” Max sighed.  “You can have the purple jelly.” A beat. Max turned and placed the jars down on the counter next to the fridge. “Daddy will have the red.”  He grabbed a few slices of bread from a nearby bag.

“You can have the purple if you want, Daddy!”  Alby whined.  Poor kid wanted to please; but didn’t know how. Probably didn’t know why, either.

“Oh, I’m having the red jelly, too.” Max said.  He got a dull knife from a drawer and  jar of peanut butter from the pantry. He unscrewed the lid. “I like red. Just…”

“Just what?” Alby asked. “Just…what?”  

The wolf didn’t turn his head but he could practically hear Alby leaning forward, forearms on the table, deeply curious and concerned. Max’s delivery was as smooth as the peanut butter he was spreading onto the slices of bread. “If you’re not ready for red jelly, that’s okay.”

A spark of that old Alby lit up.  “What do you me-?”

“It’s okay if you’re not ready for the red jelly.” Max said. “My poor helpless baby girl can have all the purple jelly she wants until she’s rea-”

“RED JELLY!” Alby blurted out.  “I WANT THE RED JELLY TOO! I CAN DO IT! HONEST! RED JELLY!”

“Are you sure?”

“YES!”

“Yes?”  Max taunted.

“YES, DADDY! YES!”

Max stopped and put the grape jelly away.  Out of sight, out of mind.  Two slices of peanut butter.  Two slices of red jelly. Combine to make two delicious sandwiches. One whole.  One cut into triangles with the crusts removed.  Max delivered them on paper plates and sat next to his little girl.  “Eat up.”

Alby didn’t hesitate. She grabbed a triangle and greedily shoved it into her mouth, wolfing it down before she could properly get a taste of the stuff.  Ironic, considering.  Max smiled softly to himself and took a careful, practical, dainty bite.

Alby made a face, but started taking a bite for the second half of the sandwich, her jaw starting to slow; her breathing getting heavier and slower while the jelly coating the back of her throat started to take effect.  The jelly on her tongue doing more of the same.


Max took a bite and counted down to the inevitable.

The doberman dropped the sandwich like it was made of burning coal. Her tongue flapped out of her mouth and started fanning it with her forepaws.

“HOT! HOT! HOT!”

Max pretended not to understand “Hm?” He inhaled, enjoying the heat spreading on his tongue.  “What was that, Princess?” Alby stood up from her seat, as if that might do something to alleviate the pain.  “Sit down, honey. You’re not finished.”

“BUT!”

“You haven’t been excused, young lady.”

Alby was practically jogging. “BUT!”

“Sit. Down.”

Alby planted her seat, even as tears started to well up behind her eyelids.  This was almost as bad as the spanking she’d gotten. “DADDYYYYYYYYYY!”

Max took another bite, pacing himself.  He’d neglected to tell her the flavors of the jelly.  Purple, of course, was grape jelly.  Understandably, Alby had assumed that the red jelly was strawberry.  Max hated strawberry.  “Finish your lunch, dear.”  Red pepper, though….

Scowling and grimacing in pain, Alby’s willpower broke down. “FFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUCK!” She practically howled the word.

Perfect!

“What was that?” Max said, as if it wasn’t exactly the reaction he’d hoped for.

The fear in Alby’s face overridden the discomfort from the spice.  “Daddy!” she said. “I didn’t mean it! I’m sor-!”

Max hid his smile.  “You know the rules, young lady.” He grabbed Alby by the ear and dragged her out of the chair.  His voice did not boom.  He did not growl.  He spoke as if his word was law and his arm simply the instrument of his infallible judgment

“OW! OW! OW! FUCK!”  Alby swatted helplessly at Max’s arm. “FUCK! THAT HURTS! SHIIII-!”

FWAP!

A solid clap to the backside, caused Alby to yelp and whimper. “SORRY DADDY!”

“You know the rules, Princess,”  he said, tugging and pulling her out of the kitchen and towards the nearest bathroom.  He gave her a few more swats for good measure, more as ‘encouragement’ to keep up the pace than for actual pain.

“IT HURRRRTS!”

Max didn’t know if Alby was referring to the tugging on her ear, the swats on her bottom, or the burning heat raging in her mouth.   “Doesn’t matter,” Max said, his voice tinged with irritation but not anger so as to seem reasonable. “You said you wanted a sandwich like Daddy’s. You couldn’t handle it and instead you acted out and broke the rules!”

“BUT-!”

“No buts,” he cut her off.  He let her go and grabbed the nearest bar of soap.  “Maybe this will”

“No fai-!”

Her protest was cut off with a bar of soap shoved into her mouth.  Max held her muzzle shut. “No fair?” Max asked.  “You were given a chance.  And even if I didn’t, you knew the rules.  No. Naughty. Words.  This is what you agreed to.  This is what you wanted.”

Alby whined and struggled meekly, but Max’s lecture did more than any physical punishment.  Her mouth started to foam up like a car wash, and her eyes started to tear up freely, mixing with her spit.

“Now hold it there,” Max ordered. “Taste that? Taste that soap? That’s what bad words taste like!  Every time you say a bad word, you’re going to taste this.  Understand?”

Pathetically, Alby nodded.  “Uh huh.”  More bubbles dribbled out.

“Good.  Now leave it there for three minutes, little girl.”

He saw the rage in Alby’s eyes fire and flicker out.  She’d agreed to these rules and lost by them.  Time for one last modification. One final hint.  “Those words are for grown-ups only.  This is what you get for pretending to be bigger than you really are!”

A spark of recognition…a hint of understanding…

“Yesh..Dabby…” she mumbled behind the bar of soap.

**********************************************************************
Those three minutes in the bathroom became the longest three minutes of Alby’s life. Her tongue kept wanting to recoil into the back of her throat to keep her from swallowing, but that only resulted in her giving the bar wedged into her nuzzle a heartier lick.

Breathing through her nose made her smell it which enhanced the taste on her tongue, and panting through her mouth made her taste it on the very air itself. There was no getting out of or away from the vile, acrid taste of chemicals and animal fat disguised with perfume.

Loosening her jaw made the soap slide around, and digging it in got flakes peeled off into her teeth.  Less than thirty seconds into the punishment and her mouth started foaming up, producing saliva to try to purge the nasty stuff out of her mouth in the same way that an eye would start producing tears to try to remove a stray eyelash.  It all mixed with soap to make lavender scented bubbles start foaming out of the mouth.  

She looked like a literal mad dog!  On the bright side, the soap destroyed the intense burning sensation from the pepper jelly. “Soap is hydrophobic,” Daddy explained. “So is capsaicin. The soap molecules are picking up the spice molecules and taking them away.”  Still…Alby would have preferred milk.

Daddy stayed there and watched her in her agony, coaching her along not to spit it out. “Good girl,” he said. “You’re taking your punishment very well.”  If not for the taste, Alby might have wagged her tail.

He held up his phone with a stopwatch app pulled up.  “Here. Look at this. It’s how long you have left.”  Watching the phone only made it feel longer. Every second was a slap to the face.  It was like trying not to think about scratching bug bites. Focusing on the time made her focus on the taste made her focus on the time.  A watched pot never seems to boil and counting the seconds until she could remove the soap from her maw made her even more aware of the awful stuff.

She whimpered and begged, making her mouth foam up even more.  Why three whole minutes? Why not just one? Or thirty seconds?

Miraculously, Daddy seemed to understand what she was wondering. “You want to know why I’m setting it for three whole minutes?”

Mutely, Alby nodded just enough so that she wouldn’t jostle the soap too much.

“Because punishments shouldn’t last longer than a minute for every year of the child’s age.”

Oh…oh wow.  Alby reared back, her eyes rolling back into her head. Three? She was…she was three?  Really? Three whole years?  That seemed to add up.  The solid foods and sippy cups? The feeding.  The panties and the focus on keeping them dry and covert at the same time? The talk of diapers out in public, ‘just in case’?  Being on that razor thin line where she should be out of diapers but it was ‘okay’ that she wasn’t and that were ‘plenty of kids her age’ that were right there along with her.

So little!  And yet…

It was in its own way a bizarre paralel to Alby’s life before drunkenly stumbling into Max’s secret room.  So many deep feelings of shame and unspoken disappointment. Daddy had expectations of her…expectations she couldn’t meet, so they practiced at home with plenty of safety nets in public.  She had to grow up. She had to go forward to that tunnel, but she kept stumbling.

In her mind, she replayed the fantastical scene of her trotting out in public with Daddy, wearing an impossibly thick puffy diaper under her toddler leggings.  It was terribly exciting, not unlike the rush that Ably got when wearing women’s panties at work.  It was something that, and there was an underlying thrill of not getting caught.  

From a coldly logical standpoint, no reasonable person would look at her diaper and think anything of it.  Just a girl who wasn’t quite ready for the big girl potty outside. Just as if someone in public were to catch a silky thong peeking out of the office manager’s slacks; at worst they should think that it was none of their business as long as Alby wasn’t harming anyone.  

Emotionally though…

The scene behind Alby’s eyeballs played out some more. She was walking with Daddy, padded in public, unable to shake herself from her own thoughts.  Another little girl, just like her in EVERY respect, trotted by with her Daddy, except there was no sign of her needing diapers. Just a little girl in age appropriate little panties.  She was little…but also mature.

None of this could ever actually happen, but even within the bounds of her own fantasy world, Alby felt a blush of humiliation.  Even in her own fantasies she couldn’t measure up.

Then passed the baby girl in the stroller; teething on a plastic ring and her diaper fully on display beneath a frilly t-shirt and ribbons in her hair.  No shame. No awareness. No need for anything.  Was that…longing Alby felt?

Three minutes of mouth soaping. So short in the big scheme of things but it was a miniature forever to Alby’s mind.  Likewise, while in headspace she was three years old: So little…and yet far too big.  So many responsibilities. SO much multitasking.  So much…expectations.  Expectations that she couldn’t measure up to.  Expectations that she didn’t want to have.

TThe alarm on Daddy’s phone brought Alby out of her self-induced trance. “Okay, Princess,” he said handing her a clear plastic cup with one hand and taking the soap out with the other.  “Swish and spit.”

Alby did without hesitation. Several times, in fact.  It only occurred after the first few attempts that she could have pretended not to understand and spat the first volley right on Daddy’s shirt.  Darn. Talk about missed opportunities.  She’d likely not get another one of those again.  Even a three year old knew certain implications.

Littler though…

“That’s enough for now,” Daddy said. “If you’ haven’t gotten the taste out now, only time will do the job.  He ran her sippy cup under the faucet one last time and handed it to her. “Drink.”
Alby did so, obediently and without question.  She couldn’t tell if the tap water tasted bad or if there were flecks of soap still dissolving between her teeth.

Together, they went out of the downstairs bathroom, and up the stairs to the now familiar guest room.  “Nap time,” Daddy declared. Alby made a face but didn’t have time to object. “I’m willing to believe that your potty mouth is because you’re over-tired and need some rest.”

“Do I at least get my jammies?” Alby whined.  She hadn’t planned to say ‘my’. That particular possessive had just slipped out.

“Jammies are for overnight,” Daddy explained. “This is just a nap.”

“For how long?” Alby fidgetted, feeling more and more like the irritable toddler Daddy was insisting she was.

“Until I come and get you,” Daddy said.  He peeled back the covers and guided her down into bed.  “Now lie down and close your eyes.”

“But I’m not tiiiiiiired.”

“You don’t have to go to sleep,” Daddy said. “But you do have to lay down. Understood?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Alby huffed.

“And you are still to be following all the rules,” Alby said. “Understand?”

She thought she did.  “Yes, Daddy.”  How hard could sleeping be?

****************************************************************************************
Max set down the pertinent rules one last time before ducking out.  “So remember. You are not to get out of bed until I get back.  If you need anything, like going potty, call out for me.  But I expect you to be laying down until otherwise stated.  I expect you to be a big girl and follow the rules.”

Confintely, a little too confidently, Alby nodded. “Yes Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Max said, and closed the door behind him.

Max padded quickly down the hall to his secret room. Everything had to be ready.  The highchair needed to go into the kitchen.  The playpen needed to be set up in the living room.  The…

“No,” Max corrected himself.  That wasn’t how this was going to play out. Even if Alby figured out this was the plan the entire time, he couldn’t make it look like a foregone conclusion.  Mustering his greatest restraint, he went into the room anyway.

It wouldn’t hurt to have the playpen and such within easy reach.  He could probably get away with a baby bottle or two being transported down to the kitchen cupboard.  And he’d want to make sure that the newest outfit was ready but not ‘laid out’ in advance.  He could get away with the stacks of fresh diapers awaiting her; no shame in that.

Just in case, he grabbed the bottles, locked the door, crossed the hall again  and locked the door to the guest bathroom. He went and locked the master bedroom, too. Leave no openings. Then he walked down the stairs, deposited the bottles in the kitchen and took a seat back on his couch.

He turned on the television to the sports station. A golf game was starting up.  Good. That ought to be enough, so he reckoned.  Plenty of time for the inevitable to occur.  He turned up the volume on the T.V. loud enough to give himself the benefit of the doubt.

Alby was going to have an accident. She was going to wet her panties.Plain and simple. It wouldn’t take drugs or hypnosis or any of the other deus ex machinas one might read about online stories. Just some time for her bladder to build up, a purposefully deaf ear (or the pretense thereof) and a set of play rules that made it impossible not to break.

All of those sippy cups full of kool-aid and water were working their magic, filling up her bladder.  Then he’d just have to ignore her calls for attention. If she tried to sneak around and use the toilet, she’d find the doors locked and he’d find her out of bed.  Same for if she tried to tip toe downstairs.

If by some miracle she held it in and didn’t budge from the guest bed, he’d playfully give her a BIG LONG tickle for being a good girl, and that would be that.  If she decided to try some other third option well…it’s not like there weren’t that many alternatives that he couldn’t sus out.  It was his house and there weren’t that many hidden corners or closets or laundry hampers and what not to hide ‘presents’ in.

Max leaned back and put his feet up on the coffee table.  “Won’t be long now,” he said softly to himself.  “Won’t be long now.”

**************************************************************************************************
Alby was in agony.  “Daddy!” she called for what had to have been the millionth time.  “Daddy!”
She stopped and listened. Held her breath, even.  Not a single footstep, nor a call from a far to indicate that he had heard.

“DADDEEEEEEEEEEE!” she howled.  Her cry wasn’t even met with echoes.

Alby had no way of knowing how long she’d been asleep. It could have been three minutes, three hours, or something in between . She hadn’t dreamed anything, only lied down, closed her eyes and gently dozed with her head on her pillow, never quite drifting off.  It was closer to making lists again and again in her head about nothing, losing track and then starting back at the beginning.

She’d woken up with a more than mild discomfort in her bladder. All of that juice had finally caught up to her. Out of habit, she’d almost swung her legs over the side of the guest bed and gotten up to go to the bathroom, but stopped herself.

She wasn’t allowed to get out of bed. Not without Daddy’s permission.  She wasn’t allowed to go potty. Not without Daddy’s permission.  Both sides of the Doberman’s brain recognized this as fact.  She wanted to play by the rules. She wanted to be a good girl.  That meant staying put until Daddy came to get her up.

She’d called once or twice. After a third attempt in as many minutes, she gave, rolled over and tried to get comfortable again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

After a while no amount of rolling over or pillow fluffing would help her feel comfortable. What started out as a kind of small internal itch, something just slightly out of place in an otherwise perfect homeostasis so as to be distracting, had become nearly unbearable.

Presently she sat up in the bed, howling for him.

“DADEEEEEEEEEEEE!” she called. “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADEEEEEEE!”

She bunched her knees up into little hills and held herself with her hands, pinching down and trying to do something, anything, to help her hold it in. Without realizing she started whining and crying to herself like when she was a puppy, uncomfortable, sad, and scared.

What could she do?  

She wanted to be a good girl.

She wanted to win the game.

She wanted to be a good girl and win the game.

But she couldn’t get out of bed and she had to ask to use the potty.

As she rocked back in forth trying to sort things out to herself, a bit of pee dribbled out into her thick cotton training panties. She let out a muffled cry to herself as if someone had run over her tail.

She tossed the sheets off of her and lifted up her dress to examine the dress. It was nothing much. Just a tiny splash of wetness on the front of her trainers, no bigger than a quarter. But they were still there.

Daddy would know. He’d know she wet her trainers like a baby! She’d be caught!  She’d get in trouble!

Trouble for…

For…

For?

Did Daddy actually ever say that she wasn’t allowed to wet her panties?  She had to ask permission to use the potty, and had to ask permission to get out of bed. But had he specifically said that she couldn’t wet her panties?

He hadn’t, had he?

She was only a little girl after all. That isn’t the sort of rule one could or would make.  And Daddy said that she only wore trainers at home. In public, she still needed diapers just in case. That meant that…

Even though she was a doberman, a most wolfish grin spread over Alby’s face.  She’d found herself a loophole.

Very quickly, she gathered up the sheets back over her legs and closed her eyes.  The adult part of her, the part that was the anal retentive Albert Madden Junior resisted. But the much stronger, much more real little girl inside took control and relaxed her bladder.  The adult side of him took comfort in knowing that this would probably irritate Max.

It came out agonizingly slow, decades of potty training would not undo themselves in one go.  It came out as a trickle, something that somehow hurt more than simply holding it in.  Then as the warmth gradually spread and seeped down into the thick cloth of the training panties and as the wet spot spread, it became increasingly more easy.

“Ahhhhhhh,” Alby let out a breathy, satisfied sigh, smiling guiltily at her own cleverness. The pee soaked all the way into her undies, slowly but surely down between her legs and even wicking the very backsides of her legs.

Then it kept coming. The wetness spilled out over between her legs, dribbling forth onto the bed sheets beneath her.  She reached under the sheets with her paws and felt wet spot she’d already made. Her breath caught in her chest when she realized that it was growing.  Alby’s smile quickly melted away. Her bladder wasn’t close to empty yet and she was already leaking. These weren’t Pull-Ups- basically diapers without the tabs- they were just extra thick underwear meant to prevent close calls.

She tried to clench down and reassert control, but doing so felt like it was taking a hot iron to her innards. And what was the point?  The top sheet subtly shifted in color between her legs as it soaked in more and more of her growing accident. There was no hiding it now.

Giving up and giving in, Alby grit her teeth and pushed through, a violent hiss filling her ears as her bladder sprayed out like a fire hose. Hot liquid splashed and ricocheted off the front of her training panties. What didn’t shoot out between the sodden fibers bounced back onto her privates and dripped back down into the mattress.  She shivered and shuddered and shook, somehow enjoying the heat and humiliation of it all.  She leaned back and gripped the sides of the bed, going from teeth gritting to lip biting in one solid moment.

Far too soon it was over yet it lasted forever.

She did not call for Daddy.  She couldn’t.  Her body was finally relaxed again. Muscles she barely recognized were at last untensing.  And the bed was nice and warm, and the sheets clung to the insides of her legs like old friends.

Alby closed her eyes and breathed deeply, her nostrils only once picking up the scent of hot ammonia. By the second breath her brain had filtered it out completely. On some regressive, nay, primal level, she knew that the feeling wouldn’t last forever.  Soon the sheets would become cold and damp, the air conditioning of the room speeding along the process. Out of the hot tub and into the cold shower.  Most uncomfortable.

That is…if she were awake to process it all. As Albert,  Alby had gone to bed plenty of times with hot towels on her forehead in an attempt to relieve stress headaches (or hangovers). She always woke up with a clammy mound on her forehead, but between the time she went to sleep and the time she woke up it was actually very nice.

This was the same, save on her privates.  

Alby went back to sleep.

*******************************************************************************************************
Max roused himself from his spot on the couch, almost half asleep himself.  He’d put himself in a sort of hyper alert trance, tuning out the rest of the world so that he could hone in on specific sounds.

The last elongated howling call for “DAAAAAADDEEEEEEEE!” Had been over half an hour ago, and then things had gone silent.  To Max’s disappointment, no skittering tip toes had registered on the ceiling above him.  No clumsy stomping of feet. No desperate jiggling of handles or ramming of shoulders up against doors that would not open without key or the brutest of brute forces.

What was taking so long?

The golf game had gone to yet another commercial.  Irritably, Max grabbed the remote and turned the television off.  “Whelp,” he muttered to himself. “Better go check.” The little dog must have had a bladder made of titanium.  It wasn’t surprising, given how neurotic and stubborn Alby was, just a little disappointing.  He’d wanted to catch Alby trying to break down a door or something; to catch him ‘in the act’ one last time before things escalated to the next level.

He’d have to go tickling the accident out of Alby. That put something of a sour taste in the wolf’s mouth. He was prepared to do it, but he certainly didn’t want to have to push Alby like this every step of the way.

He was sure that not-so-deep down inside the doberman, that there was a little unpotty trained, unhousebroken baby girl. But could he get to it or was it just buried there under all of that neuroses masquerading as competitive bravado?

Maybe this wouldn’t work out…

It was a small thought, less than a microsecond in real time. But it happened all the same.

Deliberately, Max walked up the creaky stairs of his own farm house, his ears still pricked and scanning.  Maybe, he reasoned, Alby had managed to slip out undetected and Max’s audible approach would send her scurrying like a kid.

No such luck.  

With a final bit of preparation, he unlocked the door to the nursery so he wouldn’t have to later, and then proceeded quietly into the guest bedroom.

What Max found was so much better than he could have hoped for.  

He opened the guest room door and peered in. The sharp pungent odor.of urine hit his nose before his eyes registered the gentle.rising and falling of Alby’s chest.  She was sleeping? In a wet bed?!

Something didn’t add up there.  What had happened to all the screaming?  There’s no way Alby could have fallen asleep unless-

A terribly perverted smile blossomed on Max’s mug.  This was better than he could have planned for!  He walked confidently in and gently shook Alby awake on the shoulder?

“Alby,” he whispered. “Alby.  Wake up Alby. You’ve had an accident, sweetie.”

Alby’s eyes opened and she startled awake.  “Huh wha-?” Then her eyes jerkily scanned surrounding while her dream-self reintegrated with the waking world. “Daddy?”

“Did you pee your bed, honey?” Max asked, his voice pure sugar. “Tell the truth.”

The command worked. Max could practically feel the increased heat coming off of his little girl.  “Yes, Daddy.”  She averted her gaze.  “I wet the bed.”

“Alby…” Max said. “Tell the truth…” Alby looked back up at him confused. “Wetting the bed implies you were asleep.  Did you have an accident in your sleep?”

There was a long pause which only made the final admission all the more savory.  “No, Daddy…”

“How old are you?” Max asked, purposefully sounding pleased as punch.

Alby closed her eyes and swallowed.  “I still wear diapers sometimes, Daddy!” she sputtered out in a panic. “I’m not all the way potty trained…right?”

That wasn’t answering the question.  “How old are you sweetie?”

“Th-th-three?”

Max peeled the soaked sheets off of Alby and cast them into a crumpled pile by the foot of the bed.  “But your bed is wet and your face is dry. I would think such a big girl who was proud of her pretty panties would be bawling her eyes out that she had an accident.”

“Yes Daddy…” Alby agreed, almost by accident.

“I would think a big girl would be able to not flash her panties every chance she got.” He referenced his earlier teasing.”

“Yes Daddy…”

“Maybe you’re not a three year old. Have I been taking care of a silly little two-year old this whole time? Someone who isn’t quiiiiite ready for potty training and the responsibility of big girl panties, instead of being a late bloomer?”

“Maybe…?” Alby replied, nervously. Was there hope in that pitiful whimper? Max thought so.

“ So are you three?”

“No, Daddy.”

“But then again…” Max mused. “I don’t know that a big ol’ two year old would just pee her pants and go right to sleep.  Would she? I think even a two year old would cry and cry and cry if they had an accident THIS big. A two year old might not be ready for big girl panties, but they still wouldn’t like the feeling of wet sheets.”

Fear and anticipation lit up behind Alby’s eyes. “They…wouldn’t…?”

“No, sugar they wouldn’t. You’d have to be younger…a year and a half tops…to care this little about what’s going on in your panties. Potty training wouldn’t even be on the table for you.”  He placed. “So Alby. Are you even two yet?”

Alby was doing a terrible job at hiding her excitement. What her face didn’t show, her tail was giving away. “No Daddy. I’m just…I’m just a baby!”

“That’s right!” Max beamed.  He let his smile become sinister. “But Alby…what was the last rule we discussed this morning?”

The joy left Alby’s body and transferred into Max’s.  “No…no pretending you’re older than you really are?”
“That’s right, baby girl.  And you know what that means,”

Alby gulped and lowered her head.
***************************************************************************************************

Alby lost count of the number of spankings after twenty or so.  Then she gave in and let herself scream.  “NO! DADDY! NO!”

Daddy did not listen. He didn’t have to. He was Daddy.  More importantly, Alby had broken a rule.  She was much littler than three.  She wasn’t the big preschooler walking firmly hand in hand with her Daddy, her maturity and modesty assumed and evident to all. She’d been the diapered tot needing to be pushed around in her stroller, her complete dependence an indisputable fact of life.

Every smack to her backside was a reminder of that error in judgment. Daddy had left the wet panties on and every jostle, every movement, every impact, reminded her of this. She was keenly aware of the wet cotton pushing up against her member while she kicked and struggled. Heard the sickening, moist smacks of each slap on her thighs and backside. Practically tasted the sting as adrenaline and endorphins flooded her bloodstream.

Just like the first time, she kicked and screamed and apologized as if she didn’t mean it.  How could she mean it? She was too little to fully understand what words meant. She only knew that “NO!” and “I’M SORRY!” Were things you screamed when you were naughty and got caught.

She also screamed those things because she was allowed to.

Alby had been VERY naughty. Only wetting her panties hadn’t been a part of it.  She was supposed to wet her panties. She was supposed to be wetting anything that she was wearing.  Baby girls didn’t care.  What she shouldn’t have been doing was trying to be so big in the first place.

She shouldn’t have tried to be so big.

She shouldn’t have been calling for Daddy in the first place.

Shouldn’t have been asking him to use the potty.

Shouldn’t have thought to ask.

Shouldn’t have thought to potty.

Shouldn’t have thought to hold it in.

Oh God that was hot!
Instantly she had a new mantra, mystically shaping the pain and humiliation into intense nearly incomprehensible pleasure. She stopped struggling, but did not go limp. Her body stilled while her mind hyper focused on that simple truth.

Good babies don’t hold it in.

Good babies don’t hold it in.

Good.

Babies.

Don’t.

Hold.

It.

There was more than one reason Daddy had kept the sopping wet panties on Alby. In a way that first earth shattering climax into her thick cotton training panties was her first “real” accident.  Yet it wasn’t an accident.  Babies like her didn’t have accidents.  ‘Accident’ would have meant that she was supposed to hold it in.

Good babies don’t hold it in.

Daddy stopped spanking her almost immediately, keenly aware of what happened. “All done,” he said softly to her.  Alby imperceptibly nodded and went limp there across Daddy’s lap. He turned her over onto her back and cradled her.  “Come on, baby girl,” he said. “Let’s get you changed.”

There had been no anger or annoyance or irritation in his voice. He hadn’t wanted to spank her. He hadn’t dreaded it either. It’s just what was done. It was simply the rules.  Naughty little girls were punished.  Now that the punishment had been administered all was forgiven and they could move on.

Move on they did. Alby lay in his arms in a post-orgasmic haze, not fully grasping what Daddy was saying. She just smiled dumbly and popped her thumb into her mouth.  Daddy didn’t say anything. No rebukes. No reminders that big girls didn’t suck their thumbs.

Because she wasn’t a big girl.  She was a baby.  A silly, dumb, helpless, pants wetting baby.

A quiet grunt and Daddy rose up from the bed, still carrying her.  Like a bride and groom on their wedding night, she was carried past the threshold of the guest bedroom and into the hallway. A few steps and Daddy opened another door; one that Alby knew very well. The door that started it all.

Across one threshold and into another.  From one world into an entirely different one.  

“Daphy?!” she slurred around her thumb.

“This is your room, baby girl.”

Alby was at a loss for words.  She’d never expected a giant nursery, set up for a little girl with a crib and changing table as well as baby toys and furniture.  The doberman took it all in and still couldn’t believe it. Was that a highchair? And the pieces of a playpen?  How had she not seen this coming? How had she not predicted it?  

The answer was simple: She was just a baby.

“How?  Why?” Alby asked. She took her thumb out of her mouth and clung to Daddy by the shoulders.

“Shhhhh…” Daddy said, calmly depositing her on the changing table. “Let’s get these yucky big girl clothes off of you.”

This all felt familiar. Vaguely familiar.  He placed her down bum first and kept her sitting up, legs still prostrate on the padded shelf.  No legs dangling over the side as if she could hop off whenever she wanted.

“Arms up,” Daddy said. Then to be sure he raised his own so that she could copy him. “Like this, see?”

Still feeling woozy, she’d needed the visual aid.  Wobbling and swaying Alby raised her arms over her head so that Daddy could tug the pretty pink dress up over her head.  As soon as it was off, she laid down completely spent and feeling like the room was spinning.  This was a dream. A terrible wonderful dream.

“Hmmm…definitely got the skirt a little wet, but I should be able to save this,” he decided. She watched him put it in a clothes hamper. He noticed she’d lied down. “Good girl.” A beat. “Good baby.”  Who needed shots of whiskey when you had words like that?


Like from a half remembered dream, Alby stared up at the ceiling in awe of her position. Suddenly, for some reason she had the worst headache. It went away immediately; more of a phantom pain or an oddly specific form of muscle memory; but she could have sworn she felt like her forehead had just collided with the bottom shelf, even as the back of her noggin rested comfortably on cushy changing pad.

The little doberman continued to stare up at the ceiling in quiet disbelief as Daddy hooked his paws into the waistband of her panties. His technique was fluid and had a kind of practiced comfort like he’d done this before.  She lifted her head and marveled at him examining the soaked undergarments. He tossed them into the nearby pail like they were simple garbage.

“You won’t be needing these anymore,” he proclaimed with certainty.

The coolness of the wipes contrasted perfectly with the remembered heat of her wet panties, against her quivering privates. Daddy grabbed them carefully and caressed them with tender care.  

“You like that, baby girl?”

“Hm?” Alby said.

“You were moaning, sweetie,” he whispered.

Alby blushed, genuinely not realizing.

“It’s okay,” he continued cleansing her and wiping her down from front to back. “Babies like you can’t tell, can they?”

She popped her thumb back into her mouth and started sucking. VERY familiar for some reason.  She shook her head and smiled.

These words.

These words Daddy was saying was better than anything she could have imagined.

He’d said that she wouldn’t be needing training panties anymore. Not that she wasn’t ready or that she’d try again. She’d never be ready.  She’d never have to try again.  It was okay that she was making funny noises and not realizing it. Babies like her couldn’t tell.  She wasn’t responsible for anything.  And unlike other babies, she had the distinct feeling that she’d never grow up.

She was completely naked, but didn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable.  Why would she? Babies like her didn’t know any better. She’d literally soaked her bed and gone to sleep in it. Why would being naked bother her?

Alby felt her thumb pop free.  “Uh-uh-uh,” Daddy said.  But before she could whine and ask, something new was inserted into her mouth. “Baby girls don’t have to use their thumbs,” he said. “They have pacifiers. Much more sanitary.”

He left the comment at that, a new rule of sorts, and went back to work.  Alby happily sucked on the pacifier, the novel yet nostalgic sensation making her brain all tingly. She really was a baby, wasn’t she?

Daddy reached under the table and took something out. A diaper, Alby realized. A big white puffy diaper, just like the one she’d imagined.  Not pure white, actually. It was covered in decorations.  Pastel pink and blue rattles and pacifiers decorated it all over; making it clear that this wasn’t some Depends diaper or something made for the old and infirm.  This was a diaper meant for little babies, just bigger. Like her.

Daddy scooped an arm under her knees and boosted her hips off the table. Her bottom was lowered onto the fresh diaper and Alby started suckling harder on the pacifier out of excitement and a search for emotional stability.  Never had she imagined this. She hadn’t even thought to.

A cloud of powder rained down on her bottom and her legs were slowly lowered and spread so that the same could be done to her front side.  The sweet aroma of the perfumed baby powder was a symphony to her senses, one she hoped she’d never go nose blind to.  

Daddy hummed a little tune to himself while he tugged the front of the diaper up and over her. Alby lifted her head again and watched him work, still not fully trusting her senses.  One. Two. Three. Four.  It had slightly more tapes than she was expecting, but other than that it was exactly like the type of diaper a baby would wear.  He rolled her over to her side and taped the final part in the back to secure her tail, nice and snug.

The diaper had taken shape around her, wrapping around her like a warm, pillowly embrace, and Daddy helped her up to a seated position.  “Almost done, Princess,” he said.  He took a deep purple t-shirt and tugged it over her head.  Like a doll, she waited for him to guide her arms through the sleeves.

Still mesmerized by the feeling of the soft pillowy diaper between her legs, she didn’t question it when Daddy guided her back down to a lying position. She couldn’t get over it. The big crib, highchair, and changing table, she could imagine. Custom woodworking was a thing.  But the crinkly plastic thing wrapped around her waist blew her mind.  Such things couldn’t be so easily customized, they’d have to be mass produced and sold.

Did Daddy have some kind of diaper machine that she didn’t know about? No. Impossible. But that left the only other option: That she wasn’t the only baby her size. That there was a market for this.

That she…was normal.

The t-shirt, once fairly loose, became almost as snug as the diaper it was covering.  That’s because it wasn’t actually a t-shirt.  Daddy had pulled a onesie over her head and had just gotten the snaps between her legs buttoned them together.

Daddy pulled her back up into a sitting position and admired his handiwork. “There,” he said. “Much better.”  Alby nodded in agreement while he attached a clip to the pacifier and pinned it to the collar of her new outfit.

Oh wow!

A diaper and a onesie was her entire outfit. Not even a potty training preschooler would wear just a onesie and a diaper. Big girls sucked their thumbs because they’d outgrown their pacis. That sunk it. Alby was a baby! A real one! Not even a toddler! A baby baby!

“All done,” he said.

Here, Alby disagreed.

No they weren’t. Not by a long shot. Now the real fun could begin!