For Her Good

Chapter 8: Travels

Mari had nothing but diapers on the brain. Whether she was forced, permitted, or denied, her pussy was always on overdrive. Her diapers were hardly ever dry because Mari was following Sir's orders to stay hydrated. She understood Sir's double purpose. Water down the throat was pee-pee in the diaper. And more pee-pee diapers meant more changes and less time cooped up in her room, not to mention all her waddles out to refill her water bottles. Sir was afraid that their scaredy little baby might become a shriveled hermit, afraid to leave her room in the face of all the ways her agreement could be discovered. And so, although Sir never wanted to approve of sex and never needed to approve of a diaper change, Mari was forced to report whether or not she'd drunk her three liters of water a day.

"You just want to put me in jeopardy."

Of course I do. But you also can't let life pass you by just because you're soggy.

That, funnily enough, became the thrust of her fantasies. Well, specifically, the thrust was the implement that Harriet had referred to back in the coffee shop. Umph! The target was, well, her. Her and her holes and most especially what could have been, had her predicament that day turned against her. Had Harriet actually pressed her as to why she'd resolved her 'accident' in her room and not in the bathroom. Had Harriet 'checked out' her bum to see if there was a mess and noticed the puffy contours of her diaper.

And what could be.

Talk to Harriet. That's all you have to do.

She wondered if she'd discovered Harriet and Roseanne's fling earlier, if she could have taken part in it too. She'd never kissed a woman. She considered herself diapersexual first, heterosexual next.

But Harriet...

She could be Harriet's little minion. Mari was taller, yes, but she could still sit on the lawyer's lap. Need a touch-up down there, Miss lawyerpants? Love, diaperpants. No...she wouldn't tell her about the diapers. She imagined being stuffed down between Harriet's legs. Feeling the pulsing heat of Harriet's body. Feeling her painted nails, combing her hair back and forth. And the coo of Harriet's voice, coaching her about her life while her pussy gagged her into obedient silence. She would feel Harriet's hand stop brushing her hair and wrap around the base of her skull. "How's my little coffee shop stinker doing?" And then, before Mari could squirm away, she would hold her by the head into her until her breath came out in snorts on Harriet's clit and she murmured and hummed pathetic whimpers until Harriet was done with her.

She told Sir and Sir was curious.

What's stopping you from asking her?

"Diapers."

There is nothing about that fantasy that you being in a diaper changes.

"She might be grossed out."

When you told her you shit your pants, she held your hand.

"But STILL. There's a difference between kindness and finding it sexy."

Even if that were true, does every part of you need to be sexy for her to find you sexy?

"I guess..."

Mari imagined the next time they went out to coffee. She'd imagined really having an accident. On purpose. She'd even go about it the same way, she'd be shy and embarrassed and she'd want to leave. And then she'd suggest to Harriet that 'maybe she just needed diapers.' Or she wouldn't. Instead, maybe Mari would just complain about shit happening all of the time, literally, so that Harriet suggested diapers herself. Out of the blue. Like that Nolan movie, Inception. Mari would poop her pants so much that the idea of diapers took root in Harriet's mind and Harriet would begin to think that diapers were her own idea. Yes. Mari could imagine Harriet saying it. "You'd be so cute, hun. It's OK." Where Harriet had already told her about all the times she herself had had accidents, maybe then she'd bring up all the ways in which diapers were normal. 'They make commercials for adult diapers, and it's not just for old people.' Or, 'I guarantee that if all four of us ladies get prego, one of us is probably gonna want some form of diapers afterwards.' Or, 'I've learned it's pretty common from psychology.' In the end, Harriet would always say that it was OK. And then somehow it would, indeed, be all OK.