As I stood up we both saw the wet patch where I’d been sitting. I shrugged, it was his sofa and the leather would wipe clean easily. He didn’t take it quite as well.
“Bad girl! You leaked on my sofa. I’m going to spank you for that!”
An interesting proposition, another escalation in our relationship. Except his approach didn’t look like a spanking, it looked like a roundhouse punch to the head, his open hand the only concession.
He was too slow, telegraphed it too far out. I swayed, ducked, stepped in towards him. A hand hold here, grab his shirt there, twist and follow him down. His weight did the work but I needed to follow up.
That proved easier than expected, the fall fortuitously winding him. Saved me having to strike his sternum to keep him down, break one of his ribs. I knelt over him, my leaking diaper leaving wet spots on his shirt, and took his knife from its sheath. It was a good knife, a proper tool with a handle that had been worn in but the blade was sharp, cared for. I like that in a man, and it matched the little else I knew of him.
It didn’t stop me holding it to his throat as he gasped, trying to get air back into his lungs.
“Look arsehole, YOU put ME in this diaper,” I told him, “You chose not to change it when I’d clearly used it. You chose to keep me in it until I risked a rash, until it was guaranteed to leak. That doesn’t make me a bad girl, that makes you a terrible father. YOU do not blame ME for this. Is that clear?”
He looked at me in confusion, uncertainty on his face for the first time since we met. It was cute in a way but I preferred him in dominant mode. I needed an answer first before I could reset that.
“Do you understand?” I repeated, frowning at him.
I think he would have nodded but the knife was there. His knife, against his throat, probably distracting him from what I was saying. I didn’t care, this was an important setting of boundaries and he needed to know that I had them, and that he couldn’t cross them.
“I got it,” he said, regaining control of himself. “So what now?”
I let him regain control of the situation, put the knife on the floor beside him, got off him and took a few steps back so he could get up.
“Now I think I need a change,” I said, “before I leak even more.”
He stood there looking at me, re-evaluating our relationship. He looked curious as he said, “You could have done that any time.”
I nodded. “When you kidnap a young woman out jogging, drag her into your van, use a knife to threaten her, tell her to strip naked and then diaper her, you might want to research whether she’s on the college Judo team. I represent State.”
He sighed. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, “but…”
I didn’t need this conversation. Not now, perhaps not ever. I’d already worked out whether I was in danger, knew he was at far more risk than me. So while he was starting to speak I’d turned my back on him, gave him a good view of the leaking diaper, of how it was suddenly expanding even further, pressure from the inside as I emptied my bowels.
The internal relief was palpable but the real joy was when I turned back, saw the shock on his face. I think he’d expected a fight before I’d do that. I gave him a problem anyway, crouched down and let myself fall backwards, squishing the sodden smelly mess as I landed straight on it.
“Is Daddy going to give me a change? It’s yucky.” I pouted at him, gave him the chance to resume his authoritarian role. Just without the physical abuse.
Although, as he approached me and took my hand, started to lead me to the yoga mat he was using as a changing mat, I gave him a treat. “I’m sorry I was a bad girl and called Daddy an arsehole. Is he going to take me over his knee and spank my cute bare bottom as a punishment?”
He stiffened at that, pausing his walk, looked at me wide eyed. This relationship wasn’t panning out the way he’d anticipated. I thought he’d like it more, gave him a knowing nod that he was ok.
His response let me relax again, focus on making this fun. “Of course, we can’t let little girls be naughty now, can we. But let’s get that cute botty clean first. Come on Sweetheart.”