Assigned a Guardian (12 page)

Kayla was screaming in pain as well as in the rage, but Patrick just kept spanking. Her bottom felt like Patrick was holding burning coals there when he finally left off.

“Stand up,” he said, “and face me. Take the panties all the way off.”

“Why?” Kayla said fearfully, not obeying him.

“Because I said so, Kayla,” Patrick replied.

Sniffling a little, Kayla did stand up. Unable to look Patrick in the eyes, she stared down at his big hands, resting on his denim-covered legs. “Get those panties off,” Patrick said. “We need to put a diaper on you now.”

“No!” Kayla wailed. “No, please, Patrick. Please, sir. I’ll learn how to cook, I promise.”

“Yes, you will,” Patrick said sternly. “You’ll learn to cook while you wear a diaper.”

“No, you can’t…” Kayla’s voice seemed to fade away.

“Last chance, sweetheart, before I start spanking you again.”

Kayla didn’t answer, but just kept looking down at Patrick’s hands. Then Patrick’s hands reached out and took her around the waist again and put her back over his lap, and then his right hand began to spank her again.

“Oh, God… Okay, sir, okay.” But Patrick gave her ten more spanks, until she cried out in full-throated agony. Then he stopped at last.

“Alright,” he said, “show me you can obey me.”

Kayla stood up and, once again looking down at Patrick’s lap where his strong hands lay idle once again, she took the waistband of the panties that were around her knees, pulled them all the way off, and stepped out of them.

“Go to your room,” Patrick said, “and lie down on your bed, on your back. I’ll be in with the diaper in a moment.”

Feeling like she had been sentenced to life in prison, or worse, Kayla shuffled off to her room. She had known, hadn’t she, that defying Patrick would get precisely this punishment? He had told her as much. Was there a part of her—that same part that liked being picked up by Patrick while she kicked and screamed and put over his lap for a spanking—that actually wanted to see what it was like to have to wear a diaper?

She picked up Mr. Fuzzy from the corner of the bed, almost unconsciously, and lay down as Patrick had told her to do. Hesitantly, because although she knew it would soon be required of her it hadn’t been part of Patrick instructions, she spread her legs like a toddler being obedient for a diaper change. As she felt the fabric of the little-girl overalls brush against the bareness of her pussy, Kayla realized that something about the spanking and the threat of the diaper had made her sensitive down there, the way she had been sensitive when Patrick made her hold the mirror and look at her hairless pussy. Suddenly she wanted to touch herself again, that same way, and feel that delicious feeling. But she wasn’t allowed, was she? Patrick had been clear on that topic. Knowing that if Patrick found her touching herself, she would be punished even more severely made the temptation somehow both worse and better.

Thankfully, Patrick did not leave her there alone for more than a couple of minutes. He opened the door and walked in, holding a large cloth diaper. He had seemed angry when he spanked her—and Kayla admitted to herself that he had every right to be angry with her—but now he was smiling as he looked at Kayla lying on the bed with her legs spread and her overalls pulled up.

“The good news,” he said, “is that because this kind of punishment happens to a lot of young women, they make nice diapers in all sorts of sizes. The only drawback—from your perspective—is of course that they use cloth diapers for a reason that doesn’t only have to do with sustainability.”

“What’s that?” Kayla ask.

“Well, most of the guardians and husbands who use this kind of discipline think it’s very important that a girl in a diaper get used to wetting it, and having the reminder of a wet diaper to help her remember that she needs to make better, more grown-up, choices in her behavior. Plastic diapers don’t feel wet after you go in them, just heavy—cloth diapers remind you, because you feel wet, and you remember that you’ve been naughty.”

“Wait! You can’t seriously be saying… I mean, I don’t think I even could…”

“You can, and you will,” Patrick said calmly. “Now let’s get this on you.”

“Please, Patrick—sir… I thought it was just to wear… I can’t bear even to think about… using it.”

“I know,” Patrick replied patiently. “But when the time comes, you will.”

Kayla felt herself start to tremble, and realized that she had begun to cry. Yes, she had had a secret curiosity. But this was too much. How could she ever humiliate herself that way?

“Do I need to spank you again?” Patrick asked softly—not menacingly, really—as if it were an offer, rather than a threat.

“No,” Kayla said quietly. “Please just get it over with.”

Something in her own voice made Kayla think that perhaps they had reached some kind of turning point. Yes, she was afraid of the pain another spanking would bring, and that was why she let Patrick put the diaper under her bottom and pull the front up and around, and fasten the Velcro. But that was only part of the reason.

Another, very real part of submitting to the diaper was Kayla’s realization that she wasn’t going to escape it. Nor was she going to escape the cooking lesson. Somehow the positive emotions of the morning—confidence, acceptance—had returned, in and among the experience of the spanking and diapering that seemed outwardly so awful, and so likely to produce negative emotions like fear and anger. Suddenly she wanted desperately to learn how to make fake roast chicken.

Patrick stood up, having finished the diapering and fastened up the snaps on the legs of the overalls. He extended his hand to Kayla. “Come on, little Kayla,” he said. “Let’s go make dinner.”

Kayla gave Mr. Fuzzy a kiss on the top of his cute head and put him back in his corner. Then she took Patrick’s hand and let him stand her up, and lead her toward the kitchen.

Chapter Twelve

Why did the sight of Kayla in the diaper get Patrick so very hard? It was as if in unlocking Kayla’s submission he had also unlocked an element of his dominance that he hadn’t know was there: to return Kayla to little-girlhood made him feel protective, loving, and very, very powerful—not in the sense of controlling her, really, though controlling her did arouse him, he had to admit.

Rather, to put her back in diapers made him feel that he could do things he hadn’t known he could do: he could help Kayla have a good life here on Draco. And if the look they had exchanged before the tantrum, when he had told her about the special rooms at work for couples to keep the birthrate high, had been the kind of look he thought it might have been, maybe they could share that good life.

He pushed that thought aside, though. Making sure this disciplinary regime of littleness did its job represented the first priority.

Of course, while cooking, and then eating, the really quite good chicken-substitute, with lemons and herbs fresh from the hydroponics farms, Kayla’s overalls and top got messy, so after they ate dinner Patrick had her strip down to her diaper, loving the way she blushed at the order, clearly on the verge of protesting but deciding against it.

As far as Patrick could tell, diapers were a very significant part of Marjorie and John Leary’s life: Marjorie had given some very detailed advice about how to get the full benefit for Kayla out of them.

“She should be naked except for the diaper frequently, especially in the beginning. When she needs a change, make it as clear as you can that while on the one hand you will always change her, on the other hand the diaper is there for your convenience rather than hers, to prevent accidents that would otherwise ruin the carpet.”

Patrick had laughed at that, sure Marjorie was joking.

But her face remained very serious. “I know it sounds funny, but the point of the regime is to help Kayla understand that you are in charge of her at the most basic level. It’s a way of rebuilding her relationship to you, and through you to life on Draco.”

So Patrick treated himself to the sight of beautiful Kayla Lourcy in nothing but a diaper, the contrast between her grown-up breasts, with their perfect quarter-size pink nipples, and the childishness of the white cloth girding her pussy and bottom, arousing him so much he began to feel rather giddy.

“Come play in the living room,” he said. “I have a coloring book for you.”

It was a coloring book he had picked up from work. It had pictures of the hydroponics farms and of their crops, and it was intended for workers’ children, though ageplay discipline was so common on Draco that many grown women also had copies. It came with a very simple packet of four colors of crayon, made with vegetable wax.

Kayla looked at the coloring book at first as if it were a venomous snake. Patrick sighed and put it on the coffee table. “Color, or just sit there on the floor.”

“On the floor?”

“Yes, on the floor. That’s where children sit.”

“Oh…” Again the girl in the diaper almost protested, but stepped back.

“And let me know when you need your diaper changed.”

Kayla made a strangled whimpering noise in her throat. Patrick just turned and went to get his tablet, which had the briefing document he needed to read that night for a meeting the next day.

Kayla still stood there, unmoving, looking at the coloring book, when he returned and sat in his chair—the same chair where he had spanked her before dinner and before the diaper. He began reading.

“Patrick?”

“Sir.” He looked up from his tablet to where she had turned toward him, her little hands over her breasts and her diaper looking so naughty on her grown-up hips that he had a sudden, very-difficult-to-suppress urge to jump up and kiss her and take her to his bed. Her face had such an adorable look of vulnerable distress that he knew in a rush of happiness that the regime had definitely started to work.

“Sir, may I please get Mr. Fuzzy?”

“Of course you may, sweetheart,” Patrick answered, and returned to reading.

Mr. Fuzzy, Patrick thought, must have helped her wet her diaper. He wasn’t sure how, exactly, but after Kayla came back from her room clutching the big dark brown bear, and sat down on the floor, it was only a few moments later that he glanced over to see that Kayla had her arms around him very tightly, and that her eyes were closed. She blushed red as the sun, she chewed her upper lip, and her brow puckered.

She whispered, “Oh, sir,” and then he heard the soft, delightfully shameful sound of her pee rushing into her diaper.

He turned back to his briefing document.

“Sir?”

“Yes, little Kayla?”

“May I please have my diaper changed?”

“In a few minutes, little Kayla. I want to finish this section.”

“Oh.”

He darted a glance at her and watched her absorb this information. She would have to sit in her wet diaper. The blush had faded a little, but now it returned full force. He fully expected that she would protest at this, though he didn’t think he would have to spank her again, but to his surprise she just closed her eyes, and then opened them and turned back to the coloring book she had started to work on.

“Alright,” he said, not really having finished the section, “let’s get you changed, young lady.”

To his astonishment, Kayla said, “Thank you, sir.” She got up and headed toward her room, carrying Mr. Fuzzy in front of her.

There, he opened the diaper and, resisting the urge to kiss her sweet, bare pussy, he wiped her with a baby wipe so that she giggled, watching his every move as she still held her bear, in the semi-darkness of her little room where the light from the hall spilled in to illuminate the unusual scene of a man changing the diaper of a lovely grown woman. He shook on a little baby powder to keep her dry, and he closed up the dry diaper, regretting the loss of the sight of his little girl’s adorable private places.

* * *

Patrick intended to keep Kayla in diapers for a week. At the end of that week, Marjorie Leary made a surprise inspection, after dinner. With some surprise, Patrick opened the door and saw her and Sandra standing there.

“Evening, Patrick,” Marjorie said. “I’m just here to check on Kayla’s progress.”

“Of course,” Patrick said, trying to cover over a bit of confusion. He had a moment’s worry that Marjorie wouldn’t approve of the nightly routine he had developed for Kayla, but when she saw Kayla in nothing but her diaper, she smiled at Patrick and said, “Perfect.” Then she turned to Kayla, who was still working on the same coloring book, because she colored very slowly and meticulously, and said, “How are you, little Kayla?”

On Kayla’s face Patrick saw a strange mix of emotions. On the one hand, he could see that the grown-up part of Kayla would probably never be able to get over the paddling Marjorie had given her aboard the
Jupiter
. On the other hand, though, he could see that Kayla’s growing acceptance of the ageplay regime had given her a very different, much warmer feeling about Marjorie Leary.

Marjorie’s tone, too, somehow managed to strike an impossible balance between the literal and the ironic—telling Kayla both that Marjorie really was a grown-up while Kayla was a little girl and that the whole thing was a fiction intended to help Kayla come to terms with life on Draco without resorting to the paddle or the punishment strap. That way of speaking to her seemed to strengthen Kayla’s little-girl feelings and perhaps even to lessen her resentment of the senior matron.

“I’m fine, thank you, Mrs. Leary,” she said, with her best little-girl smile.

“Such nice manners,” Marjorie said.

“Thank you,” Kayla replied, smiling even more broadly, almost despite herself, it appeared. The smile had seemed a little pasted on at first, but now Patrick could see a real ingenuousness had crept into Kayla’s responses to the older woman.

“Are you behaving yourself for your guardian?’

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s very nice to hear. I’m just here to make sure of that, and to see whether it’s time to move forward with getting you back into a more ordinary everyday life.” She shone a very bright, very maternal smile down at Kayla.