Totally fiction…still very early…11 more chapters planned, if not more. Trust me, its not going where u think!
Ch. 1: Life Sucks
Cynthia Gomez had turned herself around as best she could. She was enrolled in the high-school and making up credits as fast as her delinquent education would let her and she avoided interacting with all but a few students who were just getting ahead, not coming from behind. She was the oldest in that room, but yet, she was the most immature. She hadn’t learned basic social values and although she knew some of the general conventions, she lacked the finishing that would have instilled some basic etiquette. Her decision making ability had been stunted by the freedom she had on the streets, and she was always getting more attention than she ever seemed to want, even when it was none.
She was tired of it. At 19, she was still being beaten whenever her out-of-work, drunk, and ubiquitous father who found it amusing to see her in such pain. She occasionally wet the bed – maybe once a month – which always prompted another belting. Not once had she heard the words I love you and not once had she ever felt it to be true. Her parents did the minimum and when she ran away without coming back within the week for the first time at 13, they hardly batted an eye. She had done it all and was over that. She didn’t like the streets and she didn’t like the responsibility. She wanted to learn to live and to get out so she could feel love, if not just try to understand it.
Loving was what she tried to follow, and its probably how she fell upon diapers. She had been searching the web at school, which due to the “alternative” status of her wing lacked filters, when she stumbled upon a blog that changed her life. The boy in the blog had a very similar story to hers, with a minor twist. He never went home. A woman had adopted him (with permission from and a secret check to his parents) and actually showed him love. He wet the bed, and through his treatment and her attempts to help him reconcile, he had discovered others like him and some who just wore diapers for fun and even some who liked to be treated like small children and loved. Eventually, he had become one of the ones in the last category, but only once in awhile and by his wife. He had a decent job and seemed happy.
She wanted that life. She wanted that love. Cynthia felt the void in her heart more than ever and became determined to do something about it. She began to search general terms. Girl + Diaper (millions of hits), woman + diaper (thousands of hits), finally “adults who like diapers” where she found Diaper Space. She created a name and filled in some very basic information, including that she lived in TX and was looking for a daddy. She never expected what was to happen next.
Ch. 2: Lonely on Top
He was 22. Graduated from college and on his own, cut off from his parents except for the gifts and groceries they bought when they visited and the occasional assistance with traveling to family gatherings. Mason Clayfield knew what he was doing, and he knew what he wanted in life. He wanted a good job, a steady girlfriend to eventually make his wife and the mother of his children, and to act out his fantasies on occasion. He had taken care of the middle task, settling in to his new position at the phone company in his networking position. Within months, he telecommuted once a week and worked half days Fridays and Mondays. He was making $80 thousand a year and had more money than he really needed. He had a nice 2 bedroom apartment with large walk in closets in a very affordable part of his southwest Dallas suburb. In fact, it was less by almost than what he paid at school for his tiny studio.
Mason’s fantasies had slowly morphed into burning desires as time rolled on, and by the third month of living alone, the loneliness had gotten to him. He decided to finally start to use the Diaper Space account he had created at his parents house the previous year while home on break. He hoped it would still work after all that time and was relieved when it logged in. He had no friend requests and no messages because his profile was blank, save the name Daddy_is_Here. He had one comment from some guy named Frank who left a generic message that he saw on almost, if not every new profile he looked at.
He searched for females in TX between the ages of 18 and 25 and found her, Lost-Ltl-Lamb. She wasn’t the only one, of course, but she was the one that caught his eye. Ironic since she didn’t have a pic. It was just that she was near the top, because her profile was only hours old, and the name seemed to speak to him. Her name was Cynthia and she even had a Yahoo IM address on the profile!
Ch. 3: Howdy
Mason immediately opened a new window in the instant messaging program and sent a friend request to the screen name he had copied from the adjacent window. In his message to the person to let them know who he was, he simply put, “a daddy from dspace.”
Cynthia saw the friend request pop up on her phone. Her parents hadn’t had the money to invest in a computer, but they agreed to get her a phone that could log on to the IM service after her mom had gotten a new job with higher pay. She accepted the request, surprised by the short time it took for someone to contact her. She sent him a message, “Hello?”
“Howdy.” He replied. “I saw your profile and thought we may like to talk.”
“Okay,” was all she responded.
“So what kind of daddy do you want?” he asked her.
“idk” was all he got back.
“How old are you?”
“I dropped out…” She wasn’t really explaining her status as a 19 year old sophmore, but Mason didn’t push her. He saw an opportunity in the naiveté he sensed in her. He figured he could easily take control if he was just careful and manipulative.
“Do you want a daddy?” he prodded.
“Can I try for a while? I can treat you real nice.”
“okay :)” She never seemed to speak in sentences or even phrases, save I don’t know, and even that was abbreviated to three simple letters.
Over the course of the next few nights, he got her to pour her heart out about her abusive father and negligent mother who willed her no harm but showed her no affection. Cynthia wouldn’t always provide the information willingly, she required prodding and questioning. But it was the longest conversation she had ever had with someone in a non-threatening situation and she found herself growing very attached in the short period of time.
He found her to be perfect for his little game, except for the abusive father. He didn’t want her to get hit, but he knew that there were going to be ways around that. After three days, he finally decided to ask her to do something. He asked her to wet her pants in the living room of her small house while watching TV.
“But my dad’s in there!” She complained. “He’ll hit me.”
“Act like its an accident. Freak out, run to the bathroom. Tell me how it went later.”
“I guess its goodbye, then?” He prodded her. Mason was her lifeline and he knew it. She needed him because he had said the right things to make her feel like he cared. In many ways, he did care, but not to the extent that he would do anything rash.
“Wait!” She replied. “Okay….I’ll ttyl.” About 35 minutes past “I hate you” was all it said. He felt a knot in the pit of his stomach, he knew what must have happened, but he also knew it wouldn’t be the last time her father beat her because of him.
“What happened?” He wasn’t looking for information, just trying to get her to tell him.
“I don’t want to talk about it” was her curt reply.
“I hate you”
“You don’t mean that.” Despite never having met Cynthia, Mason found himself feeling hurt by the notion that she hated him. He found himself genuinely caring about the plight of this 19 year old little girl. In his eyes, she had just morphed into a helpless child who needed him and couldn’t prevent her father from beating her. The feeling was fleeting, but despite its ephemeral nature, it was potent.
“I’m very proud of you” he told her. “You have just taken your first step into the life you’ve always wanted. It starts by making them think you have a problem.”
Over the next week, she had been beaten 4 more times for 7 accidents that all seemed to group in the evening. They all seemed to go the same way. She would wet herself either right after standing up from the couch or while walking to the bathroom. She even wet herself doing the dishes after dinner one night. Conveniently, she didn’t seem to have any at school, or in the mornings when she had to quickly get ready to leave. With each wetting came insufferable taunting and teasing by her parents and a sever beating by her father. Some nights he used his hand, sometimes his belt, and sometimes he would just grab to nearest flat solid object like a spatula or one of her textbooks. Her butt was growing sorer than she ever thought possible and all her mom did was make fun of her while her dad beat her. It was clear that the plan wasn’t working, but she put all her faith in Daddy (the only name she knew him by) and he wanted her to have accidents around the house.
After a week, Mason realized she was going to have to have an accident where it wasn’t as convenient to be convincing. Thinking over his options, he had to find somewhere where there would be adults that were forced to take action and hopefully get her treatment. This was at school, he decided. In the back of his mind he also hoped that the faculty would hear of her abuse and someone would do something. Because she was 19, he knew the laws didn’t require the teachers to act, but he hoped someone would have a heart. So that someone would call her parents and recommend treatment. He told her to do it and she agreed.
Cynthia was petrified. On one hand, she wanted to please Daddy with all her heart, but on the other she had to live in this town and with these people. She wasn’t really sure what she planned to do at school when she woke up. She knew she wanted to pee, but she also knew she could get in more trouble and everyone would make fun of her. All day it remained on her mind. As the day wound towards lunch, she felt the familiar call of nature. She wanted to just let it out, wanted to make him proud, but she was so scared, she couldn’t do it. She excused herself and went to the toilet.
This routine repeated twice more before she left for the day and although she knew he couldn’t hit her, she dreaded her conversation with Daddy. His reach may not have been able to cover the 300 miles between them, but his words could cut deeper than any samurai and sting worse than any jellyfish. What if he was mad? What if he decided to stop caring? What if not being able to pee cost her her Daddy and the only shot she could see at happiness? She knew she wouldn’t let that happen.
Later that night, she signed on at her regular time to talk to him. Mason was eager to see how it went. “Did you do it?”
She was stuck. Cynthia knew the true answer, but she didn’t know the right answer. Was it wrong to stretch the truth to get what she wanted or to keep it anyway? Daddy was 300 miles away, there would be no way for him to know the truth. She reasoned with herself that if he was ever there with her, it would give her the strength to be able to do it, but that with him gone, it left her alone to absorb the consequences without so much as a shoulder to cry on or parent to console her. She suddenly knew the right answer.
“Yd u make me do it? Yd u put me through that?” She figured pain would allow her to avoid giving any details to let her make them up later.
“Awww, what happened?”
“They sent me home”
“Was that all?”
She could have stopped there. Said no students saw and that the teacher just felt bad, but she felt she knew what Daddy wanted to hear. “No, one kid laughed.”
“Oh, what did they do to him?”
“Nothing. They laughed too.”
Mason was becoming suspicious. He knew schools didn’t normally operate that way, but at 19, she was no ordinary student and the alternative program was no ordinary classroom setup. “Well, I’m sorry,” he lied. Mason wasn’t sorry, in fact he was pretty sure it was a lie, but it turned him on to think that it could be true and he didn’t want to detract from its stimulating effects.
Cynthia discovered something that night. She made Daddy happy and kept the skin on the back of her ass. She felt guilty, but she knew it was preferable to feeling spanked. She made a decision then and there to do what she had to to balance her avoidance of pain with the pleasure of Daddy until he committed to save her. A decision that would eventually get a little out of hand.