Delightfully unique- whatever or whomever I'm writing in consent, romance, and lust.
The inspiration picture from Little Switch Bitch made me think of ageplay. Don't ask LOL.
Baxter sat on his Mommy's bed far enough from the edge that his legs hung off without touching the floor. He clutched Bunny Bear to his chest as Mommy got ready to go out.
“Now I got a babysitter for you from the ageplay club so you'll be able to stay my adorable baby boy,” Mommy said.
“Yay,” Baxter murmured.
“That's my boy.” Mommy pressed a soft kiss to Baxter's forehead, leaving the sticky feeling of her scarlet lipstick on his skin. She quickly wiped it off with her licked thumb. “Come here, my boy.” She picked him up before he could fall off the bed and tucked him on her hip. “I'll get you set up in your playpen.”
“Love you, Mommy.” He pressed his face against her neck.
“Love you too.” She continued into their living room and set him on his soft sleep mat inside his play area. “Do you have a wet diaper?”
“No, Mommy.” Baxter swallowed.
“Your babysitter will be able to change it if you make a wet one while she's here.”
The doorbell announced, “Mommy is busy. Count to five before pushing the bell again.”
“Yay!” Baxter clapped his hands together. He rolled onto his side on his mat and then closed his eyes. Feminine voices floated through the air to him, some Mommy and then another woman.
From beside his playpen, Mommy said, “Baxter says he doesn't have a wet diapie. If he feels the need to stretch his legs, you can let him out of his playpen awhile, but he knows that he isn't supposed to leave the living room without an adult.”
“Do you have a set punishment if he breaks that rule?” the woman asked, encouraging Baxter to open his eyes.
“Of course.” Mommy smiled at Baxter. “Ten spanks with a hand on his diapered bottom.” She leaned over to pat his head. “Baxter, this is Ms. Pod, your babysitter. Behave and stay in role with her until I get home.”
“Yes, Mommy.” Baxter stuck his thumb in his mouth and waited on the adults.
The front door opened and closed.
Baxter looked around for his blankie and caught the purple edge to pull it to him.
“Do you need anything, you tired-looking little guy?” Ms. Pod asked.
“Milky, please?” Baxter asked.
“I'll be right back,” Ms. Pod sang out.
Baxter scooted until he rested against his sit-up pillow, silk-screened with his favorite cartoon characters. He listened for the sounds of bottle warming from the kitchen. He reached lazily for the sound board beside him. As he jabbed the honking button, he filled his diaper. He giggled as he moved through the row of buttons.
Ms. Pod glided over the carpet some time later. “Are you ready for milky?”
He made a small sob. “Ms. Pod, I wet my diaper.”
“Can you crawl to your changing table, baby?”
“Yes'm,” Baxter murmured.
Ms. Pod pulled open the gate on his playpen.
Baxter shot through the opened gate, but slowed down to a more reasonable crawl after a few feet. When he reached the junction of the kitchen and the rest of the house, he turned toward the kitchen.
“Stop!” Ms. Pod barked.
Baxter fell back on his shins.
“There is no changing table in the kitchen. Why'd you turn that way?”
“See if you realized?” Baxter answered truthfully.
“You were trying to go somewhere without me?”
His face hot, Baxter nodded.
Ms. Pod undid the snaps of his onesie. She held up the top flap while with her other hand, she started with the spanks.
“Oh! Your hand's harder than Mommy's,” he cried out. He locked his elbows so he didn't pull away from his punishments.
“And now your milk is getting cold because you decided to test me.” She increased the force of the last few spanks.
He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain.
“Continue on to your changing table,” Ms. Pod ordered.
As always, it was tricky to crawl with a freshly punished butt. The hallway seemed twice as long, even though he quickly reached the nursery.
“Would you like me to lift you up to the table, little boy?"
“Please, but I stand first to help,” Baxter shouted.
“Oh my, that wasn't an inside voice.”
“Sorry, Ms. Pod.” Baxter unsteadily reached his feet and held out his arms to Ms. Pod.
Ms. Pod grasped Baxter's small hips and lifted him to the dark green changing pad. “Lay back, good boy.” She paused beside the table. “Now I see that you're wearing a disposable diaper, but your Mommy paid me extra so I would bring one of the reusable diapers I make.”
“Yay! Thank you, Ms. Pod.”
She ripped the sides of the diaper and whisked it away from him. With a moist towelette, she wiped his penis, thighs, and bottom. “Roll onto your stomach.”
Once he was in position, he smelled the Vitamin D ointment and then bit his lip. He let out a hiss as her fingers spread the ointment over his skin. He carefully turned back over when she touched his hip.
“Ahhh!” he cried as his bottom pushed down on the plastic.
“Now, now, that was a spanking over your diaper. Your skin was hardly pink,” Ms. Pod shushed him. She rubbed ointment over his inner thighs and then sprinkled a gentle layer of powder over his penis. She moved to his feet and leaned over to pick something up. “These go up over your feetzy.” She started to pull the cloth diapers up his legs.
“Oh! Thanks, Ms. Pod! I likey my new diaper.” Baxter clapped his hands together as the dinosaurs came better into his view. He lifted his hips to help her pull the cloth comfy-ness into place.
“And we'll try the return trip without you being a bad boy. I'll reheat your milky once you're safely in your playpen.”
“Thanks, Ms. Pod.”
Over on Facebook, I'm an admin for the Spanking Ficton Readers and Writers group. Wanting to get us talking about writing and sharing our writing, I offered a writing prompt. I decided to take some time from my WIPs to attempt the prompt myself.
Two dirt-poor art students survive by sharing a nasty little apartment above a bodega. They struggle through four years, barely making ends meet, comforting one another through tragedies and triumph, but never openly admit how they feel about each other…until they graduate, and one of them gets a job in another city. Is it too late to confess their love?
The stench washed over them, blue hair and purple hair.
“Here's the $30 down,” Timpany said.
“Move in now, if you want. I ain't got no money to clean it up first,” the landlord said.
Rela set hir bag on the floor. “It'll work. Thanks.” Ze closed the door behind the fleeing landlord.
“That's done.” Timpany relaxed onto the floor with his legs spread apart. “First class tomorrow at noon.”
“Yeah. And we're doing it without our families' support.”
“Right you are.” Timpany turned onto his side and closed his eyes.
Rela stood up with blue hair falling all around them. “Fuck yeah. New start.” Ze wandered onto the shower tiles and turned on the water. Fast rinse to push the hair to the drain, ze hurried through the cold shower. “Damn broken water heater.” Ze shook off the water.
The door opened and Timpany walked in. “You get a bad grade again?”
“I was gonna show my parents.”
Timpany wrapped his arms around the dripping wet Rela. “You can still show your parents. It's one bad grade. Just one.”
“What you get on the project?”
“B,” Timpany said.
“Shit.” He continued to hug hir. “Look, I scored us some ramen. Let's eat.”
Ze noticed a towel and grabbed it. “Dry enough.” Half-watching around the towel, ze relaxed into Timpany's care.
Pot on the hot pad, he ripped open two packages of ramen and poured the noodles into the boiling water.
“I'm laying.” Ze dropped down onto the futon.
“Shaved head's a cool look,” he called out.
“Another year of classes. Why are we doing bachelor's rather than associate's?” Timpany looked up from his sketch pad to watch Rela scrubbing the inside of their only window.
“Because we live in this shithole so we can get the slightly more impressive fine arts' degrees?”
Timpany snorted. He pulled his blanket up his lap and readjusted his sketch pad.
Gun shots sounded and Rela dropped to the floor moments before a bullet smashed through their window.
“Okay, going to tell Miranda. Don't clean up the glass, just our other stuff.” Timpany jumped to his feet and pulled a red dress that reached his ankles. He hopped across the floor to miss any broken glass, pulled on his flip-flops, and hurried out the door. He practically flew down the stairs to the bodega and stopped in front of the counter, trying to catch his breath.
“Yeah, Tim?” Miranda asked.
“Sen...senora, our window was broken by those gunshots.”
Miranda sighed. “Put a plastic bag or something over it. I'll see if I can get a cheap enough window.”
“Gracias.” Timpany rushed back up the stairs. Just inside the door, he said, “Fucking hell! Plastic bag or something! I should have known better. She's not coming to look.”
Rela looked up from hir tidying. “You tried to do the right thing, as far as we were raised to think it.”
“You mind getting all the glass up so I can finish this drawing? It's due tomorrow?”
“No problem. And then I'll get a garbage bag over the window hole.”
Gazing at his drawing for a long moment, he started to sketch a pistol in the upper left corner.
“Fuck, I'm cold!” Rela placed another garbage bag over the window and applied liberal amounts of duct tape.
“At least we're in New Mexico,” Timpany responded. He placed his sketch book on the floor. “Why don't you take a break and we'll cuddle. That'll warm you up.”
“You're naughty.” Still ze crossed the room, dropped their jeans to the floor, and then relaxed between his legs before he covered them both with the heavy, new blanket he'd found in the lost and found room at school. “You may be from the frozen north, but I'm from Brazil. This is frigid to me.”
“It's okay. Aren't you feeling warmer already?” He rubbed his hands against hir arms rapidly.
“Yeah. This is good. How's your classwork going?” Ze rested hir cheek on his chest.
“Lots of papers in this class. Freaking art history! But it feels good to be learning, especially since this is focused on art outside the Western, white male canon. You know, sometimes seeing people who look like me in the textbook?”
“I get you. I'm loving my sexuality in art class. All the extra reading material the prof suggests is way cool. Radical sexuality and politics.”
“That must warm your funky, little heart,” he teased.
“Shush your rotten mouth.”
“You know you like it.”
Ze turned to look at his sketch pad. “What's this you're working on? If it isn't for a class?”
“Oh, it's for a class, just not the art history one. Well I already had it started, but it fits an assignment.” He studied his drawing with hir. “A fantasy, something I'm not sure is an experience I could ever have.”
“I like it.” Ze closed hir eyes.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Rela screeched, a piece of paper in hir hands.
“What?” Timpany closed and then taped a cardboard box.
“The advertising company in Arizona that I wanted to work for said yes. They'll even help some toward my student loans.”
“That's great.” Timpany looked at the floor and moved to some last things of theirs needing boxed.
“What?” Rela moved in front of the box and grabbed Timpany's hands.
“I.” He dropped a sketch pad into the box; it fell open to show the picture of his fantasy from a few months before. “I mean, do you.”
Ze traced the lines of the nurturing figure without actually touching the paper.
Ripping his hands away, he turned to grab the paperback from the worn down futon mattress they'd agreed to leave behind.
“Adult babies?” Rela murmured. Ze flipped slowly through the dog-earred book, pausing to read and study various pictures and passages. “Do you want to be my baby?” Ze looked up quick to his face.
“I was too scared to ask. That you'd think me weird. That you might not.” He swallowed. “Love me.”
Ze flopped down on the futon. “Pants down and across my lap.”
Once he was in position, he murmured, “Love?”
“I was waiting for you, silly goose. I love you too. And since you almost waited until I was gone, I'm going to spank your butt with the book and then you'll start loading your stuff into my car.”
“Your Per loves you very much.” Ze brought the paperback down on his butt hard enough that it made a crisp smack five times before pulling up hir pants. “We'll have awhile on the road to take about this.”
“Yes, my love, my Per.” He sighed and burst into movement.