"Why didn’t you tell me you had to use the potty, pumpkin?"
She whimpered in frustration instead of answering. She didn’t want to confess that she had, at the time, preferred the lesser of evils—to quietly wet her diaper in situ rather than have him escort her by hand into the family restroom whereupon he would lay her out on the changing table and then supervise her use of said potty. Some things, she was determined, a girl should just be allowed to do on her own.
But such decisions are not without their own set of consequences, she realized, as she now found herself laid out in the backseat of the car in a remote corner of the parking lot, her knees pulled up toward her chest with air wafting mockingly over her still damp nether regions. Diaper changes were never as quick and painless as she tried to convince herself they were. Maybe the potty wouldn’t have been so bad after all, even if he did insist she couldn’t be trusted to wipe herself.
"Pumpkin? Are you listening?"
She mumbled a vague affirmative, keeping her face tucked into the crevice of her knees, which at the moment felt safer than watching him while he finished the task of putting her in a dry diaper. She knew from experience his face held a look of concentration as he pushed the wipe across her skin and into each intimate fold, careful to keep her not only clean but well-stimulated. It was too embarrassing to admit that she was wet in more ways than could be attributed to a little “accident” in her diaper.
"You need to tell me," he continued, his fingers delving unnecessarily deep into her cunt, "when you need to use the potty. If you keep wetting your diapers, you’ll never graduate to pull-ups or training panties. I need to be able to trust you, pumpkin, not to have an accident while we’re out in public. You want to be a big girl, don’t you?"
"I am a big girl,” she insisted plaintively. It was the same argument as always, but she was beginning to wonder if he would ever really let her “grow up”. Although, truth be told, she wasn’t sure she wanted to—even if she could never ever ever admit she might like to stay his shy, blushy little girl for a long time yet. No, she certainly couldn’t admit that—how embrassing. Besides, she wasn’t quite sure, not with 100% certainty, that she did want to stay little. It was just… Well, if it didn’t make her ache and throb so.
"Sweetie, big girls don’t wet their diapers. I think this accident just proves you’re still a very little girl. Just a little baby, in fact. Big girls don’t find themselves getting their diaper changed in the backseat of a car just before a movie. Do they?"
She whined loudly in frustration, sporting a very sincere pout on her face. “I’m not a baby.”
He smiled condescendingly and booped her displeased, squinching little nose. “Okay, okay,” he said knowingly, giving her freshly taped diaper an affectionate pat. “You’re just a very little girl who wears diapers. Is that better?”
"No," she huffed. Her conviction lost a little of its steam as his hand continued to pat and rub her diaper in a delightfully and frustratingly pleasurable way. Maybe she could pretend it was okay if he just kept rubbing her right there, but just as she was sure he would let her have cummies, he stopped.
"Okay, pumpkin," he said brightly. "If we don’t go now, we’ll miss the movie!"
He pulled her from the car as she whined yet again, but this time for entirely different reasons. It’s just so hard to be a little girl sometimes, she thought, feeling a powerful lingering throb in the place between her legs.
Previous: part one here.