#why fat women are so fucking sexy

[froody]

the thing about fashion is that you have to hold yourself with confidence for it to be successful. you can be wearing the whackiest, ugliest, tackiest fucking outfit imaginable and if you’re holding yourself like you think you’re hot shit, it’s hot couture, it’s Paris fashion week. which is part of the problem with the “is it fashion or is she just skinny?” type videos where a fat woman will reconstruct fits from instagram and come on camera shyly in low rise jeans with part of her thong showing, holding herself like ‘isn’t this outfit ridiculous, don’t I look stupid?’ no! you don’t, or you wouldn’t if you stood up straight and walked like you just saved puppies from a burning building in front of your crush.

this is a truth gender nonconforming people understand intrinsically, you liking what you wear is the most important part of wearing it, feeling sexy and confident even if society doesn’t agree, even if you are insecure in what you’re wearing, faking it until you make it, committing and doubling down, that’s what makes art. that’s a big part of fashion in the LGBT community, why campy themes are so ingrained in our fashion and art.

some people like what they’re wearing because it’s what’s trending, because it’s what everyone else is wearing and it makes them feel connected and part of the in-crowd. some people like what they’re wearing because it’s the opposite of what is trending, because it sets them apart. some people wear only what they personally like, trends be damned. some people don’t care what they wear, throw on the first outfit they grab in the morning because they don’t care what they look at and get their confidence makes them look good.

society gives thin conventionally attractive gender-conforming where women a feedback loop of positivity that gives them the confidence to choose outfits we’d never wear. that doesn’t mean those outfits are inherently bad, even if they’re understated or poorly fitting or not up to our taste.

#before I realized I was trans I dressed like a Disney original series side character #like Harper from Wizards of Waverly Place #take it from me.

[muertawrites]

Imagine Jason giving Eddie shit for having his hair pulled back into a bun and the shit eating grin he would give Jason as he says “ladies love looking at a pretty face when you go down your poor girl if you don’t know that”

Side note you single handed feed my perv Eddie addiction so thank you for doing the lords work

(ur welcome for perv!eddie <3 he exists bc of perv!muerta lmao. also i took some liberties and aged everyone up bc i'm grown and love to self indulge. and i also made it hopper!reader bc it's my party and i'll cry if i want to)

18+ minors don't look

You don't mind still living with your family. Your little siblings are cool, your dad doesn't charge you rent (which is important when you're saving money to move across the country), and your stepmom makes a kickass casserole.

The only thing that sucks is living across the street from Jason Carver, the dickhead jock from your high school years who moved in a few months ago with his newlywed bride. They aren't bad neighbors, and his wife is actually very nice (which makes you feel sorry for her, having to be married to that monster), you just fucking hate him. He used to call you fat and write rude graffiti about you in bathroom stalls, and he once felt you up in the crush to leave the gym after a pep rally.

Not to mention the time he rallied an angry mob to try and lynch your boyfriend.

The same boyfriend who's still very much alive, leaned over the front of your car with his hair knotted at the nape of his neck, trying to figure out why you can't start your engine. You lean against the driver's side door and just gaze at him, admiring the sheen of sweat that sticks his fringe to his brow and the poke of his tongue between his lips, the furrow of concentration on his face.

God, he's sexy. And god, you can't wait to get out of Hawkins and have him all to yourself.

"You're eyefucking me again," Eddie drawls, leaning into the car to poke at something.

"And you hate it so much you wore a crop top to stop me," you tease.

He smirks, glancing up at you through his lashes.

"We're gonna have to tow it to the shop," he announces, pulling his bandana from his back pocket to wipe his hands clean of grease. "Don't have the right tools here."

You groan, rolling back onto the door.

"That's gonna seriously cut into our moving budget," you whine. "Can't you just use duct tape or something?"

Eddie chuckles as he strolls to your side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you in for a kiss.

"The owner of Smith's Towing owes me a favor," he tells you. "I'll see if I can call it in. And you know you can always pay me in head..."

You giggle, taking his face in your hands as he leans in for another kiss, tongue swiping at your lower lip. You're just about to start sucking serious face, maybe even grope him through his jeans, when your friendly neighborhood psychopath takes it upon himself to ruin the mood.

"I'm surprised she lets you kiss her looking like that, Munson," Jason jeers from across the street, having just come back from a run. "You look like a fuckin' pussy in that getup."

Eddie sneers, grumbling under his breath before putting on his best "fuck you, too" smile and raising his middle finger at him, tucking you in close to his hip.

"I'm surprised your wife lets you kiss her with that nasty ass mouth," you quip back. "Bet you taste real bitter."

If there's one thing you'll never not enjoy, it's Jason Carver seething over the fact that you, a little helpless woman, always have the wits to shut him up.

"My wife wouldn't be caught dead with a man like that," he spits. "If you can even call him that, with his hair like that."

"What, your wife didn't tell you?" Eddie chimes in. "Women like to see your face when you eat them out. That poor girl probably hasn't had an orgasm in her life. Least not from you."

Jason's on him in a flash, crossing the pavement in a matter of three strides and grabbing Eddie by the collar of his shirt. You're between them before either can throw a punch, grabbing a wrench from Eddie's open tool kit and holding it to Jason's face.

"Knock it off, jackasses," you snap. "You're grown fucking men. Get a grip."

Eddie relaxes, holding up his hands and taking a step back. Jason spits onto the sidewalk, also moving away.

"Listen to your whore, Munson," he mutters. "Too weak to keep the little bitch in line."

Eddie snaps. He pushes past you before you have time to react, taking Jason by the throat and landing a blow to the man's cheek. The rings on his fingers hit like brass knuckles. You manage to get a hold of him before he can do much damage, Eddie spitting in Jason's face as you haul him backward.

"You talk about her like that again and it's your life, Carver," Eddie growls. "You hear me? I'll rip you to fucking shreds."

The threat is so serious it startles even you.

Jason wipes the blood from his face onto his sleeve, eyes wide with terror as he scuttles up his driveway and through his front door. Eddie stretches his fingers, knuckles raw from the force of his punches.

"Way to not look like a murderer, Eddie," you deadpan.

"That fucker already thinks I am," he hisses. "Might as well scare him off. He speaks to you like that again, I'll kill him. And your dad'll help me hide the body."

You want to argue but you can't. Jim Hopper would hide a body if it were the body of a man who insulted you.

#eddie munson #eddie asks #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x hopper!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

[sooniebby]

ఌ 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐘

꧁ 𝙊𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

Teaser ➤ first day at work and first sight of a glorious ass

Word count › 1.9k

Rating › NSFT (kinda)

Warnings › blackmail

Kinks › none

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＢＥＧＩＮＮＩＮＧ

Yoshida Keita was excited. He finally got a better paying job than his previous one. Keita sat down at his desk, ignoring the whispers he heard from his coworkers.

He was handsome, or so he was told. It wasn’t even just his mother saying it to be nice. He remembered back in high school having so many letters asking him to meet them on the rooftop for a confession.

But they were never someone he wanted. He hated to admit it but he always liked his partner to be at least five years older than him. Was this a kink?

Possibly. But he didn’t dwell on it. What mattered most was that he was single and miserable.

A glum frown was on his face as he went straight into work, going over anything he didn’t do yesterday. At least he now had spending money for gay porn mags.

A squeal left one of the women’s lips right next to him as he turned over to glare at her. Only for him to feel his jaw drop.

The most beautiful man he has ever seen. He was a bit short, with a few gray hairs. Nice circular glasses that didn’t make him look nerdy. Slicked back hair with cat like eyes that unintentionally looked sexy from any angle.

And his body!! He was slim and a bit small. No way did he go to the gym. But he had an ass. An ass that somehow stuck out from his work pants.

Keita had never seen a man with an ass that fat. He must’ve been blessed by the gods. The mysterious man bowed to whoever he was talking to and walked over to the desk that was farther away from the others.

He was a boss. Most definitely. The man placed down his bag on the desk and glanced at everyone looking at him, a nervous smile on his lips. Keita loved the wrinkles on his face.

On god, getting this job was the best thing to ever happen to him!

“Morning, everyone. I’m Furukawa (Name). You may call me Furukawa instead of Buchou. Let’s have a good work day, Hm?” He said, his voice was the perfect mixture of feminine and masculine.

A few of the women sighed in glee before quickly nodded. The men simply rolled their eyes. Keita wanted to touch Furukara’s ass so badly but decided he needed to keep his job.

He quickly got back into his work, sometimes stealing glances towards the masculine feminine beauty that his boss was.

How could a man be so masculine and feminine with ease???

He was everything Keita wanted but of course he had to be his fucking boss! Nothing goes right for him.

“Yoshida-San.”

Keita hummed, turning his attention to one the workers he got close with, Kobayashi Momo.

“Are you busy tonight?”

Was she asking him out?!

Kobayashi smiled shyly, waiting for him to answer.

Keita panicked. “I love men!” He yelled, gaining everyone’s attention. He felt himself turn pale, realizing he just said it out loud. Oh he was so fucking stupid.

Kobayashi quickly turned the attention over to herself, “me too!! Beautiful bodies!! Right?? Just like women! The human body is so beautiful!!! Let’s go get coffee!! Nakamura-San, do you want coffee!? Actually, does everyone want coffee?!?”

She stood up, her short bob bouncing with her. Kobayashi grabbed Keita’s arm and pulled him to stand up with surprised strength for a 5’4 woman to his 5’11 stature. She looked around for anyone to say yes.

Nakamura, the woman who sat beside them simply said yes. A few others agreed. Kobayashi looked over to Furukawa, who looked on the verge of laughing. His lips were pursed as his eyes crinkled, before he nodded out a yes.

Kobayashi mentally counted on who said yes and quickly dragged Keita to the kitchen that was thankfully a few steps away with a door to close behind themselves.

“Yoshida-San! You have to be careful!” Kobayashi shook her head, getting the coffees ready.

Keita was honestly shocked. “You don’t care…?”

“Why would I? What you do in your bedroom is none of my concern.” She said matter-of-factly, getting a cart ready to carry the drinks back.

Keita simply hummed. Honestly, he wasn’t expecting her to be so nice. His mother kept telling him to be careful who he told and that the wrong person could ruin his entire life.

And yet, this lady was so nice.

“Oh but, why did you ask if I’m free tonight?”

“Ah, a few people want to treat Furukawa-San to a couple of beers! Y’know, since it’s his first week here.” Kobayashi said, grabbing a couple of snacks to bring as well.

Keita hummed. “Is he new?”

“Yes, he transferred from another department. He’s a handsome man, right? I was shocked that he was almost forty.”

“Forty?!”

“Shush! He might hear!”

Keita nodded, covering his mouth as she finished up the coffees.

“So, are you free for tonight then?”

“Ah, yes. I’ll come.” Keita said.

“Let’s go back now.” Kobayashi said, letting Keita push the cart. Just as she was about to open the door, she stopped for a moment. “Yoshida-San,”

“Eh?”

“Try to mask your looks better. You were looking at Furukawa-San as if he was a piece of meat.”

Keita wanted to huddle into a ball and cry in the corner.

シ

“Furukawa-San! Are you okay with a couple of beers tonight? It’s Saturday tomorrow!” One coworker said as they all began to pack up for the night.

Furukawa looked a bit hesitant but smiled, “ah, just this once,” he began to pack up as well.

Kobayashi smirked at Keita, a wink thrown his way. Keita could feel himself blush. He honestly felt like a high school student again who wanted to confess to their senpai.

The restaurant they were at was thankfully mostly empty. Keita was mainly silent the entire time. Everyone paid most attention to Furukawa, asking him what he did before or if he was married.

Keita was lucky enough to be sitting across from Furukawa at the table. He rested his chin in his hand as he simply watched as Furukawa dodged any question that he deemed too personal.

Much to Keita’s stupidity, he didn’t notice how Furukawa got more flustered whenever he could feel Keita’s eyes on him.

Kobayashi simply sighed to herself. A bunch of stupid gays.

It was getting close to midnight when Furukawa was most obviously wasted. A giggle left his lips, earning a squeal from a few of the women.

“Ok! Everyone is ready to go? What train are you guys taking?” Kobayashi asked.

The others began to make plans with who they’ll walk with if they were taking the same train. And in some weird sense of twisted fate, Keita and Kobayashi was taking the same train as Furukawa.

“Ah, then you guys can get him home safe?” Nakamura said, quickly getting up.

Keita was ready to refuse but Kobayashi answered for him. “Yes! Let’s go before the last train is gone!”

Kobayashi and Keita had to basically drag Furukawa to the train station. Furukawa was a giggling mess, talking about how they should use his first name.

Kobayashi began to do so just to humor him. “(Name)-San, will you be okay with Keita-Kun taking you home?”

“Eh?”

“Keita?” Oh god his name sounded good from his mouth. “Hm, Keita, take me home, Hm?” (Name) giggled, leaning more of his weight on Keita.

(Name) had to be around 5’7. His head met Keita’s lips directly. Oh, a perfect height for forehead kisses!!

He pushed the thought away. “You say hm a lot, Furukawa-San.”

“Yah!! I said call me (Name)!! (Name)!!” He whined, earning attention from a few people on the train station as they waited for the last train.

“We should all use first names! We got so close so quickly, right, Keita-Kun?” Momo grinned.

“Eh, yes…” Keita didn’t really believe that but if this was how he would finally make meaningful friends so be it.

“Alright, you can take him home then!” Momo said, letting go of (Name). Keita quickly held up (Name) staring at her in shock.

“Oi! You said you take this train!!”

“I do but I’m going to stay at a friend’s tonight. You enjoy (Name)-San! Use protection~!” She giggled, skipping away.

Keita wasn’t sure if he was happy or scared. Okay yeah he wanted (Name) but if he was supposed to just have to confidence for it Momo was certainly mistaken.

He was just going to get (Name) home and then go masturbate in his own home!

シ

Keita grunted as he plopped (Name) down on his bed, feeling himself tire out. He may have worked out but carrying a grown man around Shibuya was something he never wanted to do again.

(Name) was fast asleep, cuddling his pillow. His small home was pretty nice but it was just a spacious studio type. The living room, bedroom, and kitchen was basically the same room. Only a small bookcase acted as a separation of the rooms.

The living room was certainly bigger than Keita’s entire apartment though. He sighed to himself and decided to just sit down on the couch for a second before going home.

His own apartment complex was only thirty minutes away.

He moved a bit on the couch before hearing a crunching sound. Keita moved and saw what he was sitting on.

A porn mag.

And not just any porn mag. A gay porn mag.

He had a chance!!!

Keita got off the couch and pulled up the cushion, finding a mini collection of them. Who hides them underneath a couch? Surely there was other places?

There were also a few mangas in there. A few even that alpha and omega thing Keita heard about from online forums. Some manga had obvious bdsm influence.

Was Furukawa (Name) freaky..?

Hopefully!

Keita took one porn manga, the one that he knew (Name) would be the most embarrassed by. A manga about alpha and omega with animal ears.

He placed the cushion back and glanced over to make sure (Name) was still asleep. Keita decided to just check underneath the couch if there was anything else and he was right to check.

Keita pulled out a box and was shocked to find it was still open. In it was cross dressing material and handcuffs….

And a ball gag?!

Keita smirked. Oh he found the jack pot. He closed the box and decided he’ll take it with him.

A normal person wouldn’t take it and would’ve tried to forget all about it but Keita wasn’t normal. He wanted (Name) and if he had to do a few dirty tricks than so be it.

And with that, he went home.

シ

“Night!”

Almost everyone was gone after a long week of heavy duty work. Only Keita and (Name) were left. (Name) hadn’t mentioned anything about his informal speaking that last Friday and seemed to not even remember it.

“Good night, Yoshida-San. Don’t stay too late,” (Name) smiled, reaching over to grab his coat from the closet. Once he closed the door he flinched when Keita slammed his hand on it, effectively caging him.

“(Name).”

(Name) blinked, slowly turning around to stare at him in shock. Informal speech?! To a man that was his boss no less? He pursed his lips to reprimand Keita until his eyes widened in shock.

“Remember this?” Keita asked, holding a ball gag in front of him.

His ball gag.

“Where…”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure if anyone else saw this… saw that their sweet boss was a freak in private would surely be scandal, Hm?” Keita mocked, enjoying the scared look on (Name)’s face.

“What do you want?”

Keita smiled and reached over to push the gag into (Name)’s silent opened mouth, enjoying how easily he took it without fighting back.

“You.”

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＥＮＤ

Keita debut!! I’m delving into the more insane love interests… building up to my yandere character debut in the future!!!

If you got any ideas or anything you want to see for Keita, don’t be shy to request!

Tag: @the-ultimate-librarian I’m tagging you because you’re basically Keita’s number 1 fan lol

[sintiva]

lust so pure..// priest!eren x blackfem!reader

summary: the neighborhood priest also happens to be the neighborhood pervert, but solely for you

contents & warnings: chubby reader, eren is a fucking pervert, kinda stalker themes (?)), suggestive content, male masturbation, mentions of corruption

notes: this is the prologue (for better lack of terms) to a full fic

priest!eren who creeps on you while you're gardening early in the morning. 5:30 am — sharp. your tits are out your ass is out and he can see your pussy print from your shorts. you would think he’s a fucking vampire the way he keeps his house dark. the yellow light from his bathroom floods his room, and a butterscotch candle that you gifted him, sits atop his dresser. the fire from the candle flickers against the muscles of his back, and it makes him hot. but it’s not the only thing that’s got him steaming.as he fiddles with his vest in his hands, his back is bare and he’s focusing on you gardening; pulling weeds, and digging the soil as you transfer pansies and lilies to the plot. way too focused, like he’s giving service.

priest!eren who sits on his recliner right by his window so he doesn’t have to stand up to creep on you. it’s tiring trying to get a view of you from every angle. he focuses his eyes when you stand up and bend over to pat the rest of the soil around the plants. your ass jiggles, the fat of it spills from the bottom of those nonexistent shorts you have on. “baby phat” spreads across the back of the shorts, and the bedazzled letters sparkle from the rising sun. if he squints real hard he can see the sweat leading down your back. he can see simple sweat lines going down the curve of your pussy, and down to the wet patch of your crotch. he mumbles a quiet “fuck” cause he’s staring so hard, and his dicks talking to him.

priest!eren who sits on his recliner right by his window so he doesn’t have to stand up to creep on you. it’s tiring trying to get a view of you from every angle. he focuses his eyes when you stand up and bend over to pat the rest of the soil around the plants. your ass jiggles, the fat of it spills from the bottom of those nonexistent shorts you have on. “baby phat” spreads across the back of the shorts, and the bedazzled letters sparkle from the rising sun. if he squints real hard he can see the sweat leading down your back. he can see simple sweat lines going down the curve of your pussy, and down to the wet patch of your crotch. he mumbles a quiet “fuck” cause he’s staring so hard, and his dicks talking to him.

priest!eren who smiles to himself when you get on your knees and bend down once more to pull the last few remaining weeds. what a crooked fuck. you look really nice in that position. at this point of his creepinp, he’s hard as fuck. it’s not right for him to be preying on his neighbor like this, but he can’t resist. he wants to fuck you with those shorts, pull the fabric all the way up till the thin liner disappears between your fat pussy lips. you’ve been fucking with him. you either know it or you don’t. you’re either aware of how you make him sweat under his clothes. or you just really don’t think you’re able to arouse him like that. he’s a priest for god’s sake you didn’t think he’d be into the silly flings and quick fucks. 

priest!eren who sighs heavily. he can’t think of anything that will make his boner go away. fucking nothing. he palms himself. regretting his actions — not really though. no other women got his dick dripping and staining his underwear. he’s cursing himself in his room. upset that you make his dick so wet, if anything he despises you for it. why were you so promiscuous? why do you make sinning feel so good and why does he want to corrupt a sweet little minx like you so fucking bad. you make everything look so fucking sexy. the way you walk, the way you talk. how you flaunt yourself. how you’re so sweet to the priest across the street, cause you think he’s the finest man you ever laid eyes on. the feelings are somewhat mutual. he thinks you’d have the sweetest pussy to abuse. l

priest!eren who pulls his pants down and curses even more. his dick blushes, a deep red. it’s big and slaps his stomach when he pulls his underwear down. a loud ‘thwack’. his dick is hot to the touch and the pre cum that trickles out of his tip is hotter. he’s cursing you and your name. bucking his hips up into his hand, stroking his dick how he thinks you would when you wrap your hand around him. he cums real hard when he’s done. such a young man like himself has so much pent-up stress and sexual frustrations that he cums so much. a creamy release so unwanted. now he has to clean himself, and his hand that’s covered in so much cum. he’s fuming as he gets dressed. a fine young man with so much pent-up frustrations. he just wants you to help him, and become his. 

priest!eren who rolls out of his garage in his matte black mercedes cla coupe. he rolls down the window as he pulls out in front of your house, and clears his throat. “you coming to church today?” his words make you jump and everything on your body jiggles when you turn around. “good morning to you too.” you roll your eyes and pull your gloves off as you approach his car. he’s in his usual clothing. black slacks a black turtle neck. a cross necklace sits around his neck, he has rings on almost all his fingers and his tattoo creeps up from his neck and curls back behind his ear. he’s more of the progressive type. 

“you know i’m not into church.” you say for the umpteenth time. he always asks; he doesn’t leave his residence without doing so. he thinks you need it. you need to learn how to be more modest,  cover yourself up so that horny eyes like his own can’t get a look at what will soon be his. it takes a creep to know that there are more unwelcoming eyes that fall upon you. “maybe you should think about it.” he looks you up and down one more time. cursing — again. 

your thighs swallow up those fucking shorts. you ass looks so fucking good. he can see it from the front. he’s thinking about it. thinking about many things while he thinks about those hips getting abused in a vice grip. taking you from the back, “you should really think about it.” his eyes are low. fucking animalistic. you don’t even know what this priest thinks of you. you don’t even know that he dirtied his favorite pair of black slacks because of you. 

his eyes almost pop out of his head as your tits spill over the top of his window. “they’re up here.” you point to your eyes and lower your head so he can see you. big beads of sweat roll down your forehead and every crevice of your body he can see. “if you wake up to garden, you can come to church.” 

“it sounds like you're in my business.” you suck your teeth and place your hands on your waist. “maybe you need me to be.” he smirks and rolls his window back up as he waves his hand. “you should think about coming one day, they’d love you.” they as in him and his relentless fucking dick. he’s thinking with his dick. driving off the exhaust low and pleasing to the ear. “what a fucking priest.” you sigh and you heart flutters. you like him. his attitude. makes you swoon, real hard. 

#eren jaeger x black reader #eren x black reader #eren jaeger x reader smut #eren x reader smut #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger x reader #eren jeager #eren smut #eren yeager smut

[thiccevangeline]

Synopsis: You hated this man,you hated his guts,after what he did to you, he ruined you.

Ex boyfriend Toji x Black reader! Also this is allll black women included ,skinny,fat,short,tall ,light skinned,dark skinned, brown skinned ect😍😍😍🤎🤎

MDNI!

Here you go baby,all inclusive black gyal ting @sugarinte 💋💋

Warning: piv sex,unprotected sex(do not do that shit,if you aint got no condom put some cling wrap on that shit or smn), head (f)receiving,slight angst?

Yeahhhhhh,lemme know if I missed anything lol. Enjoy babies 💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋

You hated this man,you hated his guts,after what he did to you,he ruined you.....You hate him right? So explain why the fuck is he here,with you,in your room,on your bed,sucking your soul out of you through your pussy.

Yeah ,explain why you let him in when you heard him at your door. If you soooo hate him,then why did you give in to is kiss...his stupid perfect lips,his stupid sweet taste,his stupid big hands,his stupid sexy face,his stupid scent ,his stupid warmth that you missed so much.

Why. the .fuck. do you lay there forcing his stupid sexy face impossibly deeper into your cunt ,loving the it feels,missing the way it felt ,why do you enjoy the way he flicks his stupidly skilled tounge against wet ,pulsing cunt? You don't know what this man did to you,but you can't seem to leave him alone. Even after he cheated on you with your best friend, and got her pregnant too,he has the utter fucking audacity to eat you out like a starving motherfucker eating his last meal juat before hes about to be euthanized by lethal injection in a couple of hours,you still can't leave him alone and you hated yourself for it. You hate him but you allow him to fully strip you, kiss and grope at the body you told him he'd never lay hands on again, the same body that wanted to melt out of existence when you saw that video of him fucking her,you allowed him to tell you that he loved you,and that what he did was a mistake and that no one will ever come close to you.

You hated him so much that you allowed him to fuck you stupid, just the way you liked it. You're a babbling, dribbling,screaming,moaning mess,he had you on all fours,face smooshed against you pillows, the same pillows you cried on when you found out what he had done. Back painfully arched as he mercilessly rammed his stupid big dick in and out of you,big heavy balls smacking against your pussy,lace front peeling off, a couple of your day old lashes laying scantily on your pillow beside you ...they would laugh at you and call you fucking stupid if they could for letting that asshole fuck right after your supposed pre-breakup baddie makeover,make up fucked up,mascara running down your tear stained cheeks. You dress ,your fucking $850.00 dress ,ripped down the back as he used the rest bunched up at your hip as harness, keeping you still so you won't crawl away. Your desperate moans and whimpers fill the air along with the merciless slapping sound of his thick hips ricocheting off the prominent curve of you thick ass and his low grunts that make your cunt pulse around his slick covered cock. The thick smell of sex in the air,you hated (loved)it. Just like you hate (love) him.

You still hate him when he shoots his seed deep inside you smacking your ass,praising you for how good you were. He begins to get dressed while you lay there trying to gather your thoughts, tears streaming down you cheeks, your phone screen lighting up to display your dates name, Nanami,22 missed calls,10 texts. You sighed as more tears ran down your cheeks,you liked ,him you thought. He was nice,respectful, charming, everything you needed in a man,but here you were.Toji leans over to kiss your forhead and you try to dodge it but he grabs your jaw smushing your lips together as he kisses them. Just like that he's gone......and you're alone again, you have to dut here and cry because you feel like shit for standing up your date, poor fucking Nanami,he didn't deserve that. You really liked him but you felt worse when you felt your ex's cum slowly leak out of you, but it couldn't be helped. You swear you that you'll never let him in again but God knows if he was to knock on your door again ,this same shit would happen.........

#x black fem reader #x black plus size reader #x black reader #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji smut #toji x black reader #toji x you #black reader #black women

[mirrorballtales]

Barbie 🩷

Let’s get this out of the way. It is not anti-men like the right wants to paint this movie. It wasn’t made for men. And that’s okay. This was a love letter to girls and women and the experience of girlhood and womanhood.

Do you know how cathartic it was to be amongst women, and girls, wearing pink, unapologetically, ready to watch something that speaks to our nostalgia. We all sat there with our feet flailing, giddiness, tumultuous excitement, waiting to see something made for US!

See Barbie represents dreams. Not women but the dreams of little girls who become women. Women who are told to fit the mold so they are chosen. And in that journey we begin to lose or more accurately, we are stripped of our identity and told exactly what we have to be and do to be loved, liked, accepted, invited, left alone, admired, respected, and protected.

I forgot how to be happy. It’s something I thought i couldn’t do. I was waiting to be made for it. As if I should pay the price for the violence men brought upon me. And not just the physical and emotional violence. But the violence of the patriarchy that allowed these men to exist and live. Why is it that women, women like me, have to live in shame, feel dirty for hands that were stained? Why must I feel like I’m not real, like something they paid for? I still don’t know how to be happy. But I am trying. And I don’t know how that looks like.

And I sit here sad, telling myself I can’t tell anyone that I want to cry. Salt streams that go into my ears. That I am mourning the little girl I could have been while celebrating the woman I am becoming. How do I do that? How do I look in the mirror when behind me stand the choices of men who tore things from me I cannot get back? Do I scream into a microphone and beg for my girlhood to return? Do I knock on their door and beg them to apologize? Do I ask them to look me in the eye and ask every single person that partook in this to tell the little girl that she isn’t worthy of peace?

What about all the woman who experience a different kind of violence? The kind of violence that leaves no physical marks. The kind that begins when we’re children. The kind where they tell us to smile because that’s what pretty girls do. The ones that say wear dresses and skirts. The kind of violence that tells you to be extraordinary but not so much that you outshine them. To be thin but don’t make anyone else feel bad. Be pretty but don’t admit it. Have long hair. Or don’t because then you’re supporting the patriarchy. Be funny but not so funny that you threaten men. Be loud but not too loud so their voice isn’t silenced. Be smart but not too smart. Be strong but not aggressive. Be nice but not too nice or you’re weak. Support women but just the ones that fit the normative description. Be soft but not too soft that you cry. Be independent but not so independent that men feel inadequate. Be sexy but not too sexy. Be a mom but don’t get stretch marks or get fat or talk about your kids because then you’re no longer a woman but a vessel for children. It all circles back to a society that tells us how to act so we don’t make men feel small while we begin to lose ourselves.

AND I AM DONE!

I want to be sad. And I want to be angry. But I want to be happy. I want to be emotional. And I want to have no emotions. I want to order a fucking steak at a restaurant. I want to do my nails. And I don’t. I want to sing. And I want to stay quiet. I want to laugh at what I find funny. I want to be intelligent regardless of how that might make anyone feel. I want to take up space and let it remain my space. I want to be wanted and not be considered a whore for it. I want to be loved and not let it become my identity. I want to be a mom and not let it define me. I want to love the things I loved as a little girl because that makes ME happy. I don’t care if it’s childish. If a man can play video games, if he can build things, and destroy them, and be immature so can I.

Women are the strongest beings. Not because we stand against things or people but because we are who we are. We are a creation of life. We are the very definition of life. And we are beautiful in whatever form that comes in. The enjoyment shouldn’t end because we grew up. Turning 30 isn’t a death sentence. Turning 18 doesn’t make me prime for the taking. Turning 50 doesn’t make me less of a woman. If I want to wear pink and glitter I can still walk into a board room and out do every man in there, or not. And that’s okay. I can cry and not be happy. Or I can smile and laugh and be okay with letting it all go. I am made to be happy.

I’m not here to fit into anything anyone wants me to be let alone a man. If I want to smile I’ll fucking smile. If I want to laugh I’ll laugh. If I want to tell you that you did something wrong then I will. And if you don’t like it, it’s not my problem.

The hardest thing was the scene with the mothers. I look at it with an anguish in my heart. To feel like I’ve lost my own mother. In all the pain she’s caused me I see now how she didn’t get her happy ending. The little girl she could never be will be one I mourn as well. Because she needed to be loved too. And maybe had she been loved she might have been able to be gentle with me. She might have loved me enough for the both of us. It breaks my heart and something I keep waiting for, but I see that the violence she endured too, is all a result of a patriarchy that continues to tear us up. I wish she could have had the life she wanted. One that didn’t include me. One that gave her, her true love. She was taken advantage of at such a young age and I don’t know how to feel. Because their choices follow me. Someday I might figure it out. But today, I forgive her. Not for myself but for the little girl she once was, she would have never hurt anyone, especially her own daughter, and one day I’ll reconcile that.

As to the patriarchy. FUCK YOU.

I love every woman. And I love being a woman. Not because things are good because because I am good. I may have lost my innocence but that doesn’t define me nor does it stop me from living my infinite endings. Barbie is the dreams of little girls that we hold on to. Black hair. Blonde hair. Brown eyes. Blue eyes. Tall. Short. Thin. Fat. Boring. Fun. Extraordinary. Regular. They’re all beautiful. They all are a part of a world that represents the good in this world.

It is not my job to explain a movie to you. It is not my job to make you feel good as a man. It is not my job to reassure you. Look in the mirror. Today I think I can look in the mirror and smile. Because the reflection looking back at me is not what others made up of me, but because it’s me looking at who I am. Brown eyes. Black hair. Brown skin. A mole. A smile. A nose. Lips. And a hint of teeth. This is who I am. Take it or leave it.

#taylor swift #barbie #fuck the patriarchy #barbenheimer #barbie the movie #greta gerwig #margot robbie #gloria #barbie greta gerwig #the eras tour #healing #girlhood #womanhood

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Absolutely LOVE your Roy Kent fic! Could you do a fic with Roy or Jamie where the reader is really self conscious about their body? Like they are worried they are too big to be with someone that’s a footballer. Thanks!!!

Dress You Up

Roy Kent x Reader

0.8k words

Warnings: Language, feeling self-conscious, flirting and allusions to smutty things

Oh my gosh, how did this get lost in my ask box?? I'm so sorry 😓 I hope it came out good ❤️

You stared at yourself in the mirror, turning this way and that, trying to find any angle that you didn’t hate. When you and Keeley had found this dress at Harrod’s, she’d gushed about how hot you looked in it, how Roy was going to lose his mind. And you’d believed her, deciding that the charity gala was worth the splurge, especially considering the credit card you were using was Roy’s, at his insistence.

But now, even with your hair and makeup done, you felt… ridiculous. Instead of seeing the goddess Keeley had insisted you were in the fitting room, all you could see was every extra kilo, every place where the dress clung to you, and not in the way you’d hoped.

Your mind wandered to the guest list Roy had mentioned during dinner last week. The whole team, of course. Lots of rich old men, ready to open their fat pocketbooks for Rebecca’s fundraiser. And models. Actresses. The kind of women Roy Kent usually went for.

With your brain swimming with images of women whose bodies looked photoshopped, women you’d seen Roy with in magazines before the two of you began seeing each other, you grabbed your mobile, losing every ounce of excitement you’d about this night. In no time at all, a growling voice answered.

“Hey, you almost ready?”

The lump in your throat growing, you closed your eyes. “Actually, I’m not feeling well.” Not a complete lie. “You, er, should go on your own, Roy.”

There was a long pause on his end. “Well, this is fucking awkward then.”

“What is?”

Your doorbell rang. “I’m on your fucking porch,” Roy chuckled. “Can I at least say hello? Haven’t seen you all day. Fuckin’ miss you.”

The tenderness in his voice softened your resolve. “Just a quick moment, alright?” Your heels clicked against the tile of your front hall as you walked to your front door. “Don’t want you to catch whatever I’ve come down with.”

Roy expected to see you in sweats or pyjamas, with your hair in a sloppy bun, face probably tired. What he absolutely was not expecting was you in a beautiful dress that hugged every single one of those curves he loved. His eyes took their sweet time trailing up your figure until they landed on your face.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” he hissed, thick eyebrows raised.

You squeezed your eyes shut. “I know, I look-”

“Fucking hot,” he finished for you. “Like, if we don’t get in the car right now, that dress is going to be in the fucking shrubs.” He reached out and took your hand. “How the fuck are you not feeling well and looking like that? You got some flu that makes you sexy as hell?”

Heat flooded every inch of your skin. “You think I look… good?”

Roy’s eyebrows scrunched, as if your question was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Fucking course I do. Might have to leave the gala early so I can come back and make you feel better.” He tugged you close to himself. “Unless you’re coming with me. In which case, I know some dark corners at the venue where we could get into some trouble.”

Unable to help yourself, you brought your hands up to fiddle with the lapels of his suit jacket. “You sure you wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with me?”

Another ridiculous question, according to Roy’s facial expression. “Why the fuck would I ever be embarrassed to be seen with you? If anything, I’m scared Jamie Tartt’ll try to steal you from me.”

“I mean…” You shifted awkwardly in Roy’s arms. “There’s lots of models and shit there, right? Gorgeous, skinny women-”

“Women I’m not interested in,” Roy cut you off. “Women I wouldn’t give a second glance to. Especially with you in the fucking room.” He kissed your forehead tenderly. “Won’t be able to keep my eyes off of you. And my fucking hands will be just as dangerous.”

You nudged Roy’s nose with yours, the knots in your tummy starting to unravel. “You sure?”

He let out a soft chuckle before pressing his lips to yours briefly. “Very fucking sure. Now come on, put me out of my fucking misery. Say you’re coming to the ball with me.”

In his eyes you could see so much adoration, love, tenderness, and more than a little lust. It was enough to make you stand up straight and tighten your grip on him.

“You know some dark corners huh?” you teased.

A smile broke out across his bearded face. “Plenty,” he assured you, his hands wandering a bit. “I’d love to show ‘em to you.”

“Fine,” you conceded. “Come in while I grab my purse?”

To your surprise, Roy shook his head. “If I come in there, we are not making it to the gala on time. We’d probably barely make it to your bedroom.”

A wicked smile spread across your face as you tugged his tie, pulling him inside with you. “We can be a bit late, can’t we?”

“If you insist.”

#request ❤️ #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fluff #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfiction

[xxrhxysxx]

John Price headcanons #1

this will be multiple parts because I love this man also I'm really trying to write more.

(TW: nothing really, some swearing and very little talk on sexuality and what he finds sexy)

.

.

He likes chocolate ice cream. It is literality his favorite flavor ( he used to eat an unhealthy amount when he was a kid lol)

He’s more of a coffee person than a tea person.

When he was a kid he used to have a cute little doggy named Valorie. He lost her to old age and now really likes the song by Amy Winehouse.

.

When he was a kid he also had a big fat crush on Princess Tiana from The Princess and the Frog.

.

He almost got married once but it really didn’t work out…

.

I personally HC him as unlabeled sexually. he likes both men and women, and if had to pick he would say bisexual but he isn’t sure. He really doesn't care as long as he and whoever he's with are both happy.

.

He had a shit ton of black friends growing up lol ( this is probably why he's so fond of Gaz) He most likely had a black girlfriend at some point. Long term too!

.

He takes really good care of his beard.

.

The first time he had non-British food he damn near left the country permanently. This man was in love ( he specifically loves Indian and Jamaican cuisine)

.

He loves 80s-2000s rock but also listens to jazz and R&B.

.

Probably has a small crush on Megan Thee Stallion ( it really is not that small lol breaks his neck whenever her name is mentioned in conversation) Gaz is on his ass about it lol

.

He has a slight dad-bod

.

He thinks open-backed clothes are sexy

.

He lives in an apartment it is quite big but it's nothing special. He wants a pet to come home to but he’d be too worried it will die while he is gone.

.

He would love his partner no matter what. You would need to do something world-shattering for him to stop loving you.

.

He snores so fucking loud omg... (It's bad guys... Real bad)

.

.

. That's it. I had a lot of run writing this and I hope you guys enjoyed reading it my request are in fact open so if anyone what to sent a request I'd be happy to answer it. Tho it might take me a minute because in a slow writer and school is hard lol-rhys☆

#task force 141 x reader #cod x reader #captain john price #john price headcanons #call of duty x reader #cod headcanons #tf141 x reader #john price x reader #captain price

[androgynealienfemme]

"I am a black self identified femme. My hair hangs in loose curls a little below my shoulders. I often wear makeup, and I like high heels, although I seldom wear them. My femme-ininity does not make me victimized. I have a choice in what I look like and who fucks me. The fear, of course, lies in questioning whether what I say and feel and believe about myself is politically correct or not. I still don't know. In my angst over my femme-ininity, I question my own language. "What constitutes "hard"? Does it refer to those who look most like men, and if so, what does that mean? If the women I like are 'hard' and if 'hard' means looking like a man, then mustn't women inherently be 'soft', at least in my mind?" Where is my thinking? Am i complicity accepting the stereotypes created to limit women's, and men's, roles? This concerns me. So to whom should I be attracted to be a politically correct lesbian-feminist of color? And most importantly, what should I look like to be a politically correct lesbian-feminist of color? I waver constantly. Who should I be, where, how? Why can't I look the way I look and be a feminist, smiling when my lover calls me "her woman"? And what does this all mean to me as a black woman? I want to claim my femme-ininity, recreate "femme", recreate womanhood to make it my own. As a woman of color, I have spent my life wanting to be someone else. I learned to hate myself hearing, "You are too black, too short, too fat." Neither my hair nor my nose was ever straight enough. When I came out, much became clear. I found a true and passionate, powerful at times, inner voice that helped me speak out and write. When I added homophobia to my already substantial list of battles, my life was still filled with the same intense struggles and pain. But there is freedom in knowing the full extend of me, my ethnicity and culture, my sexuality, my womanness. Being femme for me means wearing a short, tight skirt, garters, and three inch heels when I'm going out. It means standing in front of the mirror putting on mascara and reddish brown lips. It means shopping for a low-cut blouse to reveal hints of cleavage some nights. It means smiling, or sometimes pouting, when my woman puts her arms around my waist and, with her other hand, turns my face up to kiss hers. It means whispering, "I'm yours, own me" when she makes love to me. It means feeling sexy. Being femme for me means risking violence and sexism to be who I am. It means being mistaken for a straight woman and saying I'm not. It means fighting for the right for myself and my butch lover to dress the way we please and play the way we like. Yes, our roles can oppress us; they have in the past; they reflect the dominant culture as it now exists. But they do not have to. I take my life, my decisions and actions, into my hands, as they were meant to be. I constantly deconstruct my education, my language, my culture, my desires."

-“femme-insm” by Paula Austin, The Persistent Desire (edited by Joan Nestle) (1992)

#lesbian #lesbianism #femme #butch #butch femme #lesbian history #lgbt #lgbtq+ #lgbt history #the persistent desire #recs #writing #black lesbian #lgbt woc #black lesbian history

[hotchs-big-hands]

can i rant for bit cuz ugh why do all the men on dating apps suck?? i hate how some men really seem to fetishize plus size women. like when you're trying to talk with them and all they wanna talk about is sexual stuff from the get go 😡😤 like hello?!? im more than just my body?? ive never even met you dude. ive got a personality, interests, etc. like do these men think they're doing plus size women a favor by aggressively sexualizing them?

it honestly sucks so much. so in order to cope I've been fantasing about hotch 😏

like imagine dbf!hotch where he overhears you ranting about dating and the men on the apps and later tries to talk to you about it. he'd tell you that they're all boys and you need a man.after hearing how upset and objectified you feel he'd probably decide to actively pursue you. especially if you've had a will they-wont they thing going on.

i just really want him to seduce me and give me a reason to delete all my dating apps

❤️‍🔥

I'm so sorry this is so late but girlie I feel this so hard. I legit gave up on dating apps cuz it was just "let me see how big your tits are" "😜 wanna meet up and fuck?" Even if your profile says you're not looking for that, youre looking to date! I thought at one point I found someone who was chill and wanted to just go on a date but then 🧍 well, we won't get into that. All in all, ppl need to stop fucking fetishising fat ppl. It's dehumanising. Do we want to be desired sexually? Absolutely. But not just that tho. We want to be loved and accepted for who we are and how we look. I really hope that you do eventually find someone who doesn't just see you as a sex object, ❤️‍🔥 anon because you deserve it 💖💖

Dbf!Aaron Hotchner is sooooooooo🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭 OOOOOGH

He is fucking PISSED knowing you're being treated like this on dating apps. He thinks it's fucking disgusting that people see you as nothing but a fetish. He fucking adores you. He thinks you're funny, sweet, beautiful, kind and well, of course he thinks you're fucking sexy too. But knowing you're trying to deal with all this shit makes him angry.

So he does whatever he can to show that he's, first of all, into you very much so. But also that hes not after you just for "having a good fuck with a thicc girl". The thought of people treating you as less than human, just sexual organs because of your curves makes him fucking sickened. Man starts to rly make an effort to show he is interested in you. He tries even harder to make you smile and laugh, treats you to stuff, is extremely attentive if you ever vent to him. And he can see it's working, you've got a pep in your step, and you always have that adorable shy smile on your face whenever he talks to you or looks at you. Big fan of fixing a stand of your hair.

One day something changes, you come to him upset and frustrated and you show him the dating app. You vent about it to him all about the disingenuous guys on there only seeing you as a thicc chick to fuck so they can tick it off their bucket list. And so he hugs you close, kissing the top of your head and says he can't stand to see you so upset anymore. But he has something to say that could help.

You pull away, confused. And he's looking at you with so much tenderness your heart tightens. He smiles, brushing a stray tear from your cheek.

"Sweetheart, those stupid boys don't know what they're doing. They don't know how to treat a woman, how to make her feel loved and cared for and seen as more than just their body type. I... I want to know if you'll have me. Accept me to show you how you deserve to be treated."

You can barely string words together, it's cute. But he sees more tears again and he panics, thinking he's gone too far.

"I'm sorry, this was not appropriate. I-"

"Yes.. I- yes, I want you." You interrupt him. It makes him pause, staring at you for a moment as he studies your expression. You glance away, feeling shy again. "I only started using dating apps because I didn't think I'd ever get to be with you, Aaron..."

Oh, oh sweetheart. His heart is soaring and he pulls you close for a tight hug, swaying you gently.

"Sweetheart, you have me. I'm yours."

Needless to say you freed up a lotttttt of space on your phone getting rid of all the dating apps 🥰 plenty of storage for the incoming pics you and Aaron will take together from this point forward.

#❤️‍🔥 anon #aaron hotchner x reader #💌 ah asks

[cosmileech]

What's crazy about anti-para people and the vilification of paraphilias in general, is that YEARS of research has shown us that paraphilias are ridiculously more common than people think - and that many people who are anti-para likely are paraphiles themselves without even knowing. And that makes complete sense; being sexually attracted to fat/overweight people, being sexually attracted to trans people, being sexually attracted to older women, being into choking and breathplay, liking hands and/or feet (sorry, everyone on twitter and tumblr who always post about how sexy their favourite character's hands are!) oh and attraction to fictional characters is also a paraphilia! So, that's pretty much everyone on tumblr, lmao. Being sexually attracted to females or femininity, being sexually attracted to female breasts, getting turned on by dirty talk, getting turned on by biting or being bitten, getting turned on by PORN, liking butts, and voyeurism/exhibitionism ARE ALL CLASSIFIED AS PARAPHILIAS. There's tons more than this too that I see people enjoying and posting about on tumblr all the time (like object heads or himbos) and you just know that most people have no idea that these are actually paraphilias. This is why the entire anti-para stance as a whole makes absolutely no sense to me? Like yes, I am incredibly, extremely anti-contact for any paras that involve unwilling and unconsenting parties (children, animals, rape, etc etc) but those are also the most extreme and arguably least common paraphilias across the general population. Being anti-contact in appropriate cases is VERY different from being anti-para as a whole, and I wish that people understood this more. Because saying you're entirely against ALL paraphilias means that you're against anyone being sexually attracted to fat people, or trans people, or being attracted to fucking fictional characters. Which is wild! I don't know what a realistic solution would be, besides better and more easily accessible sexual education? De-stigmatising paraphilias and the people that have them? Less censorship of sex and sexuality in general?

Exactly!! And people don't understand that being anti harmful paraphilia is the equivalent of being anti, like, any sexual disorder. It's weird as hell.

#tw paraphilia #paraphilia #paraphile safe #paraphiles please interact #anti contact

[yeetawaylikes]

“Roses”

Originally by ABDL Story Forum user Satyr

Chapter 1: The Rules

“Here are the rules,” she said. “There will be no sex. No unnecessary touching of privates. You may undress me as part of your… play, and feel free to admire my body, but look with your eyes, not your hands or, god forbid, your dick. Got it?”

Jonathan nodded. “Of course.”

“Good. Everything will happen in private. If you want to do public play, we will renegotiate. If at any point I say the word ‘roses,’ you will immediately stop whatever you’re doing. Oh, and I take payment in advance.”

He nodded again. “Absolutely. I won’t hurt you. Quite the opposite. I want to take care of you. That’s kind of my thing.” Jonathan handed her the cash, and she put it away in her purse.

“Okay, then the formal shit is taken care of. I’m yours until tomorrow morning, unless you break our contract. Starting now.”

Jonathan beamed a wide smile at her. “Now, now. Little girls don’t use dirty words, do they?”

Eliza blushed. It was a genuine blush, too. Fuck. I’m screwing up already. “Sorry,” she said, casting her glance downward to the floor. “I’ve never catered to this particular kink before. It’ll probably take me a little while to properly get into the role.”

Eliza had been a sex worker for the past two years, after she finished college. She’d done porn for some minor producers, and a few times, she’d straight up sold sex. Eliza loved the idea of it: she was the kind of woman who in earlier times might have been referred to a psychiatrist for nymphomania, and today would be known as a slut. But why shouldn’t she have lots of sex if she wanted to? The idea of selling herself, not because anyone forced her to, but because she could and wanted to, was both liberating and, in a naughty taboo kind of way, incredibly sexy. That was the idea of it, though. In practice, having to deal with her customers so intimately—the fat and ugly and smelly ones, as well as the ones who looked like they might be carrying super-AIDS—was far from sexy. Just when she’d thought it might be best to give up the whole prostitute thing as an expression of youthful experimentation, she’d lucked into meeting a couple clients who had more particular desires. Ones that didn’t even want to fuck her. They were content to fondle her feet or tie her up and mock her, or force her to strip naked and do household chores while they watched. She was still   selling herself, but it had been eight months since she’d actually sold sex.

What do you really want? She thought, looking over at Jonathan. All her clients wanted things they couldn’t or wouldn’t express, and if she did those things, they were on the hook as regulars. The man sitting across from her on the couch was her newest client, and definitely the wealthiest. Jonathan was in his early thirties, mop of brown hair and nerdy glasses, but he wore a businessman’s suit. He was the founder of a tech startup that had been bought up by Google for an undisclosed, enormous sum, and now he lived an early retirement in a swanky suburban mansion.

“That’s okay,” Jonathan said. He was sweating, she noticed. Eliza moved to sit beside him.

“First time paying for this kind of thing?” She asked.

He squirmed on the couch, as if he were a schoolboy who hadn’t done his homework. Eliza laughed. “It’s okay. Everyone is nervous the first time. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. What I’ll usually do is, I make us a drink, and then we just get to know each other a little before the roleplaying begins in earnest. Would you like a drink?”

Jonathan blushed, then he nodded. As Eliza rose, about to ask him where he stored his liquor, she heard a cough behind her. “I…” He began. Oh, spit it out! She thought. Is he going to be one of those guys who loses the faculty of speech once he has a girl over? She’d had some clients who panicked once their biggest fantasy was about to become real. Guys who clearly had very little experience with real women, and when faced with one, one whom they’d paid to be theirs for the night, it was all too much to them. Some of them she’d ended up simply talking to all night. Fortunately, Jonathan only needed two tries before he spoke. He grabbed her hand and held her back, gently but firmly. “I have a few rules of my own, young lady.”

Eliza turned around to face him. “Yes?” She said, trying her best to sound as innocent as she believed he wanted her to be.

“First of all, only grown-ups are allowed in the liquor cabinet.” He was trying very hard to sound authoritative, and it was working about halfway into rule number one, but then his voice faltered. Eliza found it endearing. She didn’t know much about his kink, so he would have to teach her, but on the other hand, he clearly didn’t know much about being a Dom in practice, so maybe they’d have to learn together. “But, uh… I could use a drink. Wait here a minute.”

She glanced around the room while he was gone. On the walls hung posters of old 1960s rock artists, neatly framed; there was a large wall-mounted TV; on the living room table lay a couple of coffee table type art books. Jonathan appeared to be a bit of a neat freak, if the order and cleanliness of his house was any indication. He reappeared with a glass of what appeared to be whiskey in one hand, and a juice box in the other. “I thought it was more appropriate for someone your age,” he said, handing her the juice box. Eliza smiled. She was a little embarrassed, but that feeling was also turning her on a little. If this is your fix, I’ll gladly take your money and do it again some other time. She inserted the straw and began sucking on it, looking him in the eyes as she did so.

“Are you thinking dirty thoughts, little one?” He asked.

Eliza nodded. Seductively, she hoped. Jonathan appeared to be getting into the role, and this was a crucial period. If he just warmed up to the feeling of authority, and she didn’t mess up and challenge that authority until he was confident enough to put her in her place, this was going to work out very well.

“When you grow up, maybe you can do something about that, but until then, you just enjoy your juice box, sweetie,” he said.

Eliza moved closer to him, then she whispered in his ear: “May I sit on your lap?”

He pulled her in. Eliza was rather short, which no doubt played into his fantasy. There were certainly call girls out there with bigger boobs, but she had a feeling that would have been inappropriate for his particular kink.

“Now, kitten, for rule two. You are only allowed in the bathroom under the supervision of an adult. I’m very strict on that. Are we clear?”

Eliza nodded, and couldn’t help but notice a twinge in her bladder. She’d suspected something like this, but the reality of it, what it might entail, had remained a little abstract to her. “When we finish our drinks, why don’t we get you changed into something a little more appropriate?”

Shit. Fuck. “I… I didn’t bring anything,” she said.

He began stroking her hair. “Don’t worry, I’m well prepared.” She closed her eyes and allowed herself to be stroked, trying to find the calm within herself. Trying to become what he wanted her to be. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me! It’s not bedtime yet. If you fall asleep now, I’m gonna have a hell of a time getting you to go to sleep tonight, aren’t I?”

Eliza blushed. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just so calming when you stroke my hair.”

“Why don’t we go change right now,” Jonathan suggested. Eliza got up from his lap and offered him her hand. He took it and led her upstairs to his bedroom. On the king sized bed lay a denim romper with snaps in the crotch. And was that…? “Oh, that,” Jonathan said, following her gaze. “That’s not a problem for you, is it?” It was, indeed, a diaper. Or, rather, one of those pull-on absorbent training pants for older kids. She shook her head. It was covered in her fee, if that’s what got him going.

“That’s just in case,” Jonathan said. “Let’s leave it be for now. I know that some little girls have potty problems, but some are properly potty trained. Are you, kitten?” Eliza blushed and nodded. Of course she was. Well, fuck me. On second thought, maybe he wanted me to say no? “Well, then. I’ll give you a chance in panties, then. Don’t disappoint me now. I don’t want to be cleaning up any puddles on the floor. Okay. Let’s get you out of those clothes, they look silly on a little girl.” He indicated for Eliza to raise her arms, and she did. Swiftly, he hoisted her Metallica t-shirt off. Then came her jeans, which she allowed him to undo, one button at a time, and then she pulled them down and stepped out of them. Eliza felt a chill in her bones. The room was a little cold, but also, this was the moment of truth. Soon she’d be naked in front of a near-total stranger who had engaged her to fulfill his sexual fantasies. Eliza had no shame about showing off her body, but there was always the possibility that—despite what they’d agreed on—Jonathan might get handsy once she stood naked in front of him. He didn’t seem like the type, though. Jonathan seemed  like he genuinely wanted to care for her as if she were a child, and she didn’t think child molestation was part of the fantasy.

Jonathan walked behind her and unclasped her bra. “Little girls don’t need bras. You barely have any breasts to be holding up!” He laughed.

“Say what?” She couldn’t help it. She may be small, but those were still some premium grade boobs, mister.

“Good, good,” Jonathan said. He was in front of her now, admiring her naked chest. “I’m sorry, I’m just getting into character. And I want you to be a bit spunky, to resist me a little, you know? Little girls aren’t always well behaved.”

Eliza took the hint. She stamped a foot on the floor. “I do not have a flat chest. You’re just a big meanie.” She stuck her tongue out, to emphasize that her little outburst was part of the act.

“Watch your tongue,” Jonathan said. He sized her up. “No, those panties won’t do.” They were black silk, bikini style. “Don’t worry, I have something a little more appropriate for you.” He rummaged in a closet and found a pair of pink panties with a teddy bear print on them, and a t-shirt with the same motif. “Do you need any help, or can you put them on yourself, sweetie?”

“I… Maybe a little bit of help?” Eliza allowed him to lower her panties, giving him a glance of her pussy, but he only took a quick peek before sliding up her new panties. She shifted a little. The coffee with breakfast, then water on the way down, and then juice were all making their way to her bladder. After the panties came the t-shirt over her otherwise bare chest, and then the romper. Jonathan made sure everything fit snugly—and it did, surprisingly—but his hands didn’t linger too long in any sensitive areas. Eliza did a little pirouette to show off her new costume, which had shaved off at least six years of her apparent age, if not eight or ten. Although she was still clearly a young woman in immature clothing, she looked closer to sixteen than to twenty-four.

“Uh, about the bathroom,” Eliza said. “Could you show me the way? I kind of have to pee.”

“But you have to see all the fun stuff I’ve prepared for you!” Jonathan exclaimed. He took her hand and led her downstairs, and she offered no further protest. Perhaps he wants me to pee my pants. Perhaps he really wants an excuse to put me in diapers. Jonathan hadn’t been quite clear on what age he wanted her to be. A little girl, he’d said. A little girl to take care of. But did that mean six or two? Was she supposed to be a first grader or a babbling baby? Hopefully not the latter, because she’d be bored out of her mind if she wasn’t at least allowed to talk. And she didn’t think she could do baby convincingly, either. First grader was more like it. But was she a first grader with “potty problems?” Eliza tried to cross her legs, but Jonathan dragged her along to a room adjacent to the living room. It was more of a lounge, with bean bags and a few reclining chairs, and on one of the walls hung a canvas that looked like it might be part of a home cinema setup. There was a little table in a corner, and Jonathan led her to it. “I’ve got some coloring books, stickers, glue, and glitter. Why don’t you have some fun with that? I’ll be right here, reading a book.” He indicated one of the chairs.

“But I need to pee!” She protested. Her bladder was rather uncomfortable, and the desperation could be heard in her voice. It was a child’s whine. Inwardly, she smiled. He must be loving this.

“I was really looking forward to some quiet reading. The bathroom is upstairs. Why didn’t you say something before?”

“I did!”

“Hmm,” Jonathan said. “I must have missed it. Well, if it’s an emergency, I’ll take you. If it can wait, we’ll do it after.”

Does he want me to say I can hold it? And if I do, does he want me to actually hold it, or does he want me to have an accident? She was a little concerned about ruining the clothes he’d clearly bought just for this occasion. Surely he didn’t have more than one “little girl” uniform laying around, and if she peed in this one, well, she’d have to use her regular clothes, which might break the spell. She’d have to find a way to broach it in character.

“I’m a big girl!” She said, and pointed to herself. “I can hold it all day.” Then she crossed her legs, both because she really did need to pee, and for show. “But… Just in case I can’t, maybe I should go. I don’t want to ruin my new clothes.”

Jonathan hugged her. “Don’t you worry about that, dear,” he said. “Clothes can be washed. And there’s more where those came from.”

Eliza considered her options. In her occupation, intuition was king. She needed to be both a sex object and a mind-reader, sussing out what her clients really wanted, deep down. Going out of character unless absolutely necessary would kill the fantasy. Considering Jonathan had gone to the trouble of buying diapers for her, it would be a shame if he didn’t get to put her in them. Eliza had never done any pee play; hardcore watersports, like drinking pee or having someone pee in your face, rather disgusted her. But the idea of peeing her pants, while not something she’d ever done before, seemed rather harmless. She could maybe let out a tiny bit, just enough for it to show on her clothes, and then Jonathan would get to punish her for it. Eliza spread her legs a little and tried to think of dripping water, Niagara falls, but nothing came out. Guess I’m just too well trained, she thought.

“Okay, you can read your book,” she said. “But promise to take me soon?”

“All right, kitten,” Jonathan said.

Eliza sat down and looked over the supplies he’d given her. Frankly, coloring books and glitter and stickers looked boring as fuck. She tried to look for her inner child, but apparently it had gone into hiding. There was nothing redeeming about coloring books. But considering the pay, she’d bloody well put up with it. I could be getting fucked in the ass by a 300 pound cave dweller, she thought. Instead, I’m getting paid three times as much to have someone attend to my needs, look after me like a daughter, and all I need to do is play with glitter and try not to look bored. Eliza picked up a crayon and began coloring. She debated whether she should color outside the lines like a child, but settled on meticulously coloring within them. That way, she could at least devote a little bit of brain power to the task at hand. Maybe Jonathan would hang it on his fridge. The page she was working on had a castle with turrets, a drawbridge, a fairy and an adventurer carrying a sword. It reminded her of Ocarina of Time, so the swordsman had to be green.

She crossed and uncrossed her legs under the table. Maybe if she pushed a little on her bladder, that would be enough to squirt out a little bit, and then she could ask Jonathan to take her to the bathroom. She spread her legs and pushed on her abdomen. For a moment, her muscles resisted, but then Eliza felt her new panties warm to a trickle of pee. It was a strange feeling. She couldn’t remember the last time she peed herself. Probably when she was around the age she was playing at now. Eliza had a rather small bladder, but she’d learned early on to compensate with frequent trips to the toilet. She put a hand in her lap; it touched wet fabric. Satisfied that her little “accident” would be visible to Jonathan, she clamped shut. That is, she tried to clamp shut. But she had left the floodgates open too long, and now she couldn’t stop. Eliza let out a little yelp of despair as her ass began to get soaked. She twisted her legs and pushed on her crotch with both hands, but the pee kept coming, pooling between her legs and running up her lap and down her thighs.

Jonathan was there in a flash. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” He asked. There was genuine alarm in his voice, like he couldn’t tell if this was still pretend, or perhaps he was so deep in character that it didn’t matter.

“I…” The hiss as she peed herself was so loud in her ears, she was sure he must hear it. Perhaps he was simply too polite to say anything, or perhaps she was simply hyperaware. She waited until she was done, and then she hung her head. “I peed.”

“You peed?” Jonathan looked confused.

“It was an accident.” Eliza stood up to show him. When she did, some urine spilled over the chair and splashed on the floor. She was soaked down to her knees, and her ass was sopping wet. It was uncomfortable, perhaps mostly due to embarrassment. She had meant to pee, yes, but then she couldn’t stop and it turned into a real accident. Eliza was sure she was red as a stoplight. The embarrassment did, however, allow her to more easily slip deeper into the role. It felt natural to ask, “Can you please not be mad?”

Jonathan shook his head. “Of course I’m not mad. But I thought you said you could hold it?”

“I totally can. It was just an accident.” She looked down at the puddle she’d made. Eliza was amazed she’d managed to hold that much in the first place. “But can you please help me clean up? It’s yucky.”

Jonathan was easily a foot taller than her. Before she knew it, he’d swept her off her feet and began carrying her upstairs. “Eliza, sweetie, you should have said it was an emergency.”

“I was having too much fun playing,” she lied. Eliza buried her head in his shoulder. This was supposed to make her feel safe. Little Eliza would feel safe in Jonathan’s arms, in his shoulder. He smelled of aftershave. She closed her eyes, and again she felt the lack of proper sleep the night before catching up with her. Before she knew it, Jonathan was gently putting her down on the floor. It was a large bathroom, all in marble, with a big tub in one corner and a shower in the other. Each could fit at least two, if not three adults. Besides that there was room for a washer, drier, and toilet. She felt like she were standing in a cathedral of glass and marble. Although the downstairs rooms looked middle class, this bathroom screamed rich.

“Let’s get those icky clothes off,” Jonathan said, and began undoing her romper. His gaze lingered for a moment on her wet ass. She wiggled her bum, and he gave it a slap. “Don’t show off,” he said, although his continued staring at her told her he didn’t really mean it. “Are you proud to be going potty in your pants?”

“No, Jonathan,” she said. Is that how he wants to be addressed? Some clients preferred Sir or Master. Others had bizarre alter egos they liked to roleplay. Who was Little Eliza to him? His daughter, his niece, his student in first grade? She leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Is that what you want me to call you? Or is there something else?”

He thought for a moment. “Ideally, I’d like to be called Daddy. But I think that’s something I need to earn first. In the meantime, you can call me John or Jonathan.”

“Okay, John. Please get these icky clothes off me.” He did as asked.

“I was going to do this before bed, but I think I’m going to run you a bath. With bubbles. How does that sound?” He asked.

“I’d like that.” She was now naked, the wet clothes in a pile on the floor. Jonathan opened the faucet and began running a bath. The tub looked inviting, and she was a bit cold, so she climbed in.

“I’ll go get some dry and clean clothes. You just stay right here, pumpkin.”

Eliza leaned back and closed her eyes. Jonathan had to be the sweetest client she’d ever had, and his fantasies the most innocent. She was short, slim and just the right amount of curvy, yet her wet panties seemed to interest him more than her pussy. He clearly enjoyed looking at her, but he could be doing so much more. The roleplay seemed to be doing it for him. His comment about wanting to earn the name “Daddy” gave her a pang of guilt. Am I exploiting him? It seemed like his brand of kink required an intimate connection with another person. Although all kinky play requires a big degree of trust from both parties, many people enjoy a casual spanking. John, on the other hand, didn’t seem like the type who’d go to a BDSM party and tie someone up for the evening, then never see them again. He really just wanted a girlfriend he could cuddle at night.

Jonathan sidled up by the tub and poured something into the water, and soon enough, she was covered up by a layer of foam. “Stop me if I’m going too far,” Eliza said. “But your kink strikes me as the kind best practiced in a committed relationship.” Her eyes were still closed, and she found herself enjoying his tender touch as he began rubbing shampoo into her hair.

Jonathan sighed. “You could say that,” he said. “But there aren’t many girls out there as lovely as you.”

“That’s sweet of you to say,” she said. “But I’m sure there’s someone out there for you. Successful businessman, and probably the sweetest client I’ve had to boot.”

“I imagine you run into some brutes in your profession.”

She thought it over. No, no one had ever disrespected her boundaries. “It depends,” she said. “I’ve been careful. Maybe a little lucky. No one ever laid their hands on me—except in the ways we’d discussed beforehand. I’m not a street walker. I mean, no disrespect to those girls. I’m just saying, what they do is a lot more dangerous than what I do.” In the beginning, she relied on internet ads. Now, all her new clients were referrals. People who were recommended by someone she trusted. Jonathan had been vouched for by a business contact of hers, Jane, although she wasn’t quite clear on how they knew each other. She trusted her acquaintance, though.

“Come to think of it, how do you know Jane?” Eliza asked.

“Oh,” Jonathan said. “She’s my ex.”

“She’s your ex?” Eliza hadn’t expected that. Jane worked in the porn industry.

“Yeah. She said you might be able to, uh, fulfill the fantasies she couldn’t. I told her about my fetish. It didn’t go so well.”

“I’m sorry,” Eliza said. “Is that why you guys broke up?”

“Yes and no. It put more strain on a strained relationship. After a while we both decided it was for the best to call it quits. Well, she decided. I acquiesced.”

Eliza opened her eyes, reached over the edge of the tub and gave him a hug. Foamy water splashed all over his shirt. He didn’t seem to mind. Eliza held the hug, and then she began rubbing his back, leaving wet fingerprints on his button-down. Finally, he separated himself. His eyes were watery. He rose and attempted to straightened himself up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m getting a little emotional. I suppose emotional isn’t in the job description.”

“No, no,” Eliza said. “It was my mistake. I pushed too far.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, little one,” he said, in an apparent attempt to regain his authority. He was really such a sweetheart. “Let’s get you dried and into some clean clothes.” He offered her a hand as she stepped out of the bathtub. Then he began rubbing her dry with a huge towel. She felt very small, like she was disappearing into the towel. He rubbed her all over to get her dry, and she felt herself getting a little aroused as he worked on her breasts and between her legs. Jonathan was just drying her off—he showed no signs of being aroused himself. But she found herself wishing he’d give a little special attention to her special areas.

Satisfied that she was dry, Jonathan turned around to pick up her new clothes. A dress, with a childish floral print in yellow. He must have gone on quite a shopping spree in preparation, she mused. “Now, pumpkin, I told you I wanted to give you a bath before bed. Remind me, why did we have to do it early?”

Eliza blushed. He wants to hear me say it. He wants to humiliate me. Humiliation, as it happened, was one of her own kinks. She loved to hate it. “Because I had an accident,” she said.

“Oh?” He looked at her expectantly. What is it he wants me to say? “What kind of accident? Did you fall and scrub your knee?”

Eliza hid her face behind the towel. She was deliciously embarrassed. “Noooo,” she said. “Not that kinda accident.”

“What kind of accident did you have, then, sweetpea?”

“In my pants.” She pointed to the wet romper and panties, still on the floor. “I peed in my pants.”

“That’s right,” Jonathan said. “You said you were a big girl, but then you couldn’t make it to the bathroom. I gave you a chance at panties, but I don’t think you’re quite big enough for them. I can’t trust that you’ll be able to keep them dry.”

“I AM a big girl!” Eliza said, stomping her foot on the ground. That was a mistake. The tiles were wet, and she slipped and lost her footing. For a terrifying moment, she saw the tiles rush up toward her head, but then Jonathan was there and grabbed her before she faceplanted into the floor.

“Careful, honey, the floor is wet,” Jonathan said. “One day you’ll be a big girl. But until then…” He held up the pull-up diaper she’d seen in his bedroom earlier.

“No fair,” Eliza said. “It was only one accident.”

“Well, just in case,” Jonathan said.

There it was. She knew what she’d signed up for, but the reality of it still hit her like a brick. Eliza had let herself be degraded for money before, but she had never imagined herself ever having to wear a diaper. And not just because she was paid to do it. No, she had actually peed her pants and earned it. She blushed again at the thought. The humiliation was getting her wet in a different way. When she began peeing, it had been on purpose. But then it wasn’t on purpose anymore. She’d really tried to stop, and found she couldn’t. In a way, she did really have an accident, just like a little girl. Does he want me to protest? He did say earlier that he wanted her to disobey. “NO,” she said. “I’m a BIG GIRL and BIG GIRLS don’t wear diapers.”

Jonathan looked at her sternly. “Do you want to earn yourself a spanking, little missy?” He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone said that he wasn’t kidding.

“FINE,” Eliza said, in her best petulant child voice. “But only this once. And I’m going to prove to you that I don’t need it.”

“Very well,” Jonathan said. He looked down at his watch. “It’s only 3 PM. If you can keep this one dry until seven, you can have panties for the rest of the night.” Four hours? She could do that. He helped her step into the diaper and slid it up her hips. The feeling of padding between her legs was odd, but the shape of it was more like a pair of extra-thick panties than a diaper. She gingerly took a few steps. There was a soft rustle as she walked, but it was barely audible. She could feel the fabric absorbing some moisture from between her legs.

“Now, this one isn’t very thick. It’s made for little girls who are potty training. So you need to tell me when you need to go potty, because this diaper can’t take a flood like the one you unleashed in your pants.” Touché. “And it’s very important that you tell me if you need to go number two, because this one is only designed for pee.”

Number two? Good god. The thought of it had her reeling. Peeing was one thing, she could do that. But under no circumstances would she have anything to do with poop. She had a strong anti-scat policy. “Yes, John,” she said. “I’m going to tell you when I need to go.” It occurred to her that the toilet was off limits without “adult supervision.” Did he expect her to poop while he watched? Open as she was about her body, she didn’t think she could do that. She’d just have to hold it if it came to that.

Chapter 2: Medium Rare

Jonathan helped her into the dress, and she twirled around, giving him a peek upskirt. He nodded. “You look stunning,” he said.

“Thank you.” He led her hand in hand downstairs. “Are you hungry yet?” He asked. “I could go for some food right about now.” Her stomach grumbled in sympathy. She hadn’t eaten since early that morning.

“Sure,” Eliza said.

“I was thinking steak and pepper sauce,” said John. “It’s a little early for such a heavy meal, so maybe we should stretch it an hour, but I haven’t eaten since breakfast, so I’d like to eat soon. You know, I would take you to a nice restaurant, but we agreed not to go out in public.”

Eliza nodded. “Maybe some other time.” Seeding another appointment, she thought. It was somewhat cynical of her, but she felt it was entirely natural. She was only being honest. “You’re welcome to take me out, but we’d have to suspend the roleplay. But I don’t mind a nice home-cooked meal.”

Jonathan smiled. “I’m an excellent cook.”

“Maybe we could just cuddle and watch some TV to kill time,” Eliza suggested. “I love it when you stroke my hair.”

Jonathan seated himself on the coach and switched on some mindless reality show. The kind where there is no real goal, except for the contestants to back-stab each other as much as possible—when they’re not having sex, and solemnly swearing they never imagined they would be doing it on television, it just happened, because he or she’s the one. Eliza curled up beside him, and he obediently began stroking her hair. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine that he was her boyfriend, a trick she used whenever a client wanted romance rather than straight sex. It wasn’t hard  to see this kind, caring and wealthy bachelor as a partner in another life. Eliza had a strict policy of separating business and pleasure—it wasn’t like she were actually falling for him. But with closed eyes, she could pretend. When she lay still, she hardly even noticed the difference in her underwear, but whenever she moved, the padding pushed into her and reminded her of what a little girl she was supposed to be.

Before she knew it, she was dreaming. The imagery faded as soon as Jonathan nudged her awake, but it had been a pleasant dream. “Hey, I didn’t say you could nap,” John said.

Eliza rubbed her eyes. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t sleep much last night. I’ll be a good girl and go to sleep for bedtime, that’s a promise.”

“I think it’s time for dinner,” John said. “Would you like to continue coloring for me, or would you like to help me cook?”

She told him she wanted to cook. Eliza had had enough coloring for one day. She needed some kind of stimulation. Pleasant though it was, life as a little girl was rather boring. One downside of her more romantic appointments was that they didn’t provide the same level of excitement as a sexual session. Her clients rarely knew how to inject excitement into a date.  But as soon as she’d finished that train of thought, John was over her, pinning her down on the coach, and then he was tickling her. “Eeee!” She squeaked. It was unexpected, but she didn’t protest. She tried to contort her body so he couldn’t get to her most ticklish spots, but he was devious. One fake maneuver toward her armpits, and then he was lifting up the front of her dress, and for a moment she thought he was going to stick a hand down her diaper—but then he was blowing raspberries on her stomach, and Eliza couldn’t help but laugh. When she did, she let down her defenses up top, and he started on her armpits, the most ticklish spot on her body.

“Aaaah!” She said, laughing all the while. “Stop! Stop! I’m gonna pee!” She struggled to close her legs, but then he was tickling her under her feet, and she had to open them, and almost kicked him in the nose, barely missing his glasses. “I mean it! I’m ahhhahaaa—I’m gonna pee myself!”

He let up. “Let’s get you to the bathroom before it’s too late, then,” he said.

Eliza was red-faced and panting, exhausted from the assault of tickles. Her breath was heavy, and her chest was hurting from all the laughing, but her smile was genuine. None of her clients ever got into tickle fights with her. Hell, it was even a little bit hot. She’d experimented with forced orgasms using a vibrator and a willing, non-paid partner, and tickling was similarly painful and pleasant at the same time. But she didn’t want to pee herself. Eliza wanted to prove to John that she could last until seven. A little silly, she realized. She was an adult and had never peed her pants by accident, not since she was a toddler. Big Eliza, the sex worker, had nothing to prove. But Little Eliza certainly did, after her embarrassing accident earlier.

“I don’t really need to go,” she managed, after she regained her breath. “It’s just when you tickle me, I can’t control it.”

“Well, let’s try anyway. I can’t leave the kitchen once the plates are hot and things are cooking to take you to the bathroom, now can I? Here is a potty training lesson. When you know you won’t be able to go to the potty for a while, it’s smart to go before, just in case.” He offered a hand and led her upstairs. She followed, a light rustling of her underwear probably only audible to herself.

“Okay, down she goes,” John said, lowering her pull-up, “and up she goes!” Eliza allowed herself to  be hoisted up on the toilet. “See if you can make a little tinkle for me.”

She tried, but nothing came out. Eliza wasn’t normally pee shy, but something about the situation made her clam up. “I can’t,” she said.

“Maybe if I turn on the tap?” John offered. Eliza closed her eyes and listened to the stream of water splashing into the sink. Finally, a slight tinkle began. “Good girl!” John said. “Now, do you know how to wipe, Eliza?”

Of course she did. And they had agreed on no touching in that area. Eliza found herself aching for some touch down there. The whole evening had been a long series of humiliations, and that was the sort of stuff that got her going. She’d never imagined herself being into this stuff, and to be honest, she couldn’t ever see herself roleplaying a little girl for her own pleasure. But the roleplay did facilitate humiliation, and that had her loins all wet and slippery. No. It might set a bad precedent. We’ll have to renegotiate. On the other hand… She did say no unnecessary touching of privates, did she not? What if it were necessary? She did allow him to clean her in the bath and dry her off, all over her body.

“Uh… Maybe you could show me?” She bit her lip and looked him in the eye. For a brief moment, he blushed, a little flustered, but then he was back in control.

“Of course, baby,” John said. “It’s very important that you keep clean down there, so you don’t get any nasty infections. You don’t want that, do you, Eliza?”

She shook her head.

John ceremoniously grabbed a piece of toilet paper. It was four-ply, premium quality, soft as silk. Eliza considered expensive toilet paper to be literally throwing money down the toilet, so she always went for the cheap stuff. Apparently, she didn’t know what she was missing. When John wiped her down, it was like being wrapped in a blanket of good emotions. “Teehee, it tickles,” she said.

“Oh,” said John. “I don’t think little girls need to think about that.”

Eliza was a little disappointed. “There, all done,” John said, and helped her slide the diaper up her hips. “Now let’s go cook some dinner.”

They entered a kitchen decked out with all the newest in stainless steel and Swedish design. It looked like something out of an unusually upscale IKEA catalog. There was a double-door refrigerator, two hypermodern stoves with electronic displays and more dials and buttons than Eliza’s laptop. “I’m afraid little girls and hot stoves don’t go well together,” John said. “But you can ready the table. Plates are over there,” he indicated the top of a tall cabinet, “and cutlery over there.”

Eliza tried to reach the shelf, but even on the tips of her toes, she wasn’t tall enough. The kitchen was clearly designed for someone John’s size. “I can’t reach up there,” she said.

“Silly me,” John said. He grabbed some plates and glasses, and she decked out the table. Then he kept her busy grabbing ingredients and explaining every step of the cooking process, just as if she were in grade school. It wasn’t the world’s most complicated meal, and Eliza was sure she could’ve managed it on her own. But she allowed him to teach her.

The meal was delicious. Medium rare steak, pepper sauce and cooked potatoes. Anything would have been good at this stage; it was close to five and she hadn’t eaten since around nine in the morning. But John wasn’t lying when he said he was a good cook.

Eliza tried to imagine herself as a young child. She deliberately missed with her fork, allowing some sauce to spill onto her face. Once she was done eating, John playfully scolded her for being a messy eater, and wiped it all away. “We’ll have to teach you some table manner,” he said, and laughed.

With the weight of a full belly, her tiredness returned. She wasn’t sure if she could keep her promise of staying awake until bedtime. When was that, anyway?

John led them back into the living room. She curled up on the coach, and he handed her a blanket. Eliza yawned. “I’m gonna stay awake, promise,” she said, by way of apology. He sat down beside her.

“It wasn’t easy,” John said. “Telling my ex about this fetish.” He stroked her hair. It was auburn, flowing down to her chest in curlicues. “I always knew, kind of. I always enjoyed caring for my baby brother, but not in a sexual way, of course. And then when I hit my teens, I would see these cute girls, and the guys would be like, ‘Damn, I’d like to fuck her.’ Behind her back, of course. And I’d go, ‘Yeah, man, you got it.’ But inwardly I’d be thinking, ‘I’d love to take her home, kiss her forehead and tuck her in.’”

“So it isn’t sexual at all for you?” Eliza said.

Jonathan blushed.

“Don’t think I haven’t caught you looking at me that way,” Eliza said. “It’s no big deal. I’m hiring out my body, after all. Feel free to think any dirty thoughts you want, as long as you don’t act out anything we didn’t agree on.”

He resumed stroking her hair. “Oh, Eliza. I have to admit, you’re stunning. And I could see myself in bed with you, having some adult fun. But I’m perfectly happy caring for you without touching you inappropriately. The truth is, when I look at you right now, I see a child and a woman at the same time. I’m attracted to the woman as a woman to do man-and-woman stuff with, and to the child as a child to care for.”

Eliza sat up. She didn’t want to pry into his evidently difficult feelings toward his ex, but he was the one to bring it up. She was curious. “So I take it your ex didn’t take the news very well?”

“I was a stuttering mess. I think if I’d proudly stated my preferences like they were no big deal, maybe things would have gone over differently. But I acted like I was ashamed of it, and so she assumed it was shameful.”

Eliza nodded. “Yeah,” she said, her sleepiness somewhat slurring her words and dragging them out. “I find that people almost always adopt the attitude that you project to the world. Act confident, they will see you as confident. Act ashamed, they will assume you have good reason for it and pile on with the shaming.”

“Jane told me maybe she could help me get over it,” John said. “Maybe there was some other fantasy we could act out that would make me forget all about little girls and diapers and all that. She offered anal. She even hinted that a threesome might be on the horizon, she had some open-minded friends—Jane is in the porn biz, after all. But once it became clear that it wasn’t a phase and it wasn’t something that would ever go away, it became a constant source of conflict. She just couldn’t deal with the fact that I was fantasizing about her as a little girl—I mean, as an adult acting like one, not that I was jerking off to her childhood portraits or something.”

“I’m sorry,” said Eliza.

“But she led me to you,” Jonathan said. “Jane told me you might be open to something like this.”

“I’m all yours, until tomorrow morning.”

Suddenly, his hand was under her skirt. He pushed against the dry padding of her crotch, but then he withdrew his hand as quickly as he put it up there. “Just checking,” he said. “Don’t want you leaking on the couch.”

Eliza wiggled free of him. “I’m a big girl and I don’t need this thing,” she said, lifting her skirt to indicate the diaper. The bottom of her breasts peaked out, giving him a nice little underboob look. “I told you, I’m gonna keep dry until seven.”

“We’re almost there, kitten. Just tell me if you need to go potty.”

They sat in silence for a while on the coach. Again, Eliza’s eyes drooped, and she had to fight for them to stay open. “Hey, could you make some coffee or something? I’m almost falling asleep here,” Eliza said.

“I would, but not so close to bedtime. I don’t want my baby all hyper when she’s supposed to go to sleep.”

Eliza sank back into the couch.

“I can tell you’re bored. We’re supposed to have fun! Don’t you forget that. Little girls are allowed to be fussy if they’re understimulated. Not too fussy, of course, or I’ll have to take them over the knee,” John added. “Look, it’s almost seven o’clock. Come with me to the bathroom. If your pull-up is still dry, we can forget about your accident earlier”—a blush, at that—“and go back to panties. Come with me.”

Eliza stayed where she was. She felt as if she’d eaten a pot brownie, and now she was couchlocked. If only she had some sleep the night before. She’d been worried about finances. Her landlord had hiked up the rent, and if John had decided to cancel on her for some reason, she’d have been shit out of luck. She saw now that she needn’t have worried. His fee alone would cover a month’s rent and more, but she couldn’t have known that he wouldn’t back out. A few of her clients had done that. The idea of hiring a prostitute sounded appealing, but when it came to it, they didn’t have it in them. Society at large still frowns upon the practice, no matter how consensual it is. What she did was technically illegal, although her operation was luxurious and professional enough that, in practice, she was largely safe from law enforcement. But some of her clients, like John, were upper class with a reputation to protect. Some were so worried about being blackmailed, they demanded video footage of her conducting the transaction, themselves conveniently off screen, in order to have some dirt on her. Eliza refused such requests, of course. But no matter the validity of her concerns, they’d kept her up at night, and now she didn’t want to do anything but close her eyes and drift into sleep.

John picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. He was surprisingly strong for his lanky build. Then again, she was petite. John set her down in front of the toilet. “Okay, Eliza. Moment of truth. Did you have an accident, or are you still dry?”

“Still dry,” Eliza said, although her gaze was on the floor.

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I check?” He asked.

Eliza lifted her dress in response. John slipped a finger into the side of her diaper, although his fingers never strayed toward her pussy. “Almost completely dry,” He said.

“I was turned on for a bit,” Eliza said. “That doesn’t count.”

“I suppose not,” John said. “Okay. Do you want panties for the rest of the night?”

Eliza nodded. John disappeared for a moment, although he stopped in the doorway to assure her he wasn’t leaving her alone for more than a minute, as if she were a child with separation anxiety.

Once he was back, he made her try to pee in the toilet again. This time, she managed a little trickle without the aid of a running tap. Then he slipped on her panties, and a little bit of her adulthood was restored. The used diaper went in a separate trash can, she noted. John really was prepared for everything.

Eliza’s eyes were drooping. “John, please, I really need that coffee if I’m going to stay awake,” she said. “Pretty please? Just a little cup.”

“No,” he said plainly. “And I don’t want to hear any more about it. Stop nagging.”

Eliza stopped and resisted his attempt to lead her onwards. “Please,” she said again. “I’m so tired. Don’t you want me to stay awake and play with you?”

“Enough,” John said.

She tried one last time. “Please?”

John turned around. His demeanor had changed. His size advantage had made him feel like a big, strong protector, but now it felt like a threat. Eliza took a step back. His face was red, his mouth contorted into a frown. “Enough is enough. You will go stand in the corner for twenty minutes, and if I hear as much as a peep from you, you’re going over the knee. Is that clear?”

Eliza gave an uncertain nod. She had awakened the beast. Eliza hadn’t seen this side of John before. One part of her was terrified; the other, secretly excited. He was finally warming up to the role of the Dominant in their scene. “But what if I need to go to the bathroom?” Eliza asked. “May I speak then?”

“You just went,” he said curtly. “You can hold it for twenty minutes. You were so eager to prove that you belong in panties, so here’s your chance. Come to think of it, I don’t want you to get dehydrated. I’ll bring you a bottle of water, and I expect you to finish it by the time your timeout’s up.”

Time passed glacially in the corner. She stared at the off-white wall and tried to distract herself with happy thoughts, occasionally taking a sip of water. It was no use. Her punishment was boredom, and she deserved it. Little Eliza had pushed it too far. Although her eyes drooped, standing up kept her awake. She attempted to sit down, thinking perhaps she could sneak in a powernap while John wasn’t watching, but he told her to stand up immediately.

Eliza was frustrated, tired, and now her stomach was starting to hurt, too. What do babies do when they’re sick and tired and want to get their will? They cry. Eliza wasn’t much of an actor—well, that wasn’t true. She was very good at inhabiting the roles her clients wanted her to play, but that was the extent of her abilities. Eliza couldn’t cry on command. But right now, she felt very much the fussy baby, and focusing on her tired and frustrated state made her all the more upset. Once she added in the mental image of her true love dumping her—that was long ago, before she stopped believing there was one and only one person out there for her—she managed a little sniffle, and soon tears were rolling down her cheeks. Quickly, John was beside her.

“Baby, don’t cry. What is it?” He said. His tone had changed from stern to paternal concern.

“I’m tired. My tummy hurts. I don’t want to stand in this stupid corner anymore,” she said, between sniffles. All of which was true. That part wasn’t an act.

John looked her over. She was standing there in a juvenile summer dress, the one he had put her in after she peed in her first outfit of the day (second, really, since he had removed the one she came in). She had puffy eyes and drying tears down her cheeks. The sight of her so miserable seemed to break through his defenses. John squatted down beside her and gave her a hug. “Now, now, don’t cry, sweet child. I think you’ve learned your lesson about disobeying me. Haven’t you, kitten?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Eliza said.

Chapter 3: Sub Drop

Eliza didn’t know why she said it, but it seemed natural. John wanted to earn the title “daddy,” and in her eyes, he’d done so. His punishment and his compassion tipped the scales. John had shown all the qualities of a good Dom, and he’d picked them up quickly and naturally. Although she had never called a partner “daddy,” before—her preferred nomenclature in a BDSM scene being Sir or Master—if that was what, to him, represented the same as those names represented to her previous partners, then Daddy it was.

John separated himself from her for a moment. “Oh, baby,” he said. “Come on out of the corner. I think we can call an early bedtime soon, since you’re already tired and fussy. But there���s one more thing I want to do before bed. I’d like to read you a bedtime story. How does that sound?”

“I’d love that,” she said, and added, “Daddy.”

He led her upstairs to the bedroom. Then he bent down and rummaged under the bed. When he emerged, he held a large adult diaper, with a yellow stripe going up the crotch. “Now, you’ve been very good at going potty today, but you did have an accident earlier,” John said. “I know some little girls have trouble at night, so I think it’s best if we take our precautions. Do you know what the word ‘precautions’ means, sweetie?”

Eliza shook her head. “No, daddy.”

“It means we think about what might happen in the future, and then we do something to mitigate—to limit the damage if that thing were to happen. You’re so tired, I’m afraid you’ll fall asleep while I read you a story. Will you be a good girl and let me put it on you for bed?”

Eliza nodded. He laid out a towel on the bed, and she laid down. John slipped off her panties, and then he set to work on the diaper. He’d procured a white powder from somewhere, and proceeded to put some over her crotch, “to prevent rashes,” he said. Then he carefully taped her up and slipped off her dress. “This one’s designed to take anything you can throw at it and more. I have a washable mattress pad, too, so don’t worry about having an accident. You won’t ruin anything.”

Now she was sitting naked apart from a bulging adult diaper between her legs, in front of a man she met less than twenty-four hours ago. “I have some pajamas for you,” John said.

“I prefer to sleep in the nude,” Eliza said.

“Okay, pumpkin.”

Eliza looked down at the padding between her legs. This diaper was bulkier than the previous one, and its size made it impossible for her to ignore. Every movement, even lying completely still, it was there to remind her of how little Eliza was. “This one is boring,” Eliza said, pointing to the diaper. “Can we put stickers on it?”

“Excellent idea,” John said. “Let me just—”

But before he could do anything, Eliza had slipped off the bed and began running downstairs to grab the glittery stickers she’d been so reluctant to play with earlier. The diaper gave her a slight waddle, but she managed all right. On the way up, she met John in the stairwell.

“I don’t like it when you run off like that,” he said.

“I brought the stickers!” Eliza shoved them in his face. John grabbed them, then her, and carried both back into the bedroom. Eliza nuzzled into his neck and allowed her mind to drift, her consciousness to whittle down, and she was all but sleeping when he put her back into bed. John nudged her, and she woke up enough to grab a handful of stickers, placing them haphazardly on her diaper. It looked ridiculous. Very appropriate for Little Eliza.

John began reading her a fairy tale. Little Red Riding hood, with sound effects when the terrible wolf showed up. He rubbed her tummy as he read, and soon her eyes were closed, and then she was asleep.

It must be early morning when she woke. Jonathan was sleeping by her side. The room was too dark to see anything but rough outlines. Her crotch was hot and sweaty. But what woke her up was her stomach. The pain was back in force. There was no denying it. Eliza needed to poop.

She had a dilemma. Jonathan had laid down the rules: she wasn’t allowed to use the bathroom without his supervision. But she couldn’t see herself pooping in front of him. She just couldn’t. Eliza’s mind was locked and set. It was a mental block, but those are often harder than the physical ones. She didn’t think she could bear him looking at her, hearing her, smelling her go number two. On the other hand, she was hired to obey the rules. Bathroom control was within the limits of their agreement. Eliza was a professional. She had yet to break a contract and disobey the rules she’d agreed to obey, unless the other party broke their end of the deal first. This was a special case. Maybe she could sneak off and go while Jonathan was asleep. But then there was the issue of the diaper. She would have to remove it, of course. Eliza knew nothing about how adult diapers work, but as a general rule, tapes don’t stick as well once you untape them, if they stick at all. Maybe she could snag another diaper from the pack—surely there was a pack with more where this one came from—and hide the used one deep in a trashcan somewhere. He’d never notice.

Her stomach rumbled. She felt a pressure down there, had to squirm a bit to contain it. Eliza wasn’t sure if she could last until morning. The contract was twenty-four hours, do whatever you want to me and make me do anything you want, as long as it’s within the rules we agreed to. She’d arrived at eleven. Although there was a clock in the room, Eliza estimated that it couldn’t be much more than five in the morning, if that. Six more hours of this? It hurt, it was uncomfortable, it made her squirm. Eliza had to do something.

Silently, she slipped out of bed. Only a slight rustle between her legs betrayed her, but a snore from John confirmed that he didn’t notice a thing. Eliza got on her knees and rummaged around under the bed until she found her prize: a big pack of adult diapers. She snagged one out of the pack and pushed it back under the bed. Then there were the stickers. She must not forget them. John would be sure to check her in the morning. He seemed very fond of the checks. They afforded a legitimate reason to touch her between the legs, and even if he never strayed too far, she could tell he enjoyed it.

Silent as a mouse—a diaper-rustling mouse—Eliza tip-toed out of the bedroom, heading for the bathroom. When she reached the right door, a cramp hit her, and she had to bend down, diapered rump in the air, and clutch her abdomen. The cramp subsided, and she was able to stand up again.Why, oh why didn’t I add a “no poop” clause? The truth was, she hadn’t given the idea of actually using the diapers much thought beforehand, and it hadn’t occurred to her that she might need to go number two.

Eliza reached for the door. Locked. Fucking cock-sucking ass-licking satanic bullshit fuck fuck fuck. Her train of thought descended into a series of profanities and violent images. She banged on the door, knowing, of course, that no one was there. If anything, it would wake John up and her plan would fall to pieces. Defeated, she slid down onto the floor, clutching her stomach. Although she was in pain, she was also sleep deprived, still. Her eyes began to droop, and soon she was floating in and out of terrible dreams. Monsters were out to get her. Even worse, there were rows of toilet stalls, but every single one of them was empty. Not even a sign of plumbing, just empty toilet stalls, mocking her.

“Baby, what are you doing out here?”

Eliza was confused. It took her a minute to reorient herself. She was flat out on her stomach, on the carpet in front of the locked bathroom. Her padded butt was sticking up, and her joints hurt from lying in such an uncomfortable position. Her tummy hurt. Through sleepy eyes, she resolved the image of John, a shadowy figure that became clearer as he hoisted her to her feet. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He repeated.

Eliza didn’t even realize it, but she must have been crying. John held her in his arms, and she leaned in. Then another cramp hit, and she pushed away from him, arching her back and clenching with all her might. “My tummy hurts,” she said.

“Oh, sweetie, do you need to go to the toilet? Why didn’t you say so?”

“I don’t,” Eliza said. Her posture and potty dance belied her statement.

“Then why is your hand on your butt?” He said.

She had no answer to that.

“Come on, I’ll unlock the toilet and then you can go. I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“I can’t,” she said.

“Nonsense! It’s no trouble.”

Eliza shook her head. “It was just a bad dream. I sleepwalked. The tummy pain went away.” She was so close to relief, yet so far.

“What’s this, then?” John picked up the fresh diaper from the floor.

“I sleepwalked,” Eliza whispered again.

“Okay.” John had a look of gentle concern. “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to go to the bathroom?”

She shook her head.

“All right, baby. It’s only six, and a Sunday. I want to sleep in, at least until half past seven. That hardly qualifies as sleeping in, I guess, but you’re already awake. If you can manage it, I’d like to go back and slumber in bed for a while. I promise, I’ll protect you from bad dreams.” But will you protect me from pooping my pants? Five hours. Just five hours.

When she nodded in assent, he scooped her from the floor and carried her back to bed. Eliza tried to close her eyes and sleep, but the pressure in her abdomen and further down was too much. John seemed to be a deep sleeper, quick to fall asleep and sleep well. Before she knew it, he was snoring again. Eliza rubbed her stomach and wiggled around. No position was any good. No matter what she did, it hurt. She could only think of the toilet. The money. Yes. She could think about that instead. Her rent paid, with some extra spending money on top. All she had to do was not fuck up on the home stretch. Money. Toilet. Poop. Roses. No. Rent. Rules. Professional. Obey. Roses. Poop. Toilet. Obey. OBEY!

Eliza didn’t know how long she’d been lying there, fighting a desperate fight against her body and its natural needs. She wiggled, grabbed herself, clenched and fought. Her eyes were droopy, but every time she was about to slip into sleep, another cramp woke her up. The cramps were getting more frequent, and harder to fight. Then there was an enormous pressure, starting in her tummy, a painful push that stung like a bee, then fastened around her midsection as if there were a fist squeezing her from the inside. Tears were forming in her eyes, and the pain continued. Eliza arched her back and lifted her butt to alleviate the pressure, and now it was spreading, downwards, pushing towards her colon. The pressure was now localized, and the pain was unbearable. Her poor muscles. Roses. No. OBEY!

Eliza lost the fight. With her diapered ass raised, her body pushed, whether she wanted it to or not. The mess began slipping out her back, pushing against the padding and spreading outward, then drooping down. The pain lessened with each push, and she was so tired of it, so out of it, she willed herself to push harder, anything to make the pain stop. As she continued emptying herself out back, her bladder gave out as well, and a warmth spread in her front, further lessening the pressure. The pee spread up her crack, soaking into the thirsty material, and pushed back to meet up with the mess in the back. Utterly devastated and defeated, Eliza sank down and felt the mush squish further out into her back. Then the smell hit her. An awful stink, impossibly to ignore. A hundred farts in one. Eliza almost gagged. The pain was gone, but now it was replaced by shame.

What she’d just done was on the top three list of her hard NO’s. There was no way in hell she was ever incorporating poop into anything sexual. Two of her clients had asked, and she’d taken to handing out a sheet with a list of what she would very much like to do, what she was open to, and at the bottom, the things she would under no circumstances do, whether the price was a penny or the Tower of London. Never. It was her own stupid fault, too. Her stupid block about pooping in front of someone—even in public bathrooms, alone in a stall, she couldn’t do it, she’d rather be in pain until she was home—and her stupid professional pride. ROSES. That was all she’d have to say, and Jonathan would suspend the play and allow her to go do her business in peace. There was no doubt in Eliza’s mind that he’d comply instantly. Everything she’d seen from him indicated that he was one of the good guys. Eliza lay there, silent, not wanting to deal with what she’d inevitably have to deal with. Maybe if she ignored it, it would all go away.No. That’s Little Eliza talking. Your problems don’t disappear if you hide your face behind a stuffed animal.

Eliza didn’t know if it was the smell or her whimpers, but John woke up, and instantly, he knew.

“Oh no,” was the first thing he said. “Oh, Eliza, sweetie.”

He took her in his arms and held her, for a long time. Eliza attempted to mumble “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so stupid,” into his chest, but he shushed her and pacified her with little whispers and strokes of her hair. She didn’t have to think of anything sad to bring tears to her eyes. John wiped her tears away, and then he got out of bed. The smell filled the room like a cloud of shame.

“Let’s get you cleaned up right away,” John said. Quickly, he had his supplies ready, and then her butt was on a towel. He set about removing the tapes. The front was soaked, a blue stripe pointing to her belly button where a yellow one had been. John had her lift her butt into the air, and then he carefully slid the soiled diaper out from under her. Eliza didn’t dare to look at the mess. She closed her eyes as he used the front of the diaper to wipe away some of the dirtiness smeared all over her butt, and then he set about cleaning her with a bunch of wet wipes. The cold wipes gave her goosebumps. But the way he was cleaning her, the careful motions around her holes… Stupid brain. It was turning her on. Behind the shame was a layer of excitement. Eliza loved to be humiliated, but only on her own terms. Now that the acute phase of the shame was fading, she could see how this was the ultimate humiliation. An adult woman, pooping and peeing in her diaper and helplessly crying for Daddy to clean her up. No. This is stupid. It’s shameful. It’s no fun. It’s a hard limit, for fuck’s sake. And yet his motions were making her wet. It’s just mechanical stimulation. That’s it. Just like forced orgasms with a vibrator. Just like some rape victims get wet, and yet they hate it. Not that this is anything like rape—John isn’t doing anything he isn’t allowed to. He could be doing so much more to me right now. No. That was crazy talk. Bad precedent. Fucked up.

“I’m so sorry it came to this,” John said. “This isn’t acting, is it? You’re genuinely upset.”

Eliza nodded. His tone was soothing, like a real father talking to his infant daughter, although the words coming out of his mouth were those of one adult talking to another. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“No, it’s my stupid fault,” she said. “I could have said the safeword. I could have, but I didn’t. It’s just… I can’t do that in front of others. But then I ended up…” Her voice broke and she trailed off.

“I’m so sorry.” He was still cleaning her. Was she really that dirty? Eliza didn’t dare look. If she looked down and saw the mess with her own eyes, she might break down and cry again. Her back was arching a little more than it needed to. Willing or not, the stimulation was working.

“In the future, we’ll have to make a clause about situations like this.”

“In the future?” Eliza was surprised. She’d have thought he’d be too disgusted—that he was just being kind because he felt guilty, hiding his true feelings.

“I’m having the time of my life—I mean, I don’t enjoy seeing you hurt like this. I just mean, yesterday in general. You and me. I’d love to meet up again in the future. Hell, I’ll double the price, if that’s what it takes.”

Eliza opened her eyes. A peek downstairs: she was clean, and the dirty diaper was gone, hidden somewhere she wouldn’t see it. She certainly wasn’t about to go looking. He was still cleaning her, still tickling her in all the right places, but it seemed like he was doing it absentmindedly. John wasn’t turning her on on purpose, not for her pleasure or his. He was simply moving the wet wipe around as he was talking to her. Eliza thought for a moment. “Let’s say a 50 percent price hike,” she said. “That is, if you’re really not disgusted and just saying that to make me feel better. I can tell you’re a good guy.” A little moan escaped, and she reflexively covered her mouth. John didn’t seem to notice.

“Disgusted? Little one, how could I ever be disgusted by you? You’re the cutest girl in the universe.” Eliza blushed. Am I really lying here, enjoying this? Some of her clients were handsome businessmen—workouts five days a week, muscular chests, abs, pecs, biceps—probably too busy with their sixty hour work weeks to go out on the town and pick up a hot chick, although they certainly would be able to. She wasn’t foreign to the idea that paid sex could be good sex, for her too. Eliza had gotten into the business because she was a sexual creature, constantly craving stimulation. But to be so utterly degraded and yet to feel so good at the same time…

“You’re adorable,” John said. He was finally finished wiping, and taped her up in a new diaper as a matter of course. Eliza didn’t protest. Of course she should be diapered. She’d just emptied her bowels and bladder in her underwear. “You know what, I think we deserve breakfast in bed. How about some bacon and eggs?”

Eliza didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. “Daddy,” she said. “Daddy, please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, sweetie.” He climbed into bed beside her. As he did, she noticed for the first time that he was hard. It was impossible to hide in his tight-fitting boxers. Oh, well. What did she expect? Wasn’t she here to turn him on and fulfill his fantasies? “I think you should sleep a little more, kitten. I’ll stay here until you fall asleep, and then I’ll make breakfast and wake you up when it’s ready. Okay?”

She nodded. He put her head on his chest and she closed her eyes. Soon, she was drifting into sleep. She didn’t wake up when he slid out of bed, and he had to shake her gently to return her to the world of the waking. John had set two wooden trays on the covers, and on them, plates with bacon and eggs and white bread, and a glass of orange juice on the side. Eliza dug in. The smell of her mess was gone, replaced with a mix of something flowery—she suspected John had sprayed something in the air—and the delicious smell of warm, crispy bacon. Eliza wasn’t a vegetarian, exactly, but she mostly ate vegetables and fruit, rice and whole-grain bread. It helped her figure. Now she’d have two big meaty meals in one night and morning. Perhaps the steak was what had upset her stomach; or perhaps it was just the natural need to void after a certain time had passed. The bacon and the steak the night before reminded Eliza of how delicious meat could be.

“So,” said John. “It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it? I can’t believe you’ve taken to the role so well. I was afraid, well… I’ll admit, I’ve tried to get other partners to get into it. Never admitted the full extent of my fetish until, well, until Jane. But I’ve done, like, schoolgirl roleplay with previous exes. None of them managed to get really into it. You could always tell they were a bit uncomfortable with it. But you…” He stroked her hair. It felt so, so good when he did it. Almost better than some orgasms she’d had. Warm affection trumped cold hedonism, sometimes. “You,” John continued, “despite the unfortunate mishap earlier, you’ve almost convinced me you’re really my little girl.”

“That’s what you pay for,” Eliza said, munching on a strip of bacon.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth. It’s rude.”

Instantly, she was back to Little Eliza. “Sorry, Daddy.” She felt as if she’d swam to the surface, up to herself, her real self, only for someone to yank her back underwater.

“As I was saying,” John continued, brushing some strands of hair from her face, “you really know what you’re doing.”

Yes, she did. She also knew her limits well, and not to push too far past them. Certainly not with a client. A regular partner, perhaps, but to a client, she must always be in control. This was no time to expand your horizons.

“Rmphoses,” she mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Roses,” Eliza said, bacon and eggs clear of her mouth. There was no panic in her voice: she said it as if she were chatting about the weather.

John recoiled. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no,” Eliza said. “It’s just, I’m exhausted. I think the humiliation earlier was a little much. It wasn’t supposed to be part of the scene. I’m a little…” She sunk down into the pillows, almost toppling the glass of juice in the process. “Have you heard of sub drop?”

John shook his head.

“When a submissive has a particularly overwhelming emotional or physical experience during a scene, the release is like getting high. Like shooting heroin, almost. Not that I’ve ever done that, I just mean, it’s a feeling of infinite pleasure. But then there’s the comedown. You’re exhausted, spent, and suddenly all the negative thinking, all the prejudice and condemnation of society hits you like a brick. The terrible things you’ve been made to do or had done to you are just terrible, and no fun anymore. The submissive may get depressed, scared, anxious. That’s when you need to stop the scene and move on to aftercare. I think the breakfast in bed was a nice touch, it helps normalize things. You’re a natural.” Her throat was getting dry. She was used to delivering monologues—she had a whole spiel about safe, sane and consensual that she presented to most clients, unless her intuition told her it was unnecessary. She hadn’t delivered it to John. But now she was tired, and it was hard to focus. Usually, the words flowed out of her, but this time, she had to struggle to find them and arrange them in the correct order. “But it’s time to drop the roleplay. Let’s just be adults for the rest of our morning together, okay? I’m really sorry I couldn’t keep it up for the whole twenty-four hours. If not for my… my… the accident, it would have been no problem.”

Jonathan nodded. “Of course. Of course. Don’t think I’m gonna dock you in pay or anything. Let’s get you out of that diaper. I mean, sorry. You’re a grown woman, Eliza. Of course you can change out of your own diaper.”

She blushed. Eliza had almost forgotten about the bulk between her legs. At first, the dry and clean padding had felt heavenly, but then she’d gotten caught up in bacon and eggs. “I’m not quite done,” she said. Eliza imagined a waterfall and pushed. A little warm trickle seeped out into her diaper. It wasn’t much, but she could feel the wetness. Jonathan watched intently, although the diaper was hidden under the covers. “I’m wet,” Eliza announced. “I’d appreciate it if you’d clean me up before I change back into panties.”

It wasn’t a hard ask. He was quickly back with the wipes. Away went the damp diaper, and back came the good, warm feelings. “We’re renegotiating right now,” Eliza announced. “You’re allowed to rub a little extra down there. In fact, I must insist.”

“I thought you were spent?” Jonathan said.

“Not quite.” She had endured too much and been too worked up not to get the climax—and she was sure Jonathan would enjoy it.

He began to rub rhythmically. Soon, all the delicious humiliation found its release. Eliza shuddered as the pleasure began between her legs and traveled upwards. Now she was really spent.

They whiled away the last few hours in bed. Eliza, back in the panties she arrived in, taught Jonathan to praise her and tell her the things she needed to hear. Tell her how good she was, how much he appreciated her performance and presence, how well she had handled the challenges thrown at her, and to stroke her hair all the while. He was a quick learner. The dark clouds which had begun to form in her mind were preemptively dispersed. She asked him questions about his company, what it was like to make it big; he countered with questions of his own, about what she’d studied in college and why, and what it was like to be your own boss. She found the last bit amusing, coming from a multimillionaire entrepreneur, but she answered him truthfully, if at times a little generally (always cautious, never too personal). It was past 11:30 when she finally rose from bed. By now, Little Eliza was a distant memory. She was back in control. The professional.

Jonathan escorted her to the door. “I’d love to see you again same time next week,” he said. “And then we could renegotiate the thing about going out in public, if you don’t mind. It’s probably my ultimate fantasy. It would be totally discreet. No one but you and me would know.”

Eliza smiled. “I’m sure we can work something out,” she said. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then she was out the door. Jonathan watched the Metallica shirt walk down the porch to her car.

Eliza waved, and then she was off. Back to the real world. Back to roses.

Epilogue

“She’s the worst. She can’t do anything without making it look cute. I knew you’d love her,” Eliza said, sipping at her coffee.

“I don’t know about love,” said Jonathan, clearly a bit uncomfortable to be talking about his new crush. “She’s very sweet, I’ll give you that.”

“Sweet isn’t even the beginning of it. And I know for a fact she’s into the same thing you are. Did you bring it up with her yet?”

“No, it didn’t seem appropriate for a second date,” Jonathan answered.

“I knew you wouldn’t, which is why I might have mentioned something to her.”

“You did what?” Jonathan furrowed his brow. “You didn’t tell her… about us?”

“Of course not. Client-whore privilege. What happens in diapers, stays in diapers,” Eliza said and chuckled. She became suddenly aware that they were sitting in a crowded café, and any eavesdroppers could hear them discussing their fetish adventures. She glanced around, but no one seemed to pay them any heed. There was a murmur of conversation in indoor voices, drowning out their own if you were farther away than their table.

“I don’t like that you did that,” Jonathan said, although his demeanor was once again calm. Eliza couldn’t help but reflect on how much more confident he seemed than when they’d first met, six months ago. Now, he was sitting up straight, and when he spoke—and she didn’t throw him off balance like she’d just done—there was a quiet authority to his voice. Jonathan was now a man who was more accustomed to getting what he wanted, and if not, asking for it.

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to help. Now you can’t help but bring it up to her soon, because she knows and you know she knows.”

“Shhh, she’s approaching,” Jonathan said.

Eliza heard a rustle of clothes behind her, and then a coated figure appeared at their table. Jenny wasn’t much taller than Eliza, golden hair tied in a braid behind her head and red lipstick. “Eliza!” She exclaimed, and stepped up to hug her. She held the hug a long time, shaking Eliza every which way. Jenny was clearly excited.

“What are you two lovebirds up to tonight?” Eliza asked.

“I was thinking the classic, dinner then a movie,” Jonathan said.

“I hope it’s not a long one,” Jenny said. “I always have to run to the bathroom when I’m watching a long movie. But then I can’t help but have popcorn, and you can’t have popcorn without a cold drink.”

“I know just the solution for that,” Eliza mused.

Jenny blushed, but you could tell she was thinking naughty thoughts already. “Oh, don’t get me started,” Jenny said. “What do you think, Jonathan?”

Jonathan was a bit flustered, but he quickly composed himself. “Who, me? About what?”

“Should we maybe go for a short movie?”

“I think you can handle yourself, sweetheart,” Jonathan said, putting his hand over hers.

“Oooh,” Jenny cooed. “I love it when he calls me stuff like that. Little nicknames and stuff. Where did you find this stud, Eliza? Why didn’t you snag him for yourself?”

Jonathan was frantically trying to signal to Eliza behind Jenny’s back. Please don’t say anything. Of course, Eliza had no intentions of doing so. “John and I met in a cooking class. He’s an excellent cook. You should totally cook for her at home, John, I know she’d love it.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” Jonathan said, clearly relieved.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” Eliza said. “Jenny, would you come with me?”

Jenny took the hint, and together they began making their way through the throng of Saturday café dwellers, taking a break from shopping and daily life. Eliza turned and winked at Jonathan, who blushed and began his hand signals again, but by that time Eliza had already turned around, and they’d made their way into the ladies’ room. None of the stalls were occupied, so they were free to converse. “So,” said Eliza, “did you do it yet?”

“No. But we did have some wonderful kisses. I was thinking tonight was going to be the night. I put on some sexy lingerie, but then I also packed some protection in my purse. I wasn’t sure if I was going to use it…” Jenny said. She surreptitiously gave Eliza a peek into her purse, where a small, pink disposable lay.

Eliza took her hand. “Honey, go into a stall right now and change. I promise you, you won’t regret it. He’ll love it.”

“How can you be so sure? How can you know so much about his kinks? Did you two…?”

Well, shit. Had she accidentally revealed her and Jonathan’s little secret? Come to think of it, Eliza would have suspected a fling if one of her girlfriends started telling her about what this cute guy she was trying to set her up with liked in bed. “No, nothing like that,” Eliza said. When she began the sentence, she didn’t know how to follow up, but she trudged on. If she hesitated, her cover would be blown. “John and I are good friends. He knows what I do for a living. He knows I’ve seen some weird shit, and don’t judge anyone for it. I’m the only one he could possibly talk about this stuff with. He was pretty down because he told a previous girlfriend about it, and it didn’t go so well. He wouldn’t go into detail at first, but I managed to coax it out of him. But never tell him I told you that.”

Jenny appeared satisfied with that answer. “Now, baby girl,” Eliza said, “get your cute butt in that stall and change before you have an accident.” She smiled and stuck her tongue out, and Jenny laughed, if a little nervously. But Jenny was, if anything, more submissive than Eliza even, and she did as she was told.

Eliza had met her a few months back at a fetish event. Jenny had been dressed in a schoolgirl uniform, with her hair in pigtails, and there was something unbelievably innocent about her. Of course, many people liked schoolgirl play without being into the full regression experience. But Jenny had seemed rather unsure of herself—it soon became clear this was her first live kink event—and Eliza, much more assured in her preferences, liked to gently introduce newcomers to the world of kink. She’d come to see herself as more than just a girl who enjoyed lots of steamy, kinky sex; more than just a prostitute who catered to unusual interests. Eliza wanted to help people achieve peace with themselves and gain confidence in their sexual proclivities, whatever those might be. It was especially important to help fellow women, since they were more susceptible to creeps. Even if no one outright assaulted them, Eliza didn’t want anyone to come away from their first kinky experience with a bad taste in their mouth. That might just lead them to denial of their true selves, which was a surefire recipe for mental issues and relationship troubles down the road.

She had guided Jenny to a sofa in a somewhat secluded room, sat her down and told her that she knew how overwhelming it must be to be thrust headfirst into the world of kink. “I’m rather experienced in these things,” Eliza had said. “I’m actually a sex worker who caters to various fetishes.” At that, Jenny’s eyes had gone wide. “Oh, does that offend you?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Jenny said, shrinking her body. Eliza put a hand on her shoulder.

“Relax, I’m joking. A lot of people react like that. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine, but I know kink, and I could help ease you into this. Help a sister out.”

Slowly, prodding carefully and most of all, engaging her ears rather than her mouth, encouraging at times but mostly sitting back to listen, Jenny’s story had come to light. How she had always been interested in childish things, how it turned her on to play at being a little girl, and how she wished for a strong, kind man to help her fulfill those desires. A light bulb had gone on in Eliza’s head instantly. She’d be perfect for John. But she had mentioned this to neither of them, instead continuing to nurture her relationship and build trust with each separately. Although no longer weekly, John had engaged her services sporadically ever since their first meeting. Eliza had quickly come to realize that rules are made to be broken, and she couldn’t keep up the facade that John was just a client. In another life, he might have been a great boyfriend, but Eliza’s interest in him lay more in the realm of friendship. He was so supportive and kind to her, taking such good care of her when they were together, but she, too, had to support and build him up, help him learn to fully accept who he was. To accept that his desires were legitimate, and to nurture the hope in him that there really was a girl out there for him who would participate enthusiastically in his interests, with no money on the table.

The first time Eliza had invited John out for coffee, “to talk as adults, as friends,” he had balked at her offer. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that,” he’d said.

Eliza was a bit taken aback, almost offended. Had she totally misread him? But she could see his misgivings. She, herself, had lots of misgivings about fraternizing with clients outside of work. It broke all her rules. Perhaps John thought he pitied her? Or that she was angling for more money with less work? “John,” she’d said on the phone, “coffee’s on me. Because I really like you and want to get to know you outside our professional relationship. We can never be together, you know, but I think we can be friends. I’d miss you if we didn’t see each other anymore, and I’m not talking about your money.”

At that, he had broken down. He couldn’t refuse her. Eliza enjoyed having that effect on people, although she worried she might be manipulative if she used her charm on friends outside work. “The way we each support and care for each other, at times one being the caregiver and moral support, at other times, the other, isn’t that what friendship is?” He had agreed. Since then, they’d have coffee or lunch once a week, whether they had an appointment or not. And two weeks ago, she had set up a blind date between Jenny and John. Even their names seemed perfect together, like those couples whose names roll so well off the tongue together that it feels weird to mention one without the other.

Jenny exited the cubicle while Eliza washed off her face with cold water. She knew that John preferred her without makeup, and frankly, that was fine by her. Having to get all dolled up could be a bitch sometimes, and it was refreshing to know that there was someone who found her sexier without it. “So, did you do it?” Eliza asked. “Did you put on your protection for me, honey?”

“Uh-huh,” Jenny said, and bit her lip.

“Show me.”

Jenny lifted her sweater, then lowered her tights slightly, giving Eliza a peek at her pink waistband. At that moment, a woman entered the restroom, and Jenny scrambled to cover up her diaper, blushing madly.

Eliza put her arm around her. “I’m so proud of you, baby. Come on, let’s not leave your date hanging.”

“There you ladies are,” Jonathan said when they returned. “Tell me, did you stay in there gossiping?”

“None of your business,” Eliza said, smiling. Jenny sat down beside Jonathan and gave his hand a squeeze.

“Well, you two better get going,” Eliza said. “I expect to hear from each of you how it went.” She rose to leave, giving each of them a warm hug, and Jenny a secret little pat on her padded bum.

The next afternoon, Eliza received two phone calls in short succession. The first was from Jenny. “Oh my god,” was the first thing Jenny said.

“Baby, I can’t tell if that’s good or bad.”

“He was so sweet and we had such a nice dinner with some wine, and then we went to see a movie and, ooh, he picked the longest one there was! We didn’t even get through the credits before I started to feel like I had to pee. And then by the middle of the movie I was desperate! I looked for the exit sign, but then I just kind of gave up and tinkled a little in my… protection. And then it wouldn’t stop! I was soaked by the end of the movie!”

“Oh, I bet that felt good,” said Eliza. “You didn’t leak, did you?”

“No, it held up! But then he invited me home to his place, and I was super nervous because I really wanted to sleep with him, but what was he going to say when he found me in a wet diaper? I was so afraid he’d throw me to the curb.”

“I take it he didn’t,” Eliza said. “If he did, I’m going over there right now and kicking his ass.”

“No, no, he didn’t. We began making out on the couch, and then his hands started to wander down below, and I really wanted to feel him touch me there, so I let him. When he found the wet padding, his eyes went wide, and for a moment my heart stopped and I was thinking, my god, my life is over… But you know what he did? He asked me if I had a little accident!”

“You did, didn’t you?”

“Well, obviously,” Jenny said. “But I couldn’t admit to that. I was just blushing and denying it, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He led me by the hand upstairs, and you won’t believe it… He changed my diaper! He had, like, a collection of different types!”

This is so sweet, Eliza thought. Sounds like it went exactly as planned. I’m so proud of John. He’s come so far. “That’s wonderful, sweetie.”

“It was amazing! We ended up having sex, and I don’t think anyone’s ever made me feel so good about myself! I’m so grateful you didn’t snag him up while he was on the market, because now he’s mine and you can’t have him!”

“I’m so happy for you two,” Eliza said. “I don’t want him like that. But if you don’t want us to be friends, you’ll have to fight me for him.” They continued chatting for a little while, but then Eliza received another call, this time from John. “Jenny babe, we’ll have to talk later. I have another friend clamoring for my attention,” Eliza said.

“Oh my god,” was the first thing John said.

“You too? Are you two psychically linked already? I just spoke with Jenny, and she said the same thing,” Eliza said.

There was a tone of worry in John’s voice. “Oh god, what did she tell you?” He asked.

“Relax. She had a wonderful time. She’s claiming you—I couldn’t have you if you wanted to, she says. Watch out or she’ll pee on you to mark her territory.”

The line went quiet for a few seconds. “… Jonathan?”

“No, it’s just funny you should say that,” John said.

Eliza rolled her eyes, although she was smiling. “You two already got your kink on, I see.”

“You could say that. Yesterday, at the café, when you two were in the bathroom. You made her wear that diaper, didn’t you?”

“It was her idea. I just gave her the confidence to go through with it.”

“Well, I don’t know how to thank you,” John said.

“You can thank me by not becoming one of those couples who never have time for anyone but themselves. I expect we have a coffee date next week as usual, or I’ll have to come round to your house, tie you up and throw you in the trunk, because I’m not letting go of you that easily.”

“You’d do it, too, that’s the crazy part,” John said.

“Take good care of Jenny, and I’ll make sure she takes good care of you. You two are quickly becoming two of my favorite people, and I’m so happy you found each other.”

“With a little help from you.”

“Hey,” Eliza said, “I live to please.”

After she hung up, Eliza walked over to her bed stand. On it sat a stuffed animal John had given her, which—loathe as she was to admit it—had come in handy on cold autumn nights when she was alone in bed. Beside it was a flower vase. She leaned in and smelled the fresh red roses she had received that morning. The note only said, “Thank you,” with no name. Eliza didn’t know from whom, but she could take one good guess.

#stories I adore

[strawberrybabydog]

i hate having an eating disorder because its an evil disorder that truly makes everyone in your life hate you

progressives view you as a failure because you succumbed to beauty standards, so you're a bad person for implying you would look ugly if you were fat

conservatives view you as a failure because not eating is a moral failing, and you cant be part of the sisterhood if you're too skinny, because women percieve you as a threat

and thats it. thats all they see. all anyone can see from me is a self-hating fatphobe or a threat to women. nobody understands that i cant sit up in the morning without shaking because of malnutrition. nobody wants to listen when i tell them over and over my stomach has literally shrunk and i am physically incapable of eating big meals, which makes recovery impossible. nobody wants to hear that i'm eating meal replacements every single day just to stay alive. nobody wants to hear the discoveries ive made about how yes, beauty standards really are unachievable, and please nobody else try, because this is suffering. nobody wants to understand that i dont want to look or feel like this, that i didnt ask for this, that i did everything i could in all of my teen years to love myself so i wouldnt ever have to go through this. everyone stares at my body as if it's a political statement they're supposed to compare themselves too, when i never asked for this, so i cant even hang out with friends because i KNOW they'll take MY ED personally and direct their anger at me

every person who shamed my former fatness, who pushed me into making these decisions, hates me even more for being thin. every single person, no matter how "tolerant" they self-identify as, thinks shaming me for being thin, and implying this body is ugly and i was only truly beautiful before, is what will cure me. the same people who couldnt stop asking me "really? you're having MORE food?"

i guess the trick to having an eating disorder is to not have a body that other people can see in the first place

i dont even know why im talking about this here. as a last resort? ive had an ED for a year now and i havent got to talk about it even one fucking time because of this ^^^. and i expect the same response if any too LOL. i need fucking help or im going to die from malnnutrition but the only thing anyone cares about is whether or not i'd be sexy as fat (still prioritizing their own gaze.)

#its really fucked up too because i was like very sexy and hot as fat #i was also confident and generally felt good about myself #eating disorder #fatphobia #<- how tf do i tag this. sorry. jow do you tag eating disorders #not dog #personal #food #big feelings

[holylulusworld]

Chubby Bee 🐝

Square Filled for @marvelfluffbingo​​​​ (2022): Brother’s best friend

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Plussized!Reader (Steve Rogers adopted sister)

Word Count: 1,8 k

Summary: You brother’s best friend can be intense, and ass, but still so irresistible…

Warnings: angst, language, Bucky being an insensitive douche, low self-esteem, arguments, miscommunication, brother’s best friend trope, Bucky is a possessive bastard, Steve doesn’t want anyone near you

Rating: Mature

Divider by @firefly-graphics​

2022 MARVEL FLUFF BINGO masterlist

“Why not, Bucky,” Sharon sighs deeply. She tried to talk to her boyfriend’s best friend and declared brother in arms into asking you out. “It’s the most important party this year. Steve wants to make Tony Stark's parties look like a children's birthday party in contrast to our party. Y/N and you would look so cute together.”

“Sharon, with all due respect,” Bucky turns his attention toward the blonde in his office, not the papers on his desk, “you’ve got no clue about my taste in women. Y/N is a nice girl but she’s Steve’s sister and off-limits.”

“James Buchanan Barnes, what do you mean with your taste in women,” hands-on her hips Sharon glares at Bucky. “You would be happy to have a girl like Y/N by your side.”

“Yeah. I have a thing for chubby bees with an ass big enough to jiggle when I slap it,” Bucky sarcastically says. He tries to not give away he has a thing for Steve’s adopted sister and that he imagined more than once getting his hands on you. “Stop bugging me.”

“You are a fucking asshole Barnes,” poking her index finger into Bucky’s chest Sharon gives him a cold glare. “Y/N is beautiful, sexy and the best thing ever happening to any guy.”

“Jesus, stop getting on my nerves,” he turns toward the door, gasping as you are standing in the doorframe, eyes widening in shock and lips trembling. You came around to hand him his phone back and heard every word. “Y/N…doll…”

“You forgot your phone at Stevie’s house,” you throw the phone at him, huffing as he struggles to catch it. “Chubby Bee Rogers didn’t want to disturb you with her presence. I only wanted to give you this back. Next time, I’ll leave it to my brother. We don’t want you to have a fat girl around you…”

“Doll, wait—” Bucky tries to stop you. “Y/N, I need to tell you something. Please wait!” He runs after you, calling your name as you dash toward your brother’s car, wiping your eyes on your way. “Please…just stop for a moment.”

“Leave me the fuck alone, James,” you angrily open the door, cursing as the driver furrows his brows at your outburst. “Drive, Peter. I’m done here.”

“Yes, miss,” Peter cocks his head to the side to watch James Buchanan Barnes run toward the car. “Uh…miss. Mr. Barnes is running after you. Shouldn’t we wait for him?”

“No. We don’t want to wait for him, Parker,” you snap at the young man. You’re usually kind toward everyone, but right now, you are a real bitch. “Just drive me back home. I told you that I’m done here, Peter.”

“Sorry, miss,” he starts the engine to drive away, worriedly watching Bucky run after the car in the rearview mirror. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Peter, I want you to promise me that you won’t tell Steve about this. He doesn’t need to know what happened here,” Peter glances at you in the passenger seat, wondering what happened between you and Bucky.

“I can’t lie to Mr. Rogers. But I won’t tell him if he doesn’t ask, miss,” you nod. “I respect you and your brother, miss.”

“You earned his respect too, Peter,” his chest swells at your words. “Mine too if that means anything to you. People don’t give much about my opinion, though. I’m always Steve’s little sister, the adopted one.”

“I give a lot on your opinion, Y/N,” you force a smile on your face to not give away you are about to cry. You always believed Bucky likes you, and now, he just told Sharon that you are nothing but a chubby body to him…”

“Steve, I need to talk to you,” Sharon paces the room. She sighs while pinching the bridge of her nose, “about Bucky and his behavior. I tried to talk him into asking Y/N to be his plus one at the party. He just…that jerk! He called her chubby bee!”

“Chubby bee?” Steve cocks his head to glance at his best friend who prefers to intensely stare at his hands. “Buck, do you have anything to say about this? I told you to not sexualize my little sister!”

“She’s…I did not! I tried to tell Sharon that your sister is off-limits to anyone. I—I just couldn’t help it and used my favorite pet name for her. She’s a sexy chubby bee and I love it, Stevie.”

Bucky huffs as his best friend slowly gets up from his chair. Steve takes his time. He removes his jacket, squares his shoulders, and gets his gun out of his shoulder holster. Steve places the gun onto his desk, tapping it with his index finger.

“Steve,” Sharon groans as the men start a staring contest. “Guys, what’s going on here? Steve, shouldn’t you be mad at Bucky for talking low about your sister? He called her chubby bee!”

“He’s a horny and sick bastard,” Steve angrily grunts as he stalks toward his friend. “Bucky tries to get into my sweet sister’s pants for years. He always looks at her like a hungry wolf ready to devour my innocent baby sister. I can’t let him do dirty things to her.”

“What if she wants me to do dirty things to her?” the brunette grumbles under his breath. “You can’t chase every guy getting close to your sister away. How about letting me go out with her? I promise that I will always be respectful.”

“I told you years ago,” the blonde growls in Bucky’s face, “my baby sister will not be one of your girls. Get it into your thick skull, Buck. You will keep your hands off my sister, or I’ll beat you into a bloody pulp!”

“But I have a thing for my chubby bee! I want to,” eyes a little glassy Bucky looks at Steve, imagining all the things he wants to do to you and cannot tell his best friend about, “ask her out.” He says instead.

“I SAID NO!” you flinch as your brother storms toward his best friend. He pushes Bucky against the wall. “You’ll not ask my sister out. And you will not call her your chubby bee ever again. It’s disrespectful and sexist!”

“It’s a pet name, a cute one. And I’ll use it anytime I want to describe your sexy baby sister. I will ask her out and no one is going to stop me!”

“What is going on here? I can hear you scream from the hallways,” you glare at Bucky as he gives you a cocky grin. He eyes you up and down and drinks your outfit in. “What do you want, Barnes? Do you want me to leave so you don’t have to look at my fat ass again?”

“What? No! Y/N,” Bucky struggles against Steve and tries to break out of his friend’s iron grip. “Please, let me explain. Chubby bee is a pet name. I like that you are soft, and more to love. I want to slap your ass and make it jiggle. I can’t count all the times I imagined burying my face between your tits…”

“Punk, last warning,” Steve grits out. He holds Bucky against the wall, not wanting to give in. “She’s my baby sister and you will not talk like that to her.”

“Tits?” is all you get out. “How dare you stare at my breasts, Barnes.” You take a step toward Bucky to size the man up. “Stevie, let him go. I will have a serious conversation with James, right now.”

“Doll?” you shove your brother aside to get him away from Bucky. “I can handle this. Let me make sure he’ll never hurt you.”

“I want to talk to him, Steve,” Steve backpaddles as you glare at him. “Doll, give it to him good…”

“Doll, I’m sorry that you got this wrong,” Bucky watches you sit on your bed while he paces your room. “I never was in your room before.” He looks around your room, humming as you kick your shoes off. “I never meant to hurt you, Y/N. I swear you are beautiful to me.”

“You said I got a fat ass,” you quip. “You told Sharon you want to make it jiggle.”

“You got the jiggle part right, Y/N. The rest is not true,” he argues, now stepping closer toward your bed as you slowly unbutton your blouse. “Y/N?” He licks his lips as you get up from your bed to strip your blouse off, dropping it to the floor, smirking.

“Why did Steve tell you to stay away from me, James?” you pat his chest as Bucky’s eyes drop to your chest. He inhales sharply. “My eyes are up here, Bucky.” He reluctantly lifts his gaze to meet your eyes.

“He doesn’t want me to ruin his baby sister,” Bucky looks at your chest again, wishing he could just touch you. “I told him I’ll be a good boyfriend and ask you out before I do dirty things to you.”

“Hmmm…I see,” you move your hand over his chest up to his neck to cup the back of his neck. “How about you man up and ask me on a date. If you can prove that you are a better man than the one talking shit at his office, you are allowed to ask me out again.”

“I never talked…” Bucky bites his tongue. He glances at your chest again. “I’ll do anything to prove that I love my chubby bee. Steve cannot keep me away from you…”

“Chubby bee,” you let the pet name roll off your tongue. “If you can prove you are a good man, you are allowed to call me like that.”

“Would you just look at that?” Tony smirks as you walk inside the ballroom, Bucky by your side. You are wearing a yellow dress and black heels, matching the pet name Bucky gave you. “Why is he allowed to go out with your sister?”

“Y/N is a grown woman and can go out with whoever she wants to,” Steve doesn’t give away you threw a tantrum as he didn’t want Bucky to ask you out. “She wanted to go out with Bucky.”

All eyes are on you, and you chuckle as Bucky gets bold and wraps his arm around your waistline to make sure everyone knows you belong to the cocky mobster.

“You look beautiful tonight, my sexy chubby bee,” he whispers in your ear. “What do you say. Do you want to get out of here earlier?”

“Not at all,” you purr. “I don’t think you will get lucky tonight, Mr. Barnes. I don’t think you will get further than the first base for the next weeks.”

“Weeks?” he sighs deeply. “Baby doll...please let me at least have a look...”

“Do you want it to be months?” you glance at Bucky.

“No,” Bucky softly pecks your cheek. “I’ll make sure we reach third base soon enough…”

Tags in reblog.

#Chubby Bee 🐝 #bucky barnes #mobster!bucky #mobster!bucky x reader #marvelfluffbingo #bucky barnes fanfiction #mafia au #mobster!bucky barnes

[total-drama-takes-the-squeakquel]

a note to the most wnnoying person i ever seen (i hope you get fwrted on)

jater thinks she's so cool for hating on jo and calling her random ass pronouns.. nro you are NOT cool that is plain obsession buddy.. " she's a pick me she's a that " bro she's a teenage girl struggling with acting feminine are you serious right now mate.. plus nobody cares about your bull shit ass explanation on why jo sucks cuz ur just saying the same thing and ur a massive ass hater!! ur in the total drama fandom but you act like you hate total drama in general like wtf just leave at this point box head

zoke is a good ship and jock is too u just mad u ain't got no love because nobody wants to love ur sorry ass LOL!!!!! and buddy ur not quirky by saying jo is an it and he.. plus i'm pretty sure ur fat phobic so yeah ur canceled!! i ain't never seen someone so upset over a FICFIONAL CHADACYER like go get a fucking life dude jo is a minor it's not that serious? + you wanna be talking abt annoying but literally you probably rewatched ROTI just for jo so you can "point out her flaws." be honest ik you are head over heels lesbian over her dawg. you must hate every other masculine women because you hate jo so much, might as well admit you hate eva too. (which they could both solo you bro) and also, you're not funny either nobody likes ur moldy ass dawg!! if you had a favorite it'd probably be some rare ass characters just so you can make urseld seem special.. cos ur on the "sexy tumblr man" app looking for attention like gtfo that's actually wild we going to war on GANG!!!!!!!

jo and brick, jo and anns maria.. their interactions are awesome did we not see the same season or are you just wonked up in the head? you're stupidity is so annoying it ruins the tdi experience for everyone around you man loke go get a hobby instead of venting on how much you hate jo.. then ur gonna come back at me with just insults and saying jo sucks like find something original for once.. anyways jock4life brick and jo literally competing to see how much affection they can give eachofher you clearly are a partypooper and have no life + you must not have been whooped as a chold go outside you LOSER

and let me explain why all ur points are wrong: despite jo being jn 2 seasons i sk far seen so many people relate to her and she has tons of favorites so i dont know bout you but you acting like she ran over your grandma.. plus jo is a honest and good player bro look at her and cameron's interactions she's so fun to watch and her all stars elimination was so unfair.. plus tomboys are cool and awesome UNLIKE JR PSTHETIC STINKY BUM ASS!!! like miss you aren't special and nobody is homophobic you're literally like misogynistic or something u a massive hater.. also making several long ass post about jo shows how much you actually love her bdo you named urself after her. JO WOULDALSO FLAME YOJ IN AM INSTSNT

jo and brick is a good ship because there are many ways you can headcanon them.. literally brick not caring about if jo is masculine or not and supporting her in any way shape or form.. also you don't know what a pick me is btw :3 jo being hesitant at first but eventually warms up you JUST 👏 ARENT 👏 SEEING 👏 THE 👏 VISION! BECAUSE UR A BLIND ASS BITCH BAIII ;-;

also btw

- 🚙

-

#car anon #total drama #blog takes #long post