Originally written for HenryHiggins
Content warnings for this story (click here for guide):
The man at the table outside Cafe Noir drank his coffee slowly, turning the pages of his book between sips. With a serviette, he dabbed at a stray splotch of coffee, careful to keep his cuff from the spill. He glanced up every so often at the clock in the town square, not with concern, but with disapproval.
After he had been there a good half hour, a girl approached him. She was about 18 years old, but wore a short, puff-sleeved dress more appropriate for a three-year-old, with a full skirt and a childish rounded collar. She walked awkwardly, as though her shoes were a size too small. The man smiled.
“You’re late, Lottie.”
She blushed. “I couldn’t…get it on…do it up…”
“So you’re properly dressed?”
The girl nodded her head and left it lowered.
“You’d better be,” said the man. “You know very well what happens when you lie, and you know very well -” Here, he took hold of her chin and brought her face to his – “what happens when you misbehave. It was lying to me about that drinking party that got you here in the first place.”
He motioned her to sit down, and took a sip of his coffee. The girl was breathing heavily by now, and seemed unable to keep from looking down at her skirt. It stood out prominently from her legs, almost bulging. A sharp-eyed bystander might have wondered what petticoats gave that effect, or why a faint crackle could be heard as she shuffled in her seat.
“I think we should take you shopping for some new clothes,” said the man. “You look very sweet, but I only have one or two of these dresses in your size.”
“You said I could have my phone back if I met you in town,” hissed the girl, reddening again. “If I wore…it…this. Can we just go home?”
The man ran a finger around the hem of her skirt. Charlotte smacked it away petulantly.
“I put it on, ok? Leave me alone.”
“Do not hit my hand, Lottie. As your uncle I need to check my niece is properly dressed to avoid little accidents.”
Little accidents. Charlotte cringed. Her uncle continued.
“And if you are naughty, you’ll be punished like a little girl too. I have no qualms about putting you over my knee right here in the market square. Then everyone will see what you’re wearing.”
The girl scrunched up her face in fury. Her uncle smiled and once again ran his finger along her hem. This time she did not stop him. He began to lift it up along her thigh, and she whimpered, looking around at the people coming and going across the square, terrified they could see.
Her skirt continued to rise until, with a tell-tale rustle, her uncle found and patted the padded plastic of her nappy. He kept the small corner on display, tucking the skirt under Charlotte’s thigh. Tears of fury formed in the corner of his niece’s eyes.
The waiter arrived, placing a glass of juice and a children’s menu down in front of Charlotte. He glanced at her uncle’s hand and what it was revealing, and smirked.
Finally, the skirt was smoothed back down and patted so the nappy beneath crinkled loudly.
“Now,” said Uncle Andrew, “do you want me to lift up your whole skirt so everyone sees how a naughty little girl is punished?”
A shake of the head.
“Or perhaps you’d like to repeat the trick you tried the other day when I sent you to the library for me – taking off your lovely clothes and swapping them for some scruffy things you’d hidden in the bushes?”
Another shake.
“Good. Seems you’re learning how to be your uncle’s sweet little niece. How about I give you a chance to show me exactly what a good little girl you’re going to be? How about you do exactly what your uncle says, and perhaps – perhaps – we can start letting you grow up again?”
The girl looked up, suspicious.
“It’s your choice, Lottie. You can do what I tell you and prove you can follow rules and perhaps you’ll get your phone back. Or you can get some nice red stripes on your bottom to go with your nappy, a shorter skirt so everyone can see, and another month like this. I might even give you a dummy to stop you answering back.”
Charlotte scowled. She swigged her juice and slammed it down.
“What do I have to do?”
“‘What do I have to do’ – what?”
“Uncle.”
“Better. Now listen.”
The passers-by in the beautiful square saw a teenaged girl spring up from her seat outside Cafe Noir and swear at her companion. He gestured calmly at her skirt, which had hooked itself up over the seat back, revealing a white garment of some kind, and she yanked down her hem and sat down in horror.
“What a display you’re making of yourself,” tutted the uncle. “Now, I will give you one more chance to do what I say, or it’s over my knee, nappy off, spanked bottom, loud squeals and a fresh nappy to walk home in. No skirt.”
The girl whined, realising she was cornered.
“And if you make that kind of sound, perhaps I ought to tell your school nurse at sixth form to keep a stock of these in the sick bay for you?”
After a minute, the girl hung her head once more. She could hardly bear to look at her uncle.
“Good girl.”
They sat in silence for another five minutes, the girl concentrating furiously.
“I can’t. I can’t just…”
“It’s difficult, I understand. Let’s go for a walk. We’ll go home when you’ve done it.”
She had hoped to outwait him, to make him give up before making her do it, but it seemed he was adamant she would behave like a proper little girl before she could be a big one again. She wasn’t getting out of this one.
As they walked, she felt her bladder grow heavy, and instinctively tried to hold it. But after another hour’s wandering, the pain was excruciating. The juice was working its mischief on her. At last, nearly doubled up, she appealed to her uncle.
“Please let me go.”
“Go right here.”
“Please don’t make me do this.”
The shopping parade was full of families and loud older kids. Uncle led her to the central fountain, which bubbled and glittered in the sun. Two teenage boys sitting on the stone edge chuckled at her dress and made kissing sounds.
Suddenly it seemed that everyone knew everything. What she was wearing. How she had been stripped and paddled and slippered and powdered. How she had screamed and cried and kicked. What she was about to do.
Her uncle lifted her chin once again and looked her in the eye. “When you’re done, I’ll take you home so you can have a nice bath and dinner. If you’re prepared to act like a nice, polite adult, we can even talk about getting you back into grown-up clothes and panties. But if you’re going to make a fuss -”
The fountain’s splashing was relentless. All at once, Charlotte felt her bladder give up and she lost the battle, wetting her nappy fully. Uncle Andrew watched her stand, frozen in place, eyes wide with helpless horror as she peed herself, the muffled smell of urine rising up around her. As the plastic sagged away from her body, weighing between her legs, she felt relief and shame, hot and cold all over her body.
Her uncle watched, smiling, then led her slowly home.
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