Mitts For Mindy (Pt. 3)

Content warnings for this story (click here for guide):

Dress-up shaming, nappies, babying and urine or wetting.

“Is it really the 30th already?” asked Ben. “The month has gone fast.”

Mindy said nothing but continued working on her computer. She had to admit, she’d made a lot of progress on her essay in the last day or two, and might even finish it today, but the process had been excruciatingly embarrassing.

To stop her wasting time masturbating, Ben had put her back in nappies. Not only that, he’d locked a plastic bunny-print cover over the top, so she couldn’t sneak them off when he wasn’t looking.

When she wasn’t typing diligently away, Mindy had to ask for her mitts. If she didn’t ask and left her computer anyway, Ben would pull her over his knee, her thick nappy crinkling, and spank her soundly. After the first three or four times this happened, Mindy found herself falling in line.

The padded pastel mitts meant even basic tasks were impossible, so she had to ask for help with everything. Only it wasn’t simply a case of being polite. Mindy quickly learned that if she didn’t use the set phrases Ben had given her, she would not get the help she wanted.

So it was she found herself, scarlet with embarrassment, asking if Daddy could feed her dindins, or make her some milkies in her sippy cup.

One thing was worrying her above everything else. For the last day or so, she had managed to hold her pee and minimise her drinks, but the pressure was growing unbearable.

At last she stopped typing, turned to her boyfriend and begged to be allowed to use the toilet.

“Please Ben – Daddy – PLEASE. I’m desperate. We can even do it like before, where you take down my knickers. Anything. Don’t make me…”

But Ben was resolute, and ignored her. She’d learned early on that asking in normal grown-up words meant she was inaudible to him. If she grew loud, he’d simply gag with a dummy to muffle her ranting. After several mufflings, he’d given her a plastic rattle.

“Here you go, princess. Shake this when you’re ready to talk like a good girl and I’ll take your dummy out for you.”

Mindy had flat-out refused to use the rattle and sulked in front of her screen. Now, though, the need to pee had grown overwhelming and she tried to stand up delicately and slip to the bathroom.

“Ah – Mindy,” Ben said, spotting her. “What did we not ask for?”

Mindy groaned.

“Mish,” she scowled from behind her dummy. “Shoopid mish.”

“I’m afraid I can’t understand you, sweetie,” said Ben. “Did we forget something?”

Mindy blazed with anger and stomped off to her desk, rustling with every waddled step, to fetch her rattle. She shook it furiously.

“Good girl,” said Ben, and took out her gag.

“Please may I use the damn bathroom, Ben? I’ve done lots of work. I really have.”

Ben shook his head. “Sorry sweetie. You’re not done yet and I can’t risk it. You’ve not yet proved you’re a big girl, and little girls do tend to have accidents.”

“I won’t, though!” yelled Mindy, conscious of her aching bladder. “This is so unfair! I just want to use the bloody bathroom like an adu –“

She froze, mid-tantrum. Oh no. Oh no. A tiny, warm little squirt had escaped her. Mindy couldn’t move and looked pleadingly at Ben.

“Oh dear. Is the big girl finally using her nappies?” Ben chuckled.

“No….?” cringed Mindy, crossing her legs as another trickle slipped out.

“Aww,” said Ben. “Tell you what, little Mindy. I know what’ll cheer you up.”

He advanced towards her and lunged in to tickle her under the arms.

“No!” gasped Mindy, wriggling on the spot and desperately trying to stop any more little leaks. “No, stoppit Ben!”

Ben laughed and tickled her either side of her ribs, then across her tummy. Mindy sat down on the floor, her nappy padding her bottom, and Ben flung himself over her as she shrieked and struggled. All she could focus on was the thrusting attack of his strong fingers. He knew every crevice that made her thrash and squeal, and tickled her relentlessly until her voice was hoarse and her heart pounding.

At last he let her be, and helped her up; her hair was dishevelled and her face pink. As she stood, Mindy felt a divine relief in her abdomen. Then she became aware that her nappy was hanging heavily between her legs. She was soaked. A little tickling bout and she’d wet her nappy like a baby.

She looked up at Ben, who wore a “Well?” expression.


“That’s so cute – your star design has appeared to tell Daddy exactly what you’ve done,” said Ben. Sure enough, little blue stars announced Mindy’s wet nappy.

“Nevertheless,” said Ben. “I want to hear little Mindy say it, in her cutest little voice. I want her to ask for what she needs.”

Mindy stamped her foot, cornered. There was no way out. She took a deep breath.

“Gahhhh! Whuh – oh God. Please…will you…umm…change me, Daddy?”


“Really? Really? Ugh – fine! Fine! Because I’ve done a…a…weewee…in my nappy.”

Ben smiled warmly.

“Come here and let me check, then.”

He tugged the waistband of her nappy to see beyond her bottom and felt the padded crotch, crinkling the warm padding loudly. Mindy died inside.

“So you have,” Ben agreed. “Such a big weewee for such a little girl. Lucky you had your booster pad. OK, I’ll change you once you’re done writing this draft of your essay.”

“What?” Mindy was incredulous.

“Don’t worry – your plastic pants should keep the chair dry,” chuckled Ben. “You’ve brought this on yourself, Mindykins. Try and get out of your punishment or whine or stamp your foot and you’ll be sat in a soggy nappy until I say otherwise.”

Mindy stomped off to her seat and sat down a little too forcefully. The wetness squelched up the cleft of her buttocks and she squirmed.

“Think of this as a teaching moment,” said Ben cheerily, and sat down at his own desk to work.

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