The Princess and the Postman (Pt. 9)

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

Amelia knew she would need assistance, so she enlisted several members of her team to help dress Leila.

Sure enough, the unwilling pageant princess kicked and twisted, squealing from behind her dummy as Amelia showed her all the adorable things she’d be wearing.

“Aren’t these pink tap shoes the sweeeeetest?” she sang, holding up the sparkly mary janes.

“Nmmmmhhh! Lnnn mnnn gnnnn!”

“Such a fussy little madam!” tutted Amelia, nodding to one of the burly men holding Leila still. He flipped Leila like a pancake and Amelia delivered three noisy swats with the shoes, making Leila squeal even more.

“Aww, now your little bottom’s pink as well! Matchies!” said Amelia.

She took out a pair of ruffled white ankle socks and forced them onto Leila’s feet, before buckling the pink shoes over the top.

“Stand her up, please,” she said, and the crew members pulled Leila to her feet, dressed only in her nappy, socks and shoes. The toes clattered as she got her footing.

“Lovely,” said Amelia. “Now, something for your top half, LeeLee?”

Leila nodded, feeling her nipples harden in the air conditioning.

Amelia produced a cotton crop-top with a cartoon mermaid on it. It was clearly too small: made for an 11-yr-old, Leila guessed.

Nevertheless, it was forced over her head, squashing her little tits ridiculously.

“Now,” said Amelia. “We could send you out like this. Would you like that?”

“NNNNNNNNMMMM!” Leila shook her head, wide-eyed.

“Good. So would you like to wear your pretty dance dress? The one your Daddy ordered specially?”

Leila said nothing, deeply concerned by the dry-cleaning bag Amelia had plucked off a nearby rail.

“Oh, I forgot,” said Amelia. “You’ve not yet seen your dress!”

She unzipped the bag and Leila’s heart fell through the floor.

The sugar-pink dress was a perfectly sized-up version of the toddler pageant outfits Leila had seen on TV and despised. The pink bodice was made of soft, stretchy cotton for dancing in and the neckline spilled over with obnoxious ruffles, each one threaded with pink satin ribbon. An extra row of ruffles sat like a doughnut around the waist, and from beneath that, a bouncy, prissy tutu splayed in all directions. Round the hem of the fluffy skirt danced still more pink ruffles.

“Isn’t it adorable?” said Amelia, bringing the frock close. “Someone’s going to be such a cute little princess, twirling and smiling on stage. Let’s get you dressed, LeeLee.”

Leila struggled in vain but the security men held her tight. The dress had a built-in leotard and her pink sparkly tap shoes were wrangled through the leg-holes, before the stretchy fabric was pulled snugly up her legs. The scrap of pink barely covered a third of her nappy and Leila gasped as the soggy padding was squished against her crotch. She blushed as her arms were fed through the dainty straps and the bodice pulled up over her chest.

“Oh, that won’t do,” said Amelia. “You can see the crop-top behind her pretty frills. Can we take that off her?”

Leila grunted as the security men peeled down her pink bodice and pulled off the childish training bra to reveal her petite tits.

“Aww, don’t worry LeeLee,” said Amelia condescendingly. “It’s not like these wittle things need a big-girl bra anyway.”

Leila was floored. Her tits weren’t that tiny, were they?

The pink fabric was stretched once more over Leila’s erect nipples.

“Stand her up please, gents,” said Amelia, and Leila was held like a doll in a box as Amelia fussed and primped her tutu, making sure it stood out.

“Time to do LeeLee’s hair and make-up,” said Amelia. “I do think our little princess was right: the bonnet doesn’t quite go with the ensemble. And besides, it will hide her lovely new hair extensions!”

“WHHHTT?” Leila felt spit dribble down her dummy. She was so proud of her short punk haircut. These people were clearly insane but they wouldn’t –

An hour later, Leila sat miserably in a heart-shaped chair, sucking brokenly on her paci. Her boyish hair had been smothered to death by a mop of golden-blonde ringlets. As she watched, Amelia fixed a huge pink bow on top of her head.

“Perfection. Such a dainty little darling. Those other girls are going to be so jealous!”

Leila barely recognised the figure in the mirror, with its Shirley-Temple hair and frilly pink dance dress. She was still processing the horror when Amelia unfastened her gag and took the dummy out of her mouth with a wet plop.

“Our little star needs her lipstick, doesn’t she? Now, before you start swearing or complaining again, LeeLee…” Amelia wagged her phone in Leila’s face. “…Let me remind you of the kompromat I have on you. One click and oops – the world is going to see a new side to you!”

“Why are you doing this?” Leila appealed to her. “You know I’m not a kid. You know I shouldn’t be here. Why?”

“Money,” said Amelia. “Very good money. Your Daddy’s keen you should have a full pageant experience. But I also enjoy a challenge, and you have certainly proved yourself a challenge!”

“How does he have so much money? He’s just a stupid postman…” Leila wailed.

“Hold still,” said Amelia, opening a hot pink lipstick and caking it onto Leila’s mouth. “And… pout for me! Mwah-mwah for Miss Amelia! Yes, just like you’ll pout for the judges!”

Next she applied baby-blue eyeshadow, glitter and mascara, before dousing Leila’s cheeks in clownish blusher.

Leila was appalled at the creature in the mirror. She looked like some kind of demented doll, with glossy curls, plastic lips and cartoon cheeks.

“Now,” said Amelia, “Time to take little LeeLee for final review before she goes out on stage.”

Leila was frog-marched through the dressing room, to sniggers and chortles, and stood in front of a draped full-length mirror.

“She’s ready for you, Sir,” called Amelia, and the postman strode into view, smiling.

“No!” Leila couldn’t help herself. “No, he can’t see this!”

“Oh Amelia,” said the postman, “My little LeeLee looks perfect! Every inch the pageant princess!”

Amelia pulled the drape off the mirror and Leila witnessed the full nightmare of her makeover.

She looked ridiculous. From her sausage curls and trowelled-on makeup, down through her too-tight bodice, ruffled waist and candy-floss tutu, right the way to her sparkly tap shoes, she looked like an overgrown toddler.

The mesh skirt just about hid what was underneath. At least, she thought it did, until the postman gently spun her round to show her the view from the back.

“Noooo,” she moaned. The tutu rose higher over her bottom, so the strip of pink fabric was nothing more than an accent in the middle of her very thick, very visible nappy.

“Just wanted to check that my little girl has her Pampers on,” cooed the postman.

“Pleae don’t make me go out there like this,” begged Leila. “Please – “

“Oh, but you need your nappy, LeeLee. Can’t have you doing a nervous weewee on the stage, can we?

“But I won’t! I’m not three, for god’s sake! I won’t do a –”

“Is that so?”

He peered at her padded bottom, then looked sternly at her.

“LeeLee,” he said. “Be honest: have you wet your nappy already?”

“NO!!!” Leila wanted to melt into the ground.

“Let me show you something,” said the postman, quickly taking a photograph of Leila’s bottom. He zoomed in to show her some faint writing…

“These nappies have a very helpful wetness indicator, poppet,” he said, patting her padding. “You’re not very wet, it’s true, or it would be much brighter. Can you read what it says?”

Leila shivered as she read the words “Whoopsy-Daisy” in faint blue bubble-writing across her bottom.

“So, does my little girl need a changie before she does her dance?” said the postman.

“NO!” snapped Leila, then she paused, imagining some eagle-eyed audience member spotting the message on her Pampers. “Shit… I don’t suppose you’ll let me out of this hellshow, will you?”

“No,” said the postman. “It’ll be good for you to embrace your adorable little self. And besides, I’ve paid your fee.”

“Fuck,” Leila grimaced. “Then I guess I do need –”

A bell rang.

“Too late, and too foul-mouthed,” said the postman. “No changies for you until your dance is done. Don’t worry, sweetie-pie. Daddy’s going to be waiting just offstage for you!”

He held up the pink nappy bag Leila recognised so well.

“Oh, and LeeLee, I need you to do your very best to win. If I think you’ve not tried hard enough, I might have to enrol you in some new training, just to make sure you remember what a silly baby you are.”

“You can’t DO this!” Leila screamed, stamping her tap shoe. She shifted about, conscious of the dampness between her legs. “Somebody! Anybody sane! They can’t keep me here! They can’t make me – “

“One minute, please, Number Three! Number Three, we need you now! Ah, there she is!” A stage-hand grabbed Leila’s wrist and dragged her, ruffles and all, through a door marked ‘STAGE’.

“Break a leg, sweetie!” called the postman, before heading to the wings.