Because You Asked for It: Chapter 7 (Patreon)

Chapter 7. Jordan

Knowing I was in trouble, I changed the bed, and I could see on my side the clear yellow borders of those first few accidents as overlapping circles, left behind despite my best efforts to clean the mattress the following mornings. I was pretty upset when I heard the shower turn off and the door to our second bedroom close. I hate it when she’s mad at me. I really, really, do. And now I was worried I was in trouble, too, though it had been an accident.

I stripped off my cold pajama bottoms and felt the outside of my plastic pants were surprisingly dry, except for a little dampness around one leg opening, obviously the culprit. I went to the bathroom to change myself and got back in bed. I had hard time falling asleep again, partly because I was worried, but mostly because I didn’t like my Katie not being there with me. It wasn’t like she didn’t travel for work a few times a month. This was different. She was just down the hall because she was mad at me. I felt pretty guilty.

When I got up the next morning, the detritus of last’s night leakage was on the floor: my wet pajamas, her wet pajamas, and our wet sheets. I figured I’d be in less trouble if I cleaned up the room.

When Kate came, I was bent over stuffing our bedding into the laundry basket, giving her a perfect view of my butt through the blue plastic pants I had on over my diaper. Not my manliest look, I know, the way the panties balloon out from me and make me look smaller, and I’m already a pretty small person. 

“Did you not even change last night,” Kate asked me. I straightened up.

“Well, uh, I didn’t, um, p-p-pee again,” I stammered. When I looked at her, the phrase “pay the piper” came to mind, and I had instant butterflies in my stomach. Angry butterflies. I guess I hadn’t quite realized it before, but that was the moment I realized my life had changed, when my wife asked me not whether I was wearing a diaper but whether I had changed into a dry one, while I stood there wondering what punishment she had in store for me.

“Come here to me,” Kate said as she moved to stand at the foot of the bed. I did as I was told, and standing in front of her like a little boy about to be chastised, the two-inch height difference, that was never an issue between us, made me feel even more like like a kid.

“You were in a little bit of trouble, Kate said, holding her thumb and forefinger just a half-in apart, “before, and now you’re in this much,” she said as she pulled her fingers three inches apart. “I don’t want to be in charge of your diapers, sweetie, but what are the two things we talked about in the rules?” 

I had a hard time looking at her, and a hard time remember the second thing, so I said the first. “You said the keep the leaks to a minimum.”

“And this many nights in a row is not a minimum. And I told you to fix the problem, and obviously you haven’t. Those stains on the mattress aren’t coming out.”

“I know.”

“It’s pretty embarrassing having those there.”

I swallowed again. “I know.”

“Do you remember the second thing we talked about with your diapers?”

“I …” I didn’t. “Sorry,” I decided to apologize instead of trying to fake it, something that never worked when I was a kid but always did manage to get me into more trouble.

“Hygiene. Do you really think it’s hygienic to wake up in a leaky diaper and then go back to sleep?”

“A diaper can last through the night,” I protested.

“When it works,” she retorted. “When your … peepee is in the diaper, not on your skin and on our mattress. You should have changed, and I shouldn’t have to tell you these things.”

“I guess I didn’t think about it.”

She shrugged. “You need to start thinking about these things. You want this; I’m on board with it; but it’s your responsibility.”

“I know,” I mumbled. Honestly, though, I didn’t see the big deal. Before we moved in together I’d have slept in a leaky diaper. I wouldn’t have even changed the sheets in the middle of the night but waited until morning. But maybe she was right about it and I should’ve. Still, though, wasn’t like I developed some massive dermatological problem. It wasn’t that often, maybe once a week or less, even.

“So,” she sighed, “I’m going to punish you. I was going to take your phone away for the day, but now that I see you still in that leaky diaper, I’m going to spank your bottom.” She tried to keep a stern, gentle, even tone, but I could’ve sworn her breath quavered when she said ‘spank your bottom.’ For my part, I looked everywhere but her face, nervous, those butterflies getting angrier by the moment, and wondering what a spanking felt like on a bottom that had been in a wet diaper for eight hours.