Because You Asked for It Chapter 24 (Patreon)

Ever don’t feel like it? Sometimes I don’t feel like it. Which is why I let a couple chores slide a bit. Not a lot, just a bit. I hardly noticed the difference after a week, but as Katie helpfully explained to me, I’m a guy, and guys would live like pigs in the mud if we weren’t trying to impress woman, or if the women in our lives let us.  

“Jordan, could you come here. Please.” What I lack in the drive to do chores sometimes, I make up for in powers of observation. When Katie wants to discuss something, she comes and finds me. When I’m in trouble, she calls me to her. I couldn’t think of what I’d done, or what I hadn’t done. 

“Where are you,” I called out, trying to sound like nothing was wrong, that everything was fine and that whatever was bothering her was not a big deal, that I’d take care of it, no effort on her part necessary. 

“In my bathroom.” We share a bathroom. I don’t know why she called it hers. 

“What’s up, honey?” 

“You tell me,” she said. “I’ll be waiting in the bedroom.” She walked past me, leaving me in our bathroom wondering what the issue was. I hadn’t cleaned it very well, but it wasn’t dirty. The sink could use a rinse, so I did that. The bathtub did have the beginnings of a ring around it, because we do have hard water. I grabbed the sponge under the sink and made quick work of it. I’d washed the towels and rugs just two days ago. The floor was clean. I only use the toilet to ... 

It’s not like everybody flushes the toilet and then waits to make sure it didn’t clog. I mean, literally no one does that. You flush, you close the lid, you wash your hands, you move on with your day. Once in a blue moon does that formula not work. So I fixed that problem, and I tried to play it off like it was no big deal, because it wasn’t. And knowing that it wasn’t, I gave myself 60/40 odds of Katie choosing to see it that way. I’m not stupid. I knew she had been purposefully strict, absurdly so sometimes, even as she’d also become a lot gentler and more involved with my diapers. We were both getting more of what we wanted, even if her getting what she wanted meant me wincing when I sat a lot of the time. 

“Sorry, honey,” I said as I went into our bedroom. “All fixed.” 

“Are you having potty problems?” 

“What?” Wasn’t expecting that question. Was expecting, sort of, to be told to go to the guest room and wait for her, but wasn’t expecting that question. 

“You must be having potty problems. Maybe you’re not ready for the big boy potty at all yet.” 

I felt my stomach flip. Even with her changing me almost every day, she knew talking about diapers still embarrassed me. That’s why she did it, to watch me squirm. I like it a little bit. She likes it a lot. “I-i-it’s-s-s n-not a bi-big d-deal. It won’t happen again.” 

“Come here, young man.” The part of me that loves and hates this had my breath suddenly shallow. I shuffled over to where she was sitting on the bed, not sure if I was about to be pulled over her knee or if she was just going to lecture me some more, driving her point home in the most humiliating way she could verbalize. 

“Sit,” she said, and I did. “I know it’s a big change going back to diapees at your age, and it’s okay if you have trouble remembering how to use the potty. Is that what happened?” 

“N-no.” My mouth was so dry I couldn’t make my tongue work right. 

“It’s not?”  

“N-no. Really.” I had the sense I was walking into a trap. 

“So if you’re not having potty problems, than you should know better than to leave a mess.” She may as well have drawn an X on the bedspread to indicate ‘trap here,’ and I sat right on it. I don’t think there was a right answer to her question. 

“No, it, w-wasn’t that.” 

“Well, either you don’t know how to use the potty, or you were just naughty about it. So which one is it?” I don’t know what would have happened if I said I don’t know how. Probably something I wouldn’t like. Admitting to naughtiness - does anybody even use that word anymore - would earn me a spanking. Probably not an overly harsh one. She was spanking me more often, but it was a lot of small ones, not a lot of major ones. I’d be fine a half hour after she was done. I still couldn’t bring myself to say it though. 

Instead, I said, “I know h-how to u-use the p-p-...” 

“Potty,” she finished for me. I know she wasn’t trying to be mean, but I’m a little sensitive about my stutter. The dirty look I gave her was just reflex. I quickly put it away and stood up. “Where are you going?” 

“Um, to my corner?” 

She reached out and took my hand, tugging me back to the bed. “It’s very cute that you’d put yourself in timeout, but we’re gonna let the punishment fit the crime.” Before I could ask what that meant, she volunteered, “No potty until tomorrow.” 

“Kate!” 

“The potty is a privilege for little boys in diapers,” she shrugged. 

“You know I don’t do that, though.” 

“That’s what makes it a punishment.” 

“But ...” I felt my panicky. “Can’t you ... just spank me instead?” 

“You don’t get to choose your punishments, Jordy.” She stood up. “No potty until tomorrow.” 

“C’mon! Just ... I’ll go get the paddle.” I started out of the room, and she grabbed me by my upper arm. 

“No, Jordan Allen. No potty until tomorrow. That’s final.” 

“This is such bullshit!” Okay, so my emotions got the better of me and I swore. Swearing is not a big deal. Swearing at your spouse, or sort of half at your spouse and half at the stupid thing your spouse is doing, is. Of course, in a domestic discipline marriage, swearing like I’d just done is the equivalent of setting something on fire. 

Her hand was connecting with my butt before I could even apologize. At least I was diapered. I tried to apologize, but I don’t think she even heard me over the THWUMP sound a spank on a dry diaper makes and her own lecturing. 

“You naughty, naughty boy!” She was beating out time to her words on the back of my diaper. “You’re really gonna get it now.” And then I was a half step behind her while she pulled me toward the guest room slash place I change my diapers slash place I get spanked. 

“I’m sorry!” 

“Not like you’re gonna be.” At least I was getting the punishment I preferred. She marched me right up to the edge of the bed. “Stay.” 

“Kate ...” 

“No!” Did she just tell me ‘no’ like a toddler? It did not seem like an affectation. It sounded like it rolled off her tongue like she was actually scolding a toddler. And I did sort of feel like I’d touched the stove. She got the paddle out of the nightstand. 

“You do not swear at me, understand,” she asked as she sat down.  

“Yes,” I said meekly. 

“When you get upset, you count to ten and you talk to me appropriately. You do not throw a tantrum.” She was unbuttoning my shorts, and there was I was, just in my shirt and diaper. “In fact,” she said as she felt the front of my diaper, “swear words are off limits. They’re not for little boys in diapers. Over.” 

I laid myself over her leg on the bed. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” 

“Darn right it won’t,” she said as she reached under me and pulled the tapes open. She pulled the diaper down in back but left it under me.  

That paddle fell on my butt like a kinetic weapon. I swear I remember a flash of light next. It was like my brain couldn’t handle all the pain signals so it sent some to my visual cortex. 

“You! Do! Not! Use! Bad! Words! At! Me!”  

“It was an accident,” I pleaded. That didn’t even slow the paddle down. She worked that same pattern of spanks across my butt, top to bottom, side to side, leaving no skin unspanked. That was the first time I ever got teary during a spanking without first feeling really guilty about what I’d done. I knew I shouldn’t have sworn at her. I only did because the punishment she was going to give me instead was just anathema to me. I’d never done that. I didn’t want to do that. I was shocked she wanted me to do that. She was only recently okay with pee. So I was sorry, but I wasn’t really feeling guilty. 

“Please! I won’t swear again!” 

“You (SPANK!) had better (SPANK!) Not (SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK SPANK)!” And then she stopped. “Am I going to hear anymore potty mouth from you?” (SPANK!) 

“No!” I took a look sniffle. 

“Do you remember what soap tastes like?” (SPANK!) 

Oh god, not that again. “Yes!” 

“Then you watch your mouth, buster. Up you get.” 

I stood up, and my hands went straight to my butt. My butt felt swollen. It wasn’t the worst spanking I’d ever gotten, but it was the most intense, and it had only lasted thirty seconds. Katie looked at me and shook her head and she sighed. 

“Sometimes I don’t know whether to hug you or keep spanking you.” I knew how I would vote. I got a hug, and she as she pulled away from me she took the diaper from between my legs. “Lie down, Jordy. Let’s get a new diapee on you.” 

Very carefully, I lay back on the bed. There’s no way to do that that doesn’t involve putting your butt down at some point. When I was diapered, and after Kate gave given me a couple pats that felt like spanks to my traumatized rear, she sat down next to me again. 

“C’mere,” she said, opening her arms again. I got closer to her, and we embraced, and she gave me a kiss on the head. I love that. “I know it really must be hard being put back in diapers ...”  

So I guess we were just running with that scenario now, as true as my supposed incontinence. Okay then. 

“And I know you must get really frustrated sometimes because you feel like a big boy...” 

The pain I was still in was the only reason I wasn’t protesting. I’m not an age player. I’m not. I’m just a DL. Maybe I like some things that go along with diapers. Maybe that little re-enactment we did triggered something inside me. It didn’t turn me into an AB or adult kid. And she knew that. She just loved this part of the dynamic, the erotic humiliation. I think it was probably the part about me being put back in diapers - dammit! I mean, my choosing diapers - she liked. It seemed she tolerated the diapers at first. I don’t think she would say they were one of her fetishes now, but I think she liked at least this aspect of it. They gave her a new way to needle me. 

“But when I give you a punishment and you get upset, there’s a right way to deal with those feelings. You can try to be like a big boy and accept it, or you can ask me to talk calmly about it, but you do not throw a tantrum. Understand?” 

“Yes.” I said it knowing I’d be in trouble if I didn’t. 

“Boys who throw tantrums get their diapers pulled down and get spanked on their bottoms, don’t they?” 

I could sense she was getting excited with each question. “Yes.” 

“Isn’t that what happened to you? Did you get your diaper pulled down and your naked caboose spanked?” 

There’s a limit to what I’ll tolerate. I guess that’s not it because I swallowed and said, “Yes.” 

“That’ll give you something to think about while you’re waiting for your potty privileges back.” 

“What!” 

“I told you, your punishment stands.” 

“But, I got spanked,” I whined. 

“For naughty words.” Her voice was comforting, the way she said that, calm, like she was explaining it to me very gently. That, more than the spa king and diapering and lecture and loss of potty privileges, made me feel like a little boy. The gentle explanation of why I was being punished, like I was six again and didn’t understand.  

I fast forwarded in my head and pictured the inevitable. “But I don’t wanna!” How’s that for a stellar argument? Not that there was any point to arguing. 

“Shhh... punishments aren’t supposed to be something you want.” 

“But ... I should get to choose how ... they’re my diapers.” 

“Not anymore, Jordy. That’s what being put back in diapers means. It’s not a choice anymore.” 

“But ... That’s not fair.” Ya know who whines about fairness? Hypocritical politicians, little kids, and me, apparently.  

“The choice you get until this time tomorrow is whether to hold it or use your diapees. That should give you plenty of time to think about not leaving messes for me in the bathroom.” 

“What if I can’t hold it?” 

“That’s what diapers are for, sweetie,” she explained again like I was still six and didn’t get it. All that was missing was for her to ruffle my hair. Which she then did. 

I felt defeated. Thoroughly spanked, thoroughly chastised, and put back in diapers. I wonder if I’d said yes all those years ago if I’d have had to use them for everything. At least I’d already gone when I woke up. Sometimes I only go once a day. I could hold it that long. It’d just be uncomfortable by the time I woke up the next day.