Power Princess [A Quick One][Archive] (Patreon)

I see her during the day, she’s all business.  Her pose and professionalism give her such power.  You’re either vying for her attention, or she’s outsmarting you, and I see the pleasure this brings her either way.

So when I see her now, like this, it seems impossible.  She lies on her back, her legs kicking playfully in the air.  As she rolls onto her side, she grabs at her bottle and pulls it to her pursed lips so that she can suckle from it.

“Do you need to be changed?” I ask.  She shakes her head in an exaggerated fashion.  It’s almost too cute.  To be sure, I kneel next to her and plant my hand firmly on her diapered bottom, giving a practiced squeeze.  It is most certainly saturated.

“Come now,” I urge.  She laughs playfully, shaking her head at me again.

I’m tempted to think of how strange it is that I have such power over her in moments like this, when she’s regressed to just a playful toddler.  But then I remember - it is still she who is in charge.  She’s getting exactly what she wants - as she always does.

“I need to change your diaper,” I say softly. I hope for it to sound commanding and strong, but the words end up sounding a little whining. It’s no surprise to me that she refuses and rolls further from me with a giggle.

I try again: “But...don’t you want your diaper to be changed? You don’t want a rash, do you?”

“Am-umma-babba-ga,” she babbled, the bottle’s nipple still planted in her mouth. I’m unsure if she was actually trying to say something or if it was just another attempt at baby talk - something she had been working on perfecting.

“If you’re not going to let me change your diaper, then you can just stay in that one until you’ve gone and used it again. Rash or no rash.”

Again, my attempt at sounding parental had fallen on deaf ears as she playfully kicked her feet about again, slurping down the last third of her bottle. Sooner or later she’d either come to me in need of a change because her diaper was filled beyond what was comfortable for her - or I’d give up waiting and have to pin her down so I could just get it down. Either way, the result was me waiting on the big baby hand and foot.

I’d have thought that wearing a diaper and soiling herself would be synonymous with a surrender of power. Yet it still felt like she was the one in control.

Which, I knew, was exactly how she always liked it.