Bottoms Up, Chapter 10 (Patreon)

Note from the author: There's a handful of words in this chapter that Patreon does not appreciate me saying and were flagged. I've censored them to allow this story to get posted without any trouble. They should still be pretty obvious, but just a heads up.

Ten: Buttercup

Sp*nking wasn’t entirely new to Effie. Her grandmother had been the paddling type - one of the very last of her kind, she suspected. Eleven years old felt like a very very long time ago, but in the scheme of things - and in consideration of her current age - it really wasn’t that long ago at all. She might as well have been paddled a week ago.

Much more recently, in the minutes prior to when Effie had knocked on Margaret McCrea’s front door, Effie needed to come to terms with a hard truth: If she was going to do this for Layne and the store - and if she was going to come to this house at all - she had to be ready to fully commit. No matter what it was that this crazy lady wanted, it would be worth it if Hamish Bellencourt was on their side.

And so, no, she wasn’t thrilled about taking off her short black skirt. Or her violet satin panties. She wasn’t at all eager for this woman, easily 20 years her senior, to see her nude from the waist down.

“You promise?” Effie asked again. “What happens here stays here? No photos? No videos? No expectation that I will come back here again? No showing up in the store in the future and commenting on the things that happened here?”

“What sort of monster do you take me as?” responded Margaret, clutching her chest as if greatly offended.

“I just need to know that,” Effie said. “Because if you give me your word, I promise that I’ll do whatever wacky thing you want me to do.”

“You have my word,” Margaret said, one hand on her chest and one hand raised as if being sworn in at court. “And my appreciation for being so open-minded.”

“Okay,” Effie said. “Thank you. That means a lot to me, because…”

“That’ll be enough talking, young lady.” Margaret’s voice had taken an abrupt swerve into stern and commanding. It stopped Effie in her tracks. More than that - it had immediately defined their roles. Margaret was in charge, and she would be respected.

“Now then,” Margaret continued, after giving Effie a moment to let her authority sink in, “up on my lap. It’s time for your sp*nking, young lady.”

As awkward as it was, and there was plenty of that, it could’ve been worse. After all, it hadn’t been that long ago since the last time she had been in this position. And she hadn’t forgotten it.

Effie crawled over Margaret’s lap as she sat in a simple wooden dining room chair that she had pulled out from the table. Her midsection balanced on the top of the woman’s thighs, while her buttocks sat poised off the edge of her lap - the perfect position. She half-expected to hear something like “This will hurt me more than it will hurt you.”

There was no such sentiment offered.

She had still been in the process of nestling into Margaret’s lap when the first swat came in, stinging her bottom like a giant flat bee. She yelped louder than she thought she would’ve, or could’ve. She blushed, unprepared for having to sacrifice so much dignity so soon.

The next four or five came at a steady rhythm - a firm slap, a pause, and then the next. Margaret had varied the force of her impact with each, making the next feel unpredictable in where - and how hard - it would land. Each eked out another short burst of noise from Effie’s mouth.

“It is unfortunate for you that I know your type,” Margaret said. “All too well, in fact. I was once a little Effie. And I could have definitely used a firm paddling to keep me in my place”

Effie heard the words, but hadn’t quite absorbed them. There were too many stimuli to focus on any one - and the most obvious were smacking her in the ass.

“Six,” announced Margaret, tallying the number of swats so far. “Seven. Eight.”

She could feel something happening, but it was hard to say what it was. It was an embrace of submission, for sure, but it was more. She was eleven years old again and she had just pushed her cousin into the lake. She was eight years old again and she had just thrown the bowl of lima beans into the trash can. She was five years old again and she had just wet her pants at the county fair.

“Eleven. Twelve.”

Effie had once begged an ex named Vincent to give her ass a few good cracks. He gave it a half-assed attempt - as he did with most things in their relationship. Now that she was getting to experience the real thing, she’d need more. It’d be a requirement of men, and women, moving forward. Or, she could just date Margaret. Very tempting.

“Is that enough?” Margaret asked.

Effie offered only a sheepish nod in response.

“Then we best get you a few more, to make sure you don’t forget this anytime soon.”

Fourteen, fifteen and sixteen landed in quick succession, targeting areas that had already turned red and throbbing. Whatever it was she had been thinking about - it was gone now. Effie had been driven to a blank numbness. The world faded and then blurred. She knew only two things now: her ass was absolutely killing her...

“There. All done now, baby. Promise.”

...and she’d do anything to be called ‘baby’ by Margaret again.

Margaret slowly and methodically rubbed Effie’s bruised and inflamed ass. The same palm and fingers that had caused such damage seconds ago now gently caressed her skin. It was a long ways from complete relief, but peace was being restored.

“I know that’s not the most fun way to start our day off together. But I think it helped, don’t you? You seem so much more...supple now.”

Effie agreed with this assessment.

“We’ve got you feeling the part, but now we need to get you looking the part too. Come with me.”

She had no resistance or hesitation in taking Margaret’s hand so that she could follow the woman through the house, up the stairs and towards another room. The paddling had warmed her bottom well enough that she hadn’t even considered the fact that she wasn’t wearing pants until they walked up the stairs.

Before Margaret had opened the door, Effie imagined a nursery - not like the weird pseudo-closet that Layne worked on when he was in a mood, but the real thing. The place that the big babies who shopped at Bottoms Up either had or dreamed about owning. The door opened to reveal a pretty plain-looking guest room. Just a spare bed, some furniture, and some boxes that looked like they just had nowhere else to go.

But there was no time to be disappointed. Sitting atop that bed was a small pile of folded diapers, just waiting for them.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Margaret said, pointing to the diapers. “I made the selection myself.”

“Buttercups,” Effie said softly. They were a cute style of diaper that Bottoms Up sold: Mostly pastel yellow with light blue flower shapes printed across it.

“Shall we get these on you?”

Effie nodded.

“You must know what I need from you then, yes?”

Effie might not have ever considered herself to be any sort of AB or DL, but she had absorbed a good amount of basic knowledge from just standing inside Bottoms Up. Stories people told. Discussions. Connecting dots when reading product descriptions. Observing the comments and conversations shared in the comments of social media. She knew how this worked - she knew the motions.

But for the first time ever, she also had the honest-to-goodness passion to experience it for herself.

She practically threw herself down on the bed, landing on her back. She knew where her legs would need to be, but she lacked the boldness needed to just stick them up in the air.

Margaret, on the other hand, had no qualms about modesty or the quantity of boldness. She grasped Effie’s legs and lifted them straight into the air. For Effie, she felt more vulnerable now than she had while over Margaret’s lap.

“What a good girl,” Margaret cooed, admiring the underside of Effie as if a car had just been lifted on hydraulics. “Shaved clean. You saved me the trouble of having to do that myself.”

Effie blushed, imagining Margaret lathering her pussy before running a razor between her legs. She wished she knew that had been on the table.

Next time. And then: What the hell am I thinking? There’s not going to be a next time.

“You have to forgive me,” Margaret said, laughing awkwardly, as she longingly stared under Effie’s lifted legs. “It has been a while since I’ve been in the company of a little girl. Well - ahem - a young woman. I care for plenty of little girls. Though I’m usually the one reminding them that they’re little girls.”

Did Margaret seem flustered herself?

“Is...this okay?” Effie asked. She wasn’t entirely sure, herself, what this was, but it seemed to be the polite thing to ask.

“This is more than okay,” Margaret said. “But be careful, little one. I could just eat you up. Absolutely devour you.”

Effie’s cheeks flared with warmth. She had opened her mouth so that she could tell Margaret to have a taste, but she had stopped herself at the last moment. Maybe, for now, it’d best to let things take their course. If she wanted more she could think about it later when she wasn’t paddle-drunk.

The Buttercup was unfolded and slid under Effie’s lifted bottom. For Effie, the world suddenly seemed to be lurching into hyperspeed. With a practiced and experienced handling of the diaper, Margaret made it ridiculously simple.

Effie was reminded, briefly, of watching cooking videos on YouTube. They stir some pre-measured ingredients into a bowl and then flip it around in a hot pan to make the most delicious looking dish. Meanwhile, Effie would watch/stop/rewind/play/stop/rewind/play/stop nearly every 10 seconds and still end up with a dish that looked nothing like the one in the video.

By the time she had finished thinking about cooking videos, she was wearing a diaper.

So this is what it’s like, huh?

She had seen so many big babies before - waddling escapists with at least one foot lodged in a world that she hadn’t been privy to. Their thick diapers sticking out of their pants, or at least being well defined within their too-tight clothing. It was weird to see until it had just become the norm. And, as the figurative anthropologist she sometimes pretended to be, there was little else to do but to monitor them from behind a counter.

And now, she understood it. Perhaps not all of it - there were so many deeper holes that could be explored. But just feeling the bulk of the thick diaper between her legs seemed to answer questions she never knew she had. Like: How does a diaper make you feel safe and secure, yet also so exposed and vulnerable? Well, it just does - and it was the sort of thing that you didn’t question.

“Do you like the way that makes you feel?” asked Margaret.

“Uhm…”

“A prideful little girl, yes? Did you think yourself above the other little babies in your shop? Did you never think you’d be one of them?”

Effie, as far as she could recall, had never specifically said to herself that she believed she was above those babies. But with her sore bottom sealed into a diaper of her own, she recognized the creeping humiliation that was consuming her as the realization that she was really not that much different from the baby-men who prattled on at the counter of the store.

“I like it,” Effie said finally. “I like how it makes me feel.” She said it to herself more-so than she had said it to Margaret. She needed to say it aloud to make it feel real and official.

“Sit up, dear,” Margaret said, opening a closet. “We’ll need to complete the look.”

The closet door slid open to reveal colors. Clothes hung from hangers. Toys and bins and boxes stored below. Stockpiles of colorful diapers in all prints and sizes. It was as if the entire store had been crammed into a small closet.

Margaret selected a dress from a hanger. It seemed kind of small to Effie, but that also seemed like the point. It’s soft creamy-green color reminded her of spreading avocado on a piece of toast. A strange color for a baby dress - but one that seemed to make sense with her yellow diaper.

“You shall be my little Buttercup,” Margaret announced.

Effie nodded to agree - she had already seen that statement coming. She raised her arms into the air before she even realized she was doing it - allowing Margaret to pull the dress down over her.

Once on, Effie could see that she had misjudged the dress’s size - albeit, only slightly. The top of the dress was an almost perfect fit for her. It was just the bottom that ended up being comically short. Intentionally so. Bottoms Up sold dresses much like this one - perhaps even this one. Effie imagined that she may well have been the one who hung it in the store in the first place - no idea that she’d one day be wearing it herself. Still, she knew as she sat there that this dress would do nothing to conceal the diaper. If anything, it highlighted it. It pointed it out with thick soft-green fingers.

“Oh and we’re missing something,” Margaret said, a light-bulb almost having appeared above her head. She reached back into the closet and rummaged around until she found what she wanted. A yellow bonnet - a little brighter than the diaper, but close enough that it did make for a fitting cap to the ensemble.

Margaret carefully positioned it over Effie’s head, tucking her hair into the back of it before tying it on under Effie’s chin.

“There!” Margaret proclaimed. “You have to look at this.”

She pointed to a full-length mirror on the back of the door to the room. From her angle, Effie couldn’t see herself, and so she slid from the bed, taking her first few cautious steps as a new baby. The mobility both was and wasn’t everything she had expected. The bulk between her legs forced each leg to make slow and exaggerated strides forward - that classic telltale diaper waddle. But she had been wrong to think that this was an awkward way of walking. On the contrary, this already felt natural and expected.

There was the little girl in the mirror. Little Buttercup, her yellow diaper hanging well below where the dress ended.  The yellow bonnet, meanwhile, contrasted with her paler face. She looked younger. Smaller.

Fitting, because that was exactly how she felt.

“You may be tempted to fight what you’re feeling,” Margaret said from behind her as she stared into the mirror. “You may think that this is just temporary. Sooner than later, you’ll return to your big girl clothes and you can leave this house thinking that you’ve done your party and that it’s over. And I won’t fault you for thinking those things. But, I’d implore you to savor this moment now, while you can. While you’re unjudged and free to explore this as much as you’d like to.”

It was true - Effie knew there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Reaching it would be the point in which she said to herself” “Well, that was quite the day, wasn’t it?”

But she was in no rush to reach the end of the tunnel. Margaret was right - this was certainly a moment worth pausing on and savoring.

She imagined it being harder than this - like she would need to spend a half-hour convincing her body to just accept what she wanted. But no, it had been no harder than sitting on a toilet.

As she stared at the baby in the mirror, she wet the diaper, feeling thick layers of padding wick away the moisture as quickly as it could. A losing battle - the diaper was overwhelmed by the steady stream, and until the padding could catch up, a small pool had formed in the bottom of the diaper.

In the seconds that passed, every drop found its place within the diaper. The diaper was different now. Obviously; but it amazed her at just how much it had changed everything. She was no longer wearing a fluffy cloud, she was wearing a handful of wet bathing suit bottoms, and they hung between her legs shamefully.

“My goodness,” said Margaret. “I’ve never seen a baby soil a fresh diaper so quickly. And this is your first? You barely got to experience it while dry.”

“I...I think I like it better this way,” Effie replied.

“Is that so? I have to say, this comes as a little bit of a surprise to me,” Margaret said.

“It does?”

“I had you pegged as a dainty little girl. A little princess, allowing yourself to be cute and doted on - perhaps the opposite of who I thought you are as a big girl. But...it seems to me that you’re actually a dirty little girl. A baby in filthy diapers who probably wouldn’t come to me to ask for a change.”

Effie was unsure as to whether or not that was accurate - she had been a baby for less than 10 minutes. But it sounded right.

“So you like your wet diaper?” Margaret asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you think you’d like it if it were...dirtier?”

Effie immediately thought of Hanson, squatting down in the middle of the store and pushing a smelly mess into his diaper. She had been so mad and disgusted at him at that moment. But she could now sense another emotion lingering under that negativity.

Jealousy?

Was she jealous? Jealous that he felt he had the freedom to do something so disgusting and self-pleasing in public? Jealous that he had gotten the exact reaction he likely wanted before being able to go home and pleasure himself to those memories?

“I would,” she said, her face hanging so that she couldn’t see her own cheeks in the mirror.

“I can arrange that,” Margaret said.

“How?” It was a silly question - she helped to sell some of the methods a baby might use to make a clean diaper dirty.

“We’ll use this,” Margaret said, pulling an enema bag out from the closet.

What an amazing closet, Effie thought.

Margaret quickly added: “If you’d like, that is. I don’t wish to force anything on you.”

“Yes,” Effie said. “I want that.”

She might have zoned out there, or perhaps her brain just expunged the unnecessary details of what transpired between agreeing to an enema and lying on her belly, ass propped up in the air by her knees. Because there she was, having a plastic tube pressed into her bottom as her soggy diaper was pulled down enough to give Margaret access.

If Effie thought about - really thought about it - she may have rejected this moment. Margaret was a stranger, and a stranger with a lot of power for as long as she could influence Hamish. And now she was about to give Effie an enema - something Effie probably wouldn't have even agreed to had her family physician suggested it.

The world beyond Effie was blurred. There was no Margaret, and she was not at Margaret’s house. She was in her own space, and she was the only one there. It was just Baby Buttercup - a name that had an incredibly alluring ring to it - diaper pulled down and getting an enema. It didn’t matter how it was happening, just that it was.

With the nozzle completely inserted, Margaret’s fingers caressed Effie’s damp backside for a moment. A reminder that she was still there, perhaps.

“This may feel strange,” Margaret said. “But just let the enema do its work.”

Effie’s first thought was curiosity as to whether or not Margaret had ever experienced an enema - or a diaper, for that matter - herself. But that thought was immediately eradicated from her mind as the water was released from the enema bag. Just as the warm water was to clean out her bowels, it had cleaned everything from her consciousness too.

Effie moaned softly as she felt herself fill.

It could’ve been two minutes, or it could’ve been ten. Eventually the water stopped, and it was unclear if that was just all that was in the enema bag, or if Margaret had determined that Effie had taken enough of it inside her.

“I’m going to pull the nozzle from you slowly,” Margaret said. “There’s a lot of foul things that want to come out of your body now. Were you a baby who was in my care more frequently, I’d ask you to hold it a bit longer or until I’ve given permission for you to release it. But, seeing as how this is our first time, there’ll be no such request from me. Hold it until you can’t.”

Effie wanted to hold it. She wanted to feel that immense pressure that she was already feeling build within her. She wanted the moment of release to feel as much like an accident as she possibly could.

The plastic nozzle was pulled from Effie and the diaper was hoisted back up into place. Just in time, too, as this was exactly how long Effie could hold it.

In hindsight, Effie would believe that there was no amount of effort on her part that would’ve allowed for her to hold the enema any longer. The decision was out of her hands almost immediately. Margaret’s hands were probably still on the diaper, shifting it into place, as Effie’s little a*us gave out.

The moment was unlike any that Effie had experienced in her life. It was more than just the immediate and violent rejection of everything in Effie’s bowels into a diaper - though it was a bit of that too. It was complete surrender of every part of her body. She was a baby now, not even able to stand on her own at the moment - just lying there with her ass in the air as she loaded the diaper.

Little dummy baby. Stupid little girl. A pathetic little pants-filler who was completely overwhelmed by how much she liked the feeling of a disgusting pile of shame in her diaper.

“Oh my,” Margaret finally said, her hand sliding down the back of the diaper to feel the new weight of what had been added.

The diaper had, miraculously, stayed in place - likely on account of the angle in which Effie’s ass was positioned, with her bent legs tucked beneath her. Had she been standing, the diaper could very well have slid down her legs like a mud-filled bomb.

“In every way possible,” Margaret said, “you have surprised me. Shall we get you cleaned up now?”

“N-no,” Effie said. She wasn’t even sure if she was actually saying the words or not.

“No? For just how long do you intend to stay like this?” Margaret asked. “For as cute as you look, you smell absolutely dreadful.”

Effie knew what she needed. She thought, maybe, she was just saying the words in her head - but she was actually saying them out loud: “I need to come in my dirty diaper.”

Margaret laughed. “Well, of course. That can be arranged.”