An ABDL Easter Special

As much as you appreciate everything your partner does for you, there are times when they go a little too far. It used to be that you could have a rational discussion about those things, but ever since Thanksgiving when they unilaterally put you back in diapers, those sorts of rational conversations seem to have gotten more difficult. Not just for you, but for your partner, too. Almost as if your return to diapers and a growing dependence on them (and on your partner) had altered the balance of your relationship in ways both of you were still working out. Like the little tiff the two of you had before leaving for your parents’ house to celebrate Easter.

It was uncanny what your partner had said because it was the same thing your mother had said years ago, that on Christmas and Easter you wore what she wanted you to wear. Of course, why your partner wanted you to wear such a childish outfit wasn’t so clear to you, but then they didn’t agree that it was childish in the first place.

“Who else wears such short shorts,” you ask them, both of you at the limit of your patience.

“Lots of people,” is the generic response you got back. “Just a couple days a year I ask you to wear something specific. Is that so hard?” Of course, counting your diapers, not a day goes by that you don’t wear something your partner wants you to wear.

“They make my diaper obvious.”

“Nonsense.”

“You’re not taking me seriously.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not!”

Raising your voice is a mistake, and an hour later, you don’t mind at all when your partner asks you to help hide the Easter eggs in your parents’ yard. You’re glad for the space. And it is in those shorts and your lavender onesie that your little sister approaches you with, “Hey, kiddo.”

“Hi. Happy Easter.”

“Happy Easter. What’re you doing out here?”

“Hiding eggs.”

“How’d you get roped into that? That’s the kids’ job.” It has always been the kids’ job. Once they outgrow searching for the eggs, they become responsible for hiding them for the younger kids.

“I was asked. I don’t mind.”

“You seemed awfully quiet inside. I wanted to come check on you. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“What kind of answer is that?” She punches you gently on the arm just like fifteen years ago when you were inseparable best friends, before she got married and had kids. You’re still close, but just like everything else compared to back then, it isn’t the same as it had been.

“Sorry,” you say and force a smile, “just not in a great mood today.”

“Well, come inside with me.”

“I have to finish this.”

“One of the kids can finish. C’mon, let’s go get your pants changed.”

She takes you by the wrist and leads you toward the house, not seeing you roll your eyes. Ever since you went back in diapers, and even you are now willing to admit they are overdue after years of bigger and more frequent accidents, it seems like all your closest family and even a few good friends seem to think nothing of mentioning the state of your diaper and, even more embarrassing, nothing of being in the room while your partner changes you or even doing the job themselves. Does no one appreciate that it isn’t exactly something you care to be so open about? Just the nudity alone, like they don’t even think of you that way now that you’re diapered all day every day.

They don’t mind your nakedness and the state of your diapers any more than they mind talking about your partner’s decision to return you to diapers while you’re in the room, like the last time your parents and your partner’s parents were together and your mom had been so complimentary of your in-laws, saying, “You sure raised a smart one, and brave too. I think we all knew it was overdue, but I just didn’t have the heart to say anything. It was such a constant fight getting them out of diapers the first time, and it wasn’t so long after that we realized that was a big mistake. Then the second time getting them out of diapers, well, some things don’t get easier the more you do them.”

And your father in-law wholeheartedly agreed, saying, “I don’t think there’s going to be a third time. Certainly not at our house. I love them so much, but after that Sunday dinner, our flooring can’t risk it.”

“I was sick,” you retorted. It was as though everyone remembered suddenly you were in the room and could understand perfectly well what they were saying about you. Eyes turned to you and even more self-conscious than you’d been a moment ago, you added, “I think we all got sick.” Something had been going around, and you all caught it at some point.

Your partner stroked your arm and gently replied, “But we all made it to a bathroom, sweetie. But that’s okay. Everyone understands you can’t help these things. That’s why I put you back in diapers.”

And now your little sister is leading you up the stairs to your childhood bedroom, passing your brother in-law walking down the stairs with your nephew on his hip and holding a rolled-up Pampers in his hand. He winks at you, and not in a mean way. It would be easier if everybody was mean, if the gentle condescension was mocking and not because it seemed everyone just silently agreed to treat you with kid gloves, like you being in diapers is no different than it is for the toddler he was carrying, a fact not at all out of the ordinary and perfectly fine to discuss or even engage in. It makes you wonder whether you really do come off as that emotionally fragile and in need of loving protection from everyone who cares about you.

“You don’t have to do this,” you remind your sister as she leads you into your room.

“You said that last time,” she says teasingly. “If I could handle that dirty job, I think I can handle your huggies when you’re just wet.” She gives you a swat on your butt, making you jump. “Your diaper bag is already up here. Perfect.”

As if you need your diaper bag at your parents’ house anymore. Ever since diapers became your underwear again, your childhood bedroom has had everything needed for a diaper change and even a change of clothes, “just in case you leak or have a blow out,” your mom had reassured you, as though that was at all reassuring … though you quietly admitted to yourself it actually was reassuring to know there’s a change of clothes there if needed.

“Go ahead and lay down on your changing mat,” she urges you, the one that has been laid on your childhood bed constantly since just after Christmas. You do as she says, knowing from the past six months’ experience that declining the offer of a change gets you curious looks and too often for comfort ends in you feeling even more ridiculous when they say, “You wanna sit in it? Then lay down, you silly goose.” If forced to choose, though, you prefer being called a silly goose to being called ‘fussy,’ a word you’ve only ever heard applied to small children, until a few months ago when a few people have started to apply it to you when you’ve hemmed and hawed about a diaper change. Every time, you’ve been too bashful to just tell them you’d prefer to wait for your partner to do it, and you doubt they’d have let you wait even if you did.

“These shorts are awfully snug,” your little sister says as she unbuttons them.

“I know,” you groan. Your partner considers it progress that you’ll talk during a diaper change now. At first, you’d remain silent and often as not fold your arms over your eyes as though hiding.

“Lift up for me.” You raise your hips, and she tugs your shorts to your ankles. “I’m such a space cadet today,” she says and takes off your sandals and then removes your shorts completely. “I would never have guessed that’s a onesie,” she remarks about your shirt.

“Mom made it.” She made more than a few.

“Clever.” She unsnaps the buttons, and as you expect her to, she goes, “Aww! A diaper with bunnies on it! That is so perfect for Easter. Too cute! I wish they made them in your niece’s size,” she adds, referring to her six-month-old.

You happen to agree that they are too cute, but not in the way she means. Having come around to agreeing that you do need diapers and that they have made your life better, you don’t understand why your partner doesn’t view it in the same utilitarian way you do, why she insists on stocking your diaper closet not just with medical brands but with babyish designs she reserves for special occasions or sometimes just because. “We might as well have a sense of humor about it,” she says.

Easier for her to say. You’re embarrassed to be in diapers, but she’s not even embarrassed for other people to know you’re in diapers. The rational part of you knows your partner’s is the more mature and healthier mindset, but as a result, they don’t take quite the same of view of what it means to preserve your dignity. Not that you have much dignity left after giving ample reason over the years to virtually everyone you know to casually say “O. I’m glad you’re finally dealing with your problem” almost every time someone new has found out about your diapers. But then, you’re about out of friends and even casual acquaintances who don’t know yet.

Your little sister has gotten the wipes and a fresh bunny diaper out of your diaper bag and set it down next to you along with the powder and rash cream. Your partner hadn’t been shy about letting the cast of friends and family who either were asked (and not by you) or volunteered as diaper changers know about your sensitive skin. “Okay,” your sister says and tears open the tapes holding your diaper closed. “Remember, sweetie, this is not a big deal,” she adds before folding down your diaper to expose you to her. “You’re not as wet as I thought,” she muses while wiping down your front, “must’ve been your shorts being so snug. I thought you had a very soggy diaper.”

Why she, and others, can’t be bashful as you are about you laying naked on top of a used diaper, you just don’t understand. Everyone so readily accepts you in diapers, and it’s as though that has thrown a switch that changes how everyone sees you. O, back in diapers, I see. Don’t worry about their nudity; it’s no different from changing a baby. Think nothing of it. And that was even before your partner took you to your first laser hair removal appointment. “Easier to keep you clean and smelling sweet,” she’d explained as they took away a visible sign of your maturity.

“Lift for me again,” your sister asks as she wipes away and slides the wet bunny diaper out from under you. “Can you hold your knees for me?”

Of course you can, and you do, not thinking anything of it until she gasps. “O,” she says, “that’s why someone is a little grumpy today.” Why people suddenly start talking to you in the third person now … “Did you get your bottom spanked before you came over?”

Once, up until not many months ago, you’d had a habit of checking your butt in the bathroom mirror after a spanking, which were rare, only two of three times a year. But since going back to diapers, you can’t check your butt, and the only time the redness of a spanking is evident is when your partner spanks the back of your thighs low enough for the redness to show below the edges of your diaper. You might have checked if you had taken a shower after your spanking, but you were spanked after getting out of the shower, right after being diapered. The diaper was quickly back down, and you’d gotten a moderate spanking from your partner’s hand to your bare bottom, after they’d wiped away the rash cream and powder they’d just put on you to make sure it stayed off their Easter outfit.

Maybe if you’d been able to see your bottom, it would’ve occurred to you that whoever changed your diaper next – because it’s always someone else and never you, a fact you seem oblivious to despite being fully capable of changing yourself, having never questioned your partner doing it or even thought to do it yourself – would see any lingering redness from the palm prints wedded into shades of pink at the outer edge of your spank zone to vermillion at the center. You didn’t think of the consequences when you followed your sister’s instructions. Ironic since not thinking was, according to your partner, the root of the misbehaviors that end with you over their knee. Now your sister can see plainly you’ve been spanked less than two hours ago, another secret out of the bag. At least, you think it’s a secret, but you’re really not sure. Opinions on what is and isn’t private between you and your partner are not as aligned as they once were in your pre-diaper days.

Your sister doesn’t seem shocked, surprised, or worried to see your recently spanked bottom while changing your diaper. She’s no more embarrassed by that than by wiping your diaper area with just a thin baby wipe between her hand and your most personal area, or at least it’s supposed to be personal for adults, but it seems like that’s only true for adults who wear underpants. If your sister thinks your red bottom is a sign of some recent bedroom play, she’s not being bashful about it. If she thinks it’s abuse, she’s not distressed by it. Those would be logical conclusions, but they would both be wrong.

It’s discipline, something you had agreed to early in your relationship out of an eagerness to please the partner you were so deeply in puppy love with. You’d thought it was a kink for them at first, but it soon became clear it wasn’t. You were spanked too seldom and never before or during sex for it to be a kink. It was just discipline for, as your partner calls them, bad choices. Twice or three times a year you found yourself over your partner’s lap, but since they decided you need to be in diapers full time, it’s been two or three times a month. You don’t think your behavior is very different from your last days in underpants, but it seems your partner’s tolerance for certain choices has gone down, and what would’ve been a borderline choice a few months ago has been reclassified as a bad choice, even a naughty choice now. Like arguing about an outfit or raising your voice.

You’d screwed up your courage once after a quick, efficient bottom warming in the kitchen. During dinner no less, over something as seemingly trivial as finishing your vegetables. Your partner told you to stand up, took you by the elbow, and delivered ten hard swats to the back your diaper through your pants. It didn’t hurt, but it got the point across. Just in case you didn’t get the message from their hand, your partner said it out loud: “Are you going to stop arguing and finish your vegetables, or do you need me to take your diaper off and spank your butt for real?”

You finished your vegetables quietly, obviously upset, and your partner didn’t believe you when you said you were fine. “Honey,” they said, “you’re not in trouble.”

“I know,” you replied.

“Then can you tell me what’s wrong.” When you didn’t respond, they added, “C’mon, sweetie, use your words.”

“You’re … I don’t like being spanked.”

“Of course not, sweetums. That’s what makes it a consequence when you make naughty choices. And you know something? I don’t like having to spank.”

“Then how come you’re doing it so much?”

“It’s not that I’m doing it so much,” they replied as if this were perfectly logical, “but that I wasn’t doing it enough before. I realize that now, and I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting your needs.”

“What? I don’t need to be spanked.”

“I know it might seem that way, but didn’t it also seem to you that you didn’t need diapers? I was right about that, wasn’t I, that you do need your diapers. You really, really do need diapers.”

“Yeah …”

“Can you trust me to know when you need your bottom spanked? I know that’s hard, but I promise you’ll be happier and healthier.”

“I do trust you.” Obviously you do since you agreed to be disciplined in the first place and hadn’t taken back your consent when you belatedly realized it wasn’t a sex thing. “But you’re spanking me for stuff you didn’t used to spank me for.”

“I know that, but they’re things I should’vespanked you for. Most of all, you need to stop arguing with me when I ask you to do something.” You’re well aware of the contradiction in that sentence: if you can’t argue about it, then you don’t really have a choice, and if you don’t really have a choice, it’s not a question. It’s an order, however softly given.

“But I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions.” That comes out more plaintive and pleading than you mean it to. You shouldn’t even have to point out that you’re an adult, but it seems like your partner – or maybe both of you – needs the reminder ever since they returned you to diapers and assumed complete responsibility for managing them. How easily they slipped into the role of caregiver, how quickly they came to regard your diaper needs so casually.

“Of course you’re an adult, and you can make your own decisions. But sometimes your decision needs to be to do as I say. Like a few minutes ago, you should’ve decided to eat your veggies.”

“Why does that even matter?”

Your partner tilts their head, and their voice takes on a tone assertive and patient. “Firstly, I didn’t smack your bottom because you didn’t eat your veggies. It was because you argued with me. Second, you need to eat your veggies because it’s important to get all your vitamins and minerals, plus you need more fiber in your diet.”

“Why? What does that even mean,” you ask, sounding irritated and regretting it the tone as soon as the words pass your lips.

Still patient, your partner answers, “It means your poopoos should be more regular. Your tummy will feel better, and it’ll make it a lot easier for me when I have one your stinky diapers to change.”

She’s doing it again, as always without noticing – using words and a tone appropriate for explaining things to a toddler too small to understand and too young to be embarrassed by the frank discussion of your diapers and what you do in them. You want to say something, to point it out and tell them how it makes you feel, but you don’t. You never do, and you don’t know why or what it is about that tone or the change in your relationship that seems to have taken away some of your own assertiveness when it comes to anything related to your accidents. Before diapers, you would defend yourself and rarely accept any blame for wet pants and dirty underwear even when your partner had reminded you more than once and often mere minutes ago to use the potty. After diapers, you just accept your accidents. Your partner does as well, talking about them matter-of-factly and sometimes with a cheerful kindness, whereas before the tone was most often pity, sometimes frustration, or a neutral nothingness as though remarking on any other everyday phenomenon because that was what your accidents had become.

So you don’t say anything, and your partner fills the silence with, “We’ve never had rules for your behavior, but let’s make a few right now: no more arguing, no more telling me ‘no,’ and no more raising your voice when you get upset.”

And that Easter morning you had broken all three of those rules over the ridiculous outfit they’d laid out for you. “Do I ever raise my voice to you,” your partner asked as they untaped the diaper they’d just put on you. Over the knee for a brisk, hard spanking, then back on the bed to be re-diapered while they reiterated the rules, the poor choice you’d just made, and that they “don’t like having to spank your bottom, but I will whenever your behavior tells me you need it. I love you very much.”

You know they do, and so you reply, “I’m sorry. I love you too,” and share a good hug before they help you dress. But even so, you’re not so happy with the morning or your outfit, and that’s why you didn’t mind hiding Easter eggs, to have a little space and alone time.

You don’t answer your sister when she asks about your butt, and she doesn’t pry. She simply applies the diaper rash cream to your sensitive spots, dusts you with powder, gets you into a clean bunny diaper, and snaps your onesie closed. She picks up your shorts and helps you to sit up, and then she down sits on the bed still holding your shorts.

She puts her arm around you and tells you, “I care very much about you, you know that? I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time lately. I’m so glad you have such a loving partner. You do know they love you, right?”

You nod, unsure where she’s going with this.

“Some people need diapers, and some people need spankings. It’s okay that you need both of those things. I don’t think any less of you for it. I think you’re very brave for accepting that you need those things, and very smart to know that they only spank you because they love you and want what’s best for you, like how what’s best for you is to be in diapers because of your accidents. And I know that spankings hurt, but they need to in order to work.”

She then asks a lot of questions – “How many times a week do you need a spanking?” “Do you get spanked hard?” “What do you get spanked with?” “What position do you get spanked in?” “Do you have to do corner time after?” “Do you ever get a timeout or some warning spanks? Do you think that might help avoid more serious spankings?” “Do you want me to talk to your partner about that, tell them you think you’ll do better if you get more warning spanks and timeouts?” “Do you get spanked when you make a bad choice in public?” “Do you get spanked in front of anyone else?” – and you answer compulsively, as though you’ve also internalized the idea that you have no privacy anymore, sharing the truth with your sister who, despite being so close to, you wouldn’t have answered before going back in diapers had changed your life so much.

When she’s done with questions, she rubs your back and says, “Well, all that’s okay. Your partner is just doing what’s best for you. And besides, a spanking is no big deal. It’s just something that happens to …” She catches herself before saying it, finishing the sentence instead with, “…some people. And hey, you’ll never be out of diapers, but maybe if you try really exra special hard, one day you won’t need any more spankings. Will you try for me?”

She’s not your sister, childhood playmate, or best friend in that moment. She’s more like an aunt having a heart-to-heart with one of her nieces or nephews, reassuring them that that their problems only seem big to them because they’re so small, that they’re normal, and that all the grownups in their life love them.

“I’ll try,” you say and add, “I promise.”

“I know you will, and I know you’ll make some mistakes, but that’s how we learn. And you can always come to me if you need to talk about your feelings or problems or just need someone to nurse your sore bottom for you,” she adds with a lighthearted chuckle. “Gimme a hug.”

You hug her tight and mean it, because despite the way she too seems to see you as not so different from a child since going back to diapers and even more now after discovering you still get spanked at your age, you love her. She even goes, “Oof!” when you hug her and says, “You’re getting so big and strong.” Despite yourself, that makes you smile with a silly sense of pride that the logical part of you knows is ridiculous, but you like it anyway.

She helps you into your shorts, gets them buttoned, and cleans up after the diaper change as you put your sandals back on. With your rolled-up diaper in hand – “Don’t be silly,” she says, “you don’t wanna take that yucky thing home. We’ll just throw it away in the kitchen trash.” – you follow her down the stairs, meeting your partner on the way.

“There you are,” they say. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Needed some dry pants,” your sister says.

“Did you leak?”

“Ha,” your sister chuckles, “dry pampers. No leaks.”

“Thanks for doing that. You didn’t have to,” your partner says to your sister.

“No worries. I don’t mind. It gave us a chance to have a little talk about things.” You don’t notice the subtle swat gesture your sister makes with her hand.

“O yeah,” your partner says, turning to you.

“Yeah,” your sister replies, “Someone is gonna try to be on their very best behavior from now on.”

“I sure hope so.” To you she says, “What do you say?”

At first, being changed by others had been so embarrassing you didn’t want to say anything. But now it’s become so ordinary you forget to say it, and being reminded, you tell your sister, “Thank you for changing me.”

“No problem, kiddo.” She walks downstairs as though nothing unusual had happened, and you know that while it may embarrass you, no one will remark on the adult diaper with the pink bunnies she’s carrying or think anything is unusual if they spot it in the kitchen trash when they throw away their paper plates after the brunch your mom is serving. Most likely, the only thing that will stand out to them about the diaper are the bunnies, and most likely, they’ll think how cute they are and how festive for Easter.

“C’mon,” your partner says with a gentle swat on your diaper before putting their arm around your shoulder and guiding you downstairs. “Let’s go find you something to eat.”

And as you walk into the rush of your extended family, it occurs to you that your sister discovering your spanked bottom is not nearly as embarrassing as it should be to you, and you sigh knowing all of the changes in your life since being put back in diapers by your partner will eventually be as normal to you as they so readily were to everyone who cares about you. Probably soon.