You help her stand, taking her hand as she rises with a shy little wobble. She looks at you expectantly, almost like she’s waiting for permission, and you answer with a nod, fingers brushing the hem of her pastel skirt.
The fabric flutters as you slip it down her hips, pooling at her ankles. Her onesie follows, the snaps at the crotch popping free with a series of quiet clicks until she’s left in just her pull-up, patterned stars peeking out from under the elastic. She chews her lip, fidgeting in place, as though the air itself feels different without the layers of her outfit.
You place a hand on her hip, steadying her as you tug the pull-up down. It crinkles softly, as in protest before sliding down her thighs. She gasps, clutching at your shoulder for balance, and then steps out of it, standing bare and blushing in front of you.
The new diaper waits in your hands, white and wide, soft padding spilling over your fingers. She glances at it nervously, but doesn’t resist as you guide her down onto the bed and unfold it beneath her. The crinkle as she lowers herself into place makes her blush, but you soothe her with a gentle pat on the thigh before pulling the thick front panel snug against her belly. The tapes stretch, then hold, hugging her in.
“How’s it feel?” you murmur, brushing a fingertip along the waistband.
Her giggle bursts out unplanned, bright and sweet. “Like… like a cloud,” she admits, then buries her face in her hands, embarrassed by her own honesty.
You grin, leaning back a little to admire the sight. Pigtails framing her flushed cheeks, the curve of her breasts rising softly with each nervous breath, and that perfect white diaper puffing around her hips. “The most adorable homework I’ve ever seen,” you tease, voice low and warm.
“Stop…” she mumbles, though her eyes are sparkling.
You don’t stop. You guide her gently forward, coaxing her onto all fours on the bed. The diaper bulges, soft and pillowy, as you run your hand along the sides, checking the leak guards. She wiggles under your touch, the padding crinkling, a blush climbing her neck.
“It feels so thick,” she whispers, almost as if confessing. “But… comfy. I only have to wear it a few hours though. I don’t need to, um… use it.”
You chortle, the sound warm and teasing, and give her padded bottom a playful pat. “We’ll see about that,” you murmur, watching the way she squirms at your words, diaper crinkling with every nervous shift of her hips.
She buries her face in the blanket, pigtails spilling forward, but you can feel the way her body hums under your touch, caught between shame and longing. Your fingers linger on her diaper, tracing the soft plastic, and you can’t help but wonder how long she’ll really last beforeshe becomes a soggy girl.
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