Pull My Pigtails!

So....

Thu, 02 Feb 2006 07:53:46 GMT

That's all she wrote, folks, for -that- Daddy. He went a little insane, OOCly, and I ended our RP-partnership. --Which was very difficult, because I -did- enjoy some of the things he did. I loved the first diaper changing... The hot tub was a wonderful idea, all his own. The warmed changing table (though I came up with the idea for the leg harnesses)... It was all great. His posing style left a little to be desired, because he kept jumping from present tense to past and back--and he'd try to accommodate for idea changes (like the usage of Pretty's arms/legs) in one pose, which made things seem a bit unbelievable and forced... But... Some things were good. And, the best thing? He -really- enjoyed being a Daddy. That's the best and the worst thing of all.

That's all for now, since I don't really have anything else to put in here. Though, I will note that it's a real shame I didn't get a chance to put up my AT/ALG desc up for you to read. No call for it, really, in the scene. Maybe next time.

If there is a next time.

♥ Pretty ♥

The Fitzhughes: 0003 -- This is the End...

Thu, 02 Feb 2006 07:41:01 GMT

Notes:
I'm not sure if you've ever read a roleplaying log, before, so I'll explain a little something. When two people roleplay (at least, usually,) they tend to use a mixture of first and third person. They refer to themselves in the third, while referring to their RP partner in the first. This makes the scene more realistic for the roleplayers. So, while reading this, you can put yourself in either Daddy's shoes or Pretty's, as your preferences run. So, keep in mind that the voice used in the scene shifts and might be awkward, at first.
Also, the separate paragraphs are referred to as 'poses,' and the ones written from Pretty's perspective are written by -me- and his player writes the ones from Daddy’s perspective. Please note that all of this is © me, unless otherwise noted. Daddy, of course, and all of his poses are © to his player. PLEASE, do NOT jump onto Shangri'la and start searching for anyone other than Pretty, because I've changed all names for their anonymity's sake. Before you ask: Yes, I do ask permission of my partner(s) before posting logs of scenes up. If you -do- happen to find a character there, other than Pretty, be warned that it is NOT the character that appears in the scene. That is all! Enjoy!

WARNING/DISCLAIMER: This scenario (and all continuing scenes I post with the Fitzhughes) contains heavy fetishes such as ageplay and incest -- It may also contain kinks and fetishes such as drugging, watersports and various others. Read at your OWN RISK.

Scene Rating: NC-17 - (for some nudity and sexual content)

♥ Pretty ♥

Setting: The Green House - Suite 8888 [the Fitzhughes' home] (@Shangri'la MUSH) -- Description © to author/owner.

Rich woods, bright reds and glossy finishes abound in this large, roomy apartment Windows fill the walls and are fitted with quaint wooden shutters varnished to a high, warm sheen. The shutters are fixed to the inside of the walls, and are not functional--purely for decoration. The windows are hung with shades, which can be lifted with a downward tug to reveal the panoramic view of the Eden Commons below. The living area is very large, square in shape with a deep conversation pit in the center. Two walls have been painted bright red, two a glossy white, with medallions known as hex signs decorating them in bright, cheerful colors.
The kitchen is a gourmet cook's paradise, fitted with every conceivable appliance; the ceiling hung with iron racks of pots, pans, copper molds and utensils and the counters tiled in bright tulip patterns to lend cheer to the dazzle of chrome. A wine rack offers storage for precious vintage vino, and there is a small pantry off to the side to provide plenty of space for staples. The bedroom houses a huge round bed in the center, set upon a platform that serves as dresser storage. Above the bed, a mirror has been mounted to the ceiling, surrounded by small track lighting that is soft and warm, even with the mirror reflecting it back. A bath is cozied behind a bright yellow door, and the walls and floors are tiled in the same pattern as the kitchen, with an enormous claw foot tub occupying fully one half of the room. The sinks and counters are done in a fine porcelain glaze, with fixtures of warm, brushed copper.

♥~ C=(O ~♥

[Open scene...]

(Continued from "Regressive Neurotherapy")

Daddy's face seems to light up as he sees the dark spot against the plastic rhumba panties, but it's hard to tell if it's relief, or just what it might be. "Here's your chance to show me what a good girl you can be, Pumpkin." He smiles and puts the cloth back in the bowl of warm water, and sets it aside. "Just remember that I'm doing this because I love you. I've seen you nekkie probably a thousand times before, so you shouldn't feel too embarassed about it, all right?" He slides one arm under your neck, and one under your knees, and lifts you up to cradle against him. "What do you say we try out the new table I got?" Of course, he'll take you there either way, but you know he'd rather have you happy about it than sad. And so, into the newly finished bathroom you go, and he lays you down on a big table, which is already warmed and nicely padded. "This is where I'll be changing you, Pumpkin. I've set it up so you can't fall off it, and it has straps and places for your knees, so that you're...um...positioned for me to clean you and then replace your diaper. Since the suckling motion of your mouth will help you both physically and mentally, if you like, I'll give you a pacifier to keep in your mouth while I get you changed."

"But, this is different!" she whimpers as you slip your arms under her neck and knees, lifting her easily from the bed. "This is awful and humiliating, Daddy. To have to be carried everywhere and have diapers changed... I know you've seen me naked, but I've grown up a bit since then, y'know? This is -different,-" Pretty sniffles, tears leaking down her cheeks as you carry her, limp limbs bouncing with the motions, into the lovely bathroom. "You got a special table for this and everything?" she whispers, her eyes trained on the changes to the bathroom. Pale green eyes flit over the table and then up to the padded straps, just as you begin to lay her down on the warmed, cushioned table. she has to admit that, even though she's embarrassed beyond belief, the table does feel quite comfortable, being warmed as it is. Her baby t-shirt riding a little higher, exposing her midrift and clinging, just barely to the undersides of her small breasts, she silently wishes she could tug it down, however short it is! However, her arms lay on the table as you positioned them, resting comfortably at her sides. "A pacifier?" she whispers, her eyes widened in something akin to terror...

"At least give it a try, for me, Pumpkin?" Reaching for one of the adult-sized pacifiers, he slips it between your lips, to see what you'll do. "Just remember that the sucking motion will help with your recovery, and maybe that will make it a little easier." Then positioning your legs into the padded straps, he adjusts them to hold your legs apart, lifting your hips a bit at the same time. He tries not to stare at your breasts as he works, knowing they're just barely hidden, wanting to see them, needing to touch them, but he leaves your tshirt in place for now. "Once I get you cleaned up, you can try out the new bathtub too. I think you'll really like it." The rhumba panties snap on, and so he's able to take those off, and then the diaper, with it's electronic pins, so that you're laying there with your entire lower body naked. "I don't know if you studied this in home-ec yet, but urine can irritate your skin, so it's important that I clean it up right away when you go." He sudses up a fresh washcloth in some warm water, and starts to clean you, dabbing the cloth over your labia slowly, his breathing very deep as he parts the lips with one hand and slides the cloth between them slowly, up and down. Purposely stroking your clit a few times, he cleans you carefully, taking his time, nearly moaning with how excited he is.

She barely has time to reply to your question about her cooperation when you slip an adult-paci into her opened mouth, the rubbery tip tasting of something sweet and soothing. Her brows furrowing lightly, she keeps her mouth closed, but refuses to suck on it, at first. Rolling her head to one side and down a little, she watches you with curiosity as you hook the padded loops under her thigh, so that her calves hang down, keeping her in an uplifted position, her legs spread for ease. As she watches, the sweetness of the paci's rubber causes her mouth to water lightly, which, of course, incites her to swallow, lest she drool all over herself. And, so, without really meaning to, she sucks at the paci, the super-cute plastic base, on which a bunny peeks up at the looker, bounces against her full lips. Once she sucked once, it's hard to stop, the motion and sensation almost addictive. She's so absorbed in her sucking of her paci, the thing bouncing right along in her mouth, that she hardly notices as you unsnap her rhumba panties and unpin her diaper, leaving her naked. The rush of cool air against her sex causes, as it often does in most babies, her to tinkle a bit more, the liquid dribbling lazily from between her plump, smooth lips. She shivers at the sensation, her cheeks flushed darkly. She's quiet as you clean her, speaking to her to distract her from the awkwardness she probably feels, until you begin to wash her kitty. Her hips squirm gently, a soft exhalation escaping from her nose, as you roll the soft cloth over her clitty, her cheeks an even darker shade of pink, by now.

Daddy licks his own lips, looking from your mouth to your kitty and then back again, and as he leans a bit too far forward over you, he brushes his very hard, long bulge against your hip, but pulls it back again quickly, not wanting you to see, just yet, how turned on he is by doing this to you. "I got the pacifiers in all your favorite flavors, even one that tastes like bubble gum!" He strokes the cloth slowly over your tiny clitty as it hardens, perhaps a few too many times to just simply be cleaning it, but you to, it might just seem very innocent all the same. Hooking one of his shoulders under one of your thighs as he works on you, he's able to spread the cheeks of your bottom, and once more, he washes your tiny puckered hole slowly, thrilling at the feel of it. "I also got some more adult-scented lotion for you, Pumpkin, so you don't feel too much like a baby." Squirting a bit of the lotion in to his hands, he rubs them together to warm the liquid, and then starts to apply it to your mound, down over your labia, and especially along the hood of your clitty. Gently, he massages your hard little button, rubbing it between his thumb and finger, making sure it's well coated in lotion. Then right down between your cheeks, his fingers rubbing the lotion in, and then using his middle finger, he strokes the pucker lightly, not pushing inside, but letting your pucker feel the width of his finger as he curls it around and around, slowly, lovingly, bringing new feelings to life in his Baby Girl, his Pumpkin.

Too wrapped up in her own embarrassment and seeking solace from her nuk, which bounces in her mouth with gentle sucking sounds, Pretty doesn't really notice your aroused, confined sex bump against her hip as anything more than just a sensation. She flicks her eyes down to you as you mention all the flavors of pacis you got for her, wondering just what all you'd gotten for her in those days she was out. Among the things she's been told about, you were able to find most of what you thought you'd need, along with things you'd never even thought about, but realized would be exceedingly handy. Stuffed animals in her favorite genre of Japanese and Korean cartoons, medicine-pacis (which allow you to fill the nipple of the pacifier with whatever you choose and, when sucked, the liquid is swallowed by the baby) and a plethora of clothes and assorted items. As you stroke over her little button, she makes a noise in the back of her throat, her hips shifting a little with the strange sensation in her tummy it causes. It hardens ever more, in her growing arousal, though she's not quite aware of what's happening to her. She's never had an orgasm, before, and these sensations are new to her. She inhales deeply as your shoulder braces under her thigh, her calf draping over your back, and her pucker dips inward at the touch of the warm, soft cloth against it. She makes a soft, uncomfortable (more out of embarrassment than actual discomfort) sound, her eyes closing as she tries to behave for you while you take care of her. Her eyes opening, once more, she looks down at you with that paci bouncing in her mouth, as you rub your hands together, warming the lotion in preparation for applying it. She squirms and whimpers as you begin to smooth it over her bare sex, her breathing quickening as she deals with feelings she's never had before. Your fingers rolling over her hard little nubbin, she squirms even more, though the straps hold her in place, and moans a little, her teeth baring down on her paci briefly. She still can't move her arms and legs much, but her hip still shifts and her muscles quiver as you continue to make sure her clit is moisturized. She whines softly, suckling her paci more insistently as you tease her kitty's pearl, her little nipples peaking under her shirt. "Daddy," she whimpers muffledly around her paci, and she grunts softly, not in an unattractive way, as your fingers find the pucker of her bottom, pressing and rolling over it, as well. She whimpers and squirms, her little star pulsing under your lubricated fingers which explore and stimulate it so forbiddenly.

"Yes, Pumpkin?" Daddy whispers back to you, his finger still stroking the little star between those beautiful cheeks, making sure the lotion is rubbed in completely. He'd already decided that it would be a slow process, awakening your desire to have him touch you gradually, but he knows already that you'll come to crave it, and even without the diuretics and laxatives, that you'll start to go just so he can change you. "There now, that isn't so bad, is it?" He's finally finished with the lotion now, though once he gets his shoulder out from under your thigh, he starts to massage your mound once more, getting the last few smears of the lotion rubbed into you. He leaves your legs in the holders though, then just pulls your tshirt off over your head, gently of course, but doing it without telling you first, his eyes almost glued to your stiff little nipples. "Tub, fill." You already knew he was an electronics whiz, and so you might not be too surprised when the whirlpool bath starts to fill with water. "I thought this would be a good time to check out the bathtub too." The tub fills quickly, though the water isn't moving yet, since the jets aren't activated. "Now, you'll notice that I've had the jets aimed to your more private parts, and that's what they're supposed to do, so don't be alarmed when it comes on, okay?" Lifting you off the table, he cradles you to him and carries you to the tub, lowering you into the warm water. You can notice right away that the way you sit in it, you'll be leaning back so that the water comes up to just below your chin, your legs are spread apart, sitting in specially-designed molds that are built into the tub, and your arms can either float in the water, or can lay in similar molds. "The jets have three settings, and it'll respond to your voice too, Pumpkin. You just say 'jets on, jets two, or jets three', and when you want them off, it's 'jets off.' I'm going to change your sheets now. You can't slide down too far in the tub, so just relax, and enjoy the bath for now."

"Daddy, that feels weird," she whispers around the paci, a catch in her voice as you continue to slide your fingers over the now-shiny, slick pinkness of her little pucker. Though it's planned to be a slow process, it never, ever hurts to have positive reinforcement back up an act your baby would never do, teaching her to associate being changed with feeling pleasure. She exhales an almost inaudible moan as you rub the flat of your fingers over the outside of her kitty, her own soft lips swirling over her hardened clit, lightly stimulating it. As you ask her for her opinion on the changing, she's far too embarrassed to express how she feels on that account, her cheeks ruddy with shame at those sinful, strange feelings she felt, and the paci firmly trapped in her mouth. She gasps, though, as you tug her shirt off, leaving her completely naked, and she shivers from the cool in the air, though her back is kept warm because of the padded changing table. Surprisingly, you probably note that she didn't let the paci leave her mouth when you pulled her shirt off, and she seems to've really taken to it. She shifts her head to look at the tub as you command it to fill. "But, why, Daddy? Why on my private parts?" she asks, her words made muffled and babyish by the paci that rests in her mouth, her brows knitted upward, this special design seeming a little suspicious to her. She tilts her face up to you, the paci rocking gently in her mouth, as you lift her in your arms, carrying her to the new, lovely bathtub. She inhales through her nose as you lower her into the tub, the water a bit warm for her, at first. Then, as she settles into the special grooves made just for her, she leans her head back against a built-in pillow that's installed on the bathtub, at neck level, and tries to relax. Her arms floating atop the water, her hair mostly swallowed by the warm wetness of her bath, she almost looks like a little mermaid... without the tail. Closing her eyes, she tries to calm herself down and simply relax. She won't turn the jets on, though. She's decided that much!

When Daddy comes back in and sees that the jets aren't on, he does it for you. "Jets on." And at that, the warm fingers of water start to move over your kitty, the pearl, and your tiny pink star. "The water is aimed at your privates, so that anything that I might miss will be taken care of in the bath. It's a pretty simple concept really, and I think you'll enjoy your baths more than you ever have before." The jets do their work, seeming like a hundred fingers at once, warm and soft and firm all at the same time. He sits beside the tub and watches as the swirls of water cause your kitty to almost flutter, and can tell that the aim is perfect. The jets aimed at your breasts work as well, swirling around your hard nipples, and as he watches, his heart seems to pound in his chest, and once more, the very big bulge in his shorts presses against the material. He adjusts his chair then, so that he can wash your hair, and he begins by taking out your beads and bells, one at a time, with all the loving care he's shown you in everything he's done since you were born. "Jets two," he says, and the water massages you, very intimately, a slight gurgling sound coming from the tub now.

"No, Daddy, I don't want---" she whines as you turn the jets on, the gentle first setting pumping delicate jets of water between her kitty's lips, between her bottom's cheeks and swirling over her little breasts. She whimpers and tries to shift in the tub, to get away from the sensations, not feeling comfortable with the butterflies that swell up in her stomach. Chewing and worrying at her nuk, she lifts her eyes up to you and swallows thickly, "Daddy, it feels funny... Can't we turn them off?" Her cheeks are almost a constant shade of bright pink, her embarrassment, humiliation and arousal all combining to make her wish she could curl up and disappear. She begins breathing heavily as you shift your chair to sit behind her so you can take her beads, bells and ribbons from her hair. "No, Daddy! It takes so long to put those back in and I can't move my arms, anymore," she cries, her paci falling out into the water. Whether it's her very complicated hairstyle being undone, one on which she worked so hard, or her paci falling out of her mouth, Pretty begins to cry, in earnest, tears leaking down her cheeks as she turns her head to one side, wanting to pull her arms and legs together, but unable to do so. As you turn the jets higher, her sobbings are mingled with moans and quivering jolts of her body as the water pulsates over her most intimate of places, and her paci floats farther away from her, drifting down toward her knee.

Having watched you put those beads in so carefully, Daddy quickly realizes that it would just be best to wash your hair with them in, and then dry them as best he could afterward. "You might as well get used to it Pretty," he whispers to you. "It's all part of your therapy." Stroking the top of your head, he knows exactly what you're feeling, the butterflies, the building up of something inside you that you can't quite explain. "You'll see that there's another kind of therapy from these jets too, and once you know what it is, you'll like it a lot better." He starts to wash your face as your paci floats around in the water, letting you feel want for it before he gives it back to you. "Have I told you lately how beautiful you are Pumpkin?" He leans down to kiss your lips then, feeling how puffy they are from the paci. "I don't want you to ever be embarassed at me seeing you this way. It'll get easier for both of us as time goes by." Of course, it may get easier for you, but the sight of your naked body will always make him hard, he knows that as well. Washing your neck next, he moves then down to your breasts, massaging the softening soap around and around, squeezing the beautiful mounds of flesh, letting your nipples peak out between his fingers. "Do you begin to see why I didn't want a nurse to do this, why I wanted to be the one to do it? I never want anyone else to touch you this way..."

"But, I don't like it," she whimpers, not really quite sure she doesn't, only that it makes her feel strange and she doesn't like not understanding the sensations. The tears stream down her cheeks, even as you wash the previous trails from her face, and her lower lip quivers a bit. "Please, Daddy, turn the jets off?" she sniffles, her tear-sparkling eyes lifted up to you...even as the jets turn off. She breathes a sigh of relief as they go off on their own, seemingly. She doesn't realize she accidentally told them to turn off when she asked you to turn them off, second ago. Still, she cries, not really understanding why, and her eyes fall on her floating paci, down at the other end of the tub. It was nice, suckling on it, but.. that's what /babies/ do! Her immediate reaction to this is to push it away from her, the idea of doing something a /baby/ would do... But, then, the hated Dr. Fletcher's words come back to her, making her remember that sinking into feeling like a baby would help her recovery. Pretty can't quite force herself to ask for the paci back, no matter how badly she secretly wants it, and so, she cries. Her tummy jumps as she hiccups in for air, her little breasts jiggling under your hands as you caress them with the soap. "I can't -help- it, Daddy. I'm trying, but it's so hard," she whines, wishing the water would just swallow her up. She rocks her head back and forth, her arms twitching as she fights to move them, to lift them up to cover her face. "I wouldn't want anyone touching me like this, Daddy..." she sniffles, still having trouble catching her breath and calming down from crying. She doesn't want anyone touching her like that-- but, when she said that, did she include you? Or, was she saying she wouldn't want anyone else /but/ you touching her like that? That much isn't clear.

"Pumpkin, I know this is embarassing for you, but me touching you is just how things are going to be from now on." He lifts one of your arms, wasing your armpit, then the other, and goes on with the bath, being sure that his baby is clean from head to toe. Carefully, he rinses you off. "Tub drain one third," and sure enough, about a third of the water drains from the tub then. Changing the subject, he tries to cheer you up some. "What would you say to some dinner, Pumpkin? I'm starving!" He lifts you out of the tub, and puts you back onto the table, getting a fresh paci, one with strawberry flavor, and slips it between your lips. Back into the holders, your knees get parted and he starts to dry you off with a soft, big towel. "For the time being, you're going to have to be on a special diet that's easy to digest." It had been a long time since he spoon-fed you, and he starts to get excited again, remembering the fun the two of you would have a dinner time. Once you're dry, he slips a fresh, warm diaper under you, and puts some baby powder on your skin, smoothing it lovingly. It seems he's gotten plenty of rhumba-panties, and he snaps on a fresh pair, these ones orange with red ruffles. "Those look so cute on my Pumpkin," he coos at you, a bit more of the baby-talk tone in his voice now. And then, one of the cutest toddler dresses you've ever seen goes down over your arms, and you're, without doubt, the most lovely toddler that's ever been, despite the fact that you're 12.

"I know, Daddy," she sniffles, swallowing thickly, "It's just so hard! I'm really trying to be good, honest." The earnestness in her voice is painfully plain and raw, letting you know how serious she is, the effort a strain on her. She is good for the rest of the bath, only crying softly, now, her eyes trained on her floating paci, wishing it were back in her mouth. She can't muster up the courage and swallow her pride enough to ask for it back. As you ask her about food, she nods energetically, her damp hair sprinkling droplets of water all over the bathroom carpet when you lift her out of the tub. "I'm very hungry, Daddy... What're we having for dinner?" she asks, sniffling softly as you lay her down on the warm, padded table, her wet hair falling over the end, dripping onto the carpet. Her eyes brighten at the sight of the paci in your hands and, though she tries not to show it, she even lifts up her head in anticipation of the nuk passing her lips. Taking it into her mouth, she seems to relax visibly, the tears stopping and her eyes lidding slightly as you slip her legs into the harnesses. Her chest still jerks a few times as she tries to catch her breath and continues calming down from her earlier cry, her little breasts bouncing lightly. "A special diet?" she asks curiously, her paci once again muffling her words cutely. She seems to enjoy being dried off and even as you diaper her with the warmed cloth you had prepared. She looks down at the rhumba panties as you snap them on, blinking slowly. She flushes brightly as you murmur to her in that sweet, Daddy way, about how cute she looks, and she even manages a small grin. The dress, however, is met with less happiness, though she doesn't have a fit. She just looks a little grumpy at the pretty, frilly thing you slide on her, with its many ruffles and poofy skirt, which does little to hide her diapered bottom underneath. It's almost adorable, her grumpy, pouty disposition, with her pacifier in mouth, a lovely little dress on her, and her padded bottom peeking from within the ruffles of the dress. She doesn't say anything about the dress, though, seeming to content herself on the sucking of her paci.

[It was decided, OOCly, that Pretty should regain the use of her arms and legs, only she wouldn't have much strength in them.]

Leaning down to kiss your eyelids gently, Daddy brushes the stray hair from your forehead then. "Yes, there's a special diet for you, and part of the therapy we're using on you. It'll help when you have to do twosies in your diaper. I know that sounds strange, but it's how things have to be for quite a long time now. Just remember, it's Daddy who's going to change you and clean you up, so there's nothing to be embarassed about when you do have to go." He'd decided already to alter your dosage, allowing you some use of your limbs, and in your weakened state, be able to lift only very light things, like your nuk, and your bottle, and of course, be able to hug him when he lifts you. It was really a small change to the formula so that you could injest it. "All right then, let's have some dinner!" He carries you around much more easily now, able to prop you on one of his hips as he gets your dinner ready.

Twosies? Oh, god. She doesn't even -want- to think about that. Sniffling softly Pretty lifts arm and rubs at an eye with the tender heel of her hand, without even thinking about it. Gasping, she almost drops her paci, her eyes widening as she looks up at you, "Daddy! I can move my arms! I'm better! We don't have to do this, anymore!" When you pick her up from the table and shift her onto one hip, she instinctively wraps her legs around your waist, hooking her feet together to keep them from dangling. "I can move my legs! Daddy!" Of course, since she -can- move her arms and legs, it means the dosage of the medicine is wearing off and, before long, she'll need another dose to keep her weak, as you prefer. "Maybe I don't have to wear this anymore, and I can go back to the way things were!" she exclaims, the happiness in her voice almost heart-breaking, since you -do- want her to be happy, but only on your terms. Judging by the way she took to her nuk and being diapered after her bath, you know, for certain, she'll be able to be happy as your baby girl, once more... It'll just take a little more time. Besides, this way, she'll be able to experience a happiness levels beyond what she's feeling, now. That much is a fact! Just have to make her a little unhappy for a while longer, because it's better for her in the long run. She watches as you carry her into the kitchen, her arms around your neck as she contemplates trying to get down and walk on her own. For now, she figures it's better to be on the safe side... Besides, it's kinda nice, being carried. Resting her head on your shoulder, she closes her eyes and suckles at her binkie, the gentle sounds close to your ear.

Preparing dinner, Daddy doesn't seem to want anything but to have you close to him, turning his head now and then to plant little kisses on your cheek. "You're making progress already, Pumpkin. But I don't want you to get your hopes up too much, there'll be times when it seems that you're getting better, but after what's happened, there'll be times when you'll be very weak again." He stirs both pots, one with your special dinner in it, and one with some more regular looking soup in it. It doesn't take long, and then he's carrying you over to the table. "I had this chair specially built for you, so that you don't fall out of it." He lowers you down into a type of high-chair, complete with its own little table attached to it. "You sit there, and I'll be right back." Doctoring your food only takes a few seconds, and he's coming back in again, carrying two bowls. "If you'd like to try feeding yourself, that's fine with me." He coos at you, making sure the food isn't too hot. The 'medicine' he put in there should act pretty quickly, leaving you too weak to do much more than lift your arms and legs. He eats his soup happily, glancing at you to see how you're progressing.

Watching with interest as you cook, Pretty smiles softly as you press kisses to her cheek, and because she's in such a good mood, she presses kisses right back, or she would, if she didn't have a paci glued in her mouth--instead, she presses the plastic outside of the bink to your cheek. When you take the air out of her balloon a little, she furrows her brow and looks up at you, "But, that whore never said anything about this... The times when I would seem to get better and then relapses... Are you sure, Daddy?" The fact that filthy words are coming out of her mouth is probably something that needs to be addressed, at some point, though she's only used them when referring to Dr. Fletcher, whom you know she despises. Looking at her new high-chair, Pretty's face crumples a bit, a definite whine building in her throat as you settle her into it and strap her down. She looks quite sulky, sitting in the baby chair, when you return with her food. She smiles a little when you place the spoon on her tray and tell her she can try feeding herself. Lifting her spoon, she lifts her brows to realize it's one of those safety spoons, the tips covered in plastic. Ah, well. Beggers can't be choosers. And, so, she dives in. Her coordination is a little off and she manages to get -most- of the spoonfuls into her mouth, but misses a bit, as well. Getting some of the food on her face and some down the front of her dress, she seems determined to try and eat on her own... Though, it's getting too difficult to hold the spoon. Another mouthful and she drops the spoon entirely. Attempting to pick it back up, she finds she can't quite grasp it properly. "Daddy...?" she says softly, tears starting to roll down her cheeks.

Being careful not to show any kind of displeasure at you spilling your food, Daddy simply gets a soft napkin and dabs at your tears. "Don't worry Pretty, it'll come and go for a while and then slowly, you'll get the full use of your arms and legs back, just like new." He does his best to clean the front of your dress, but of course it'll need to be washed to get clean again. Funny how he uses his bare fingers somtimes, managing to cup one breast then the other through your dress, even pinching your nipples as he gets the food off. "I'm sorry I didn't think of giving you an apron, but we'll get it next time." Picking up your spoon, he puts it on the table and starts to feed you with one of his, that's not safety coated. "Here, Daddy will finish with you." He carefully puts one spoonful after the other into your mouth, waiting for you to swallow before putting the next one in. It won't take much of the medicine, and there's no way to OD on it, so he feeds you as much as you want, and then wipes your chin. The bottle comes next, and he holds the large nipple against your lips so that you can suckle from it. "We'll finish getting you cleaned up right after dinner too, and then maybe watch one of your movies. How would you like that?"

She jerks and squirms away from your pinching and groping, her mouth open as she gasps and whines. "Daddy, no," she interjects at one particularly long tweaking, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She figures, when you say apron, you mean something even worse than that---a bib. Lowering her gaze, she sniffles pathetically, lifting one hand to brush ineffectually at her eyes. She takes the spoonfuls as you give them to her, able to not spill anymore with your coordination in tact. After a while, she turns her head and makes negative noises, "No.. Full. What was that stuff, Daddy?" Pursing her lips as you wipe her chin, she manages to grip her paci and stick it back in her mouth, declining the bottle, for now. "Maybe later, Daddy?" she asks, in reference to the bottle. She shrugs a little, "I dunno... It might be fun..." She seems to be having trouble with enjoying much of anything, now that she's had her 'stroke.' Indeed, she looks a little depressed.

"Well then, let's get you into some fresh PJ's and then we'll watch the movie." Making sure that he doesn't knock anything over, he lifts you up once more, cradling you to his bare chest. He carries you to the couch, and lays you down on it, unbuttoning your dress, and then sliding it off over your head. "Looks like there's still a bit of food on you though." Daddy gets one of the wipes he seems to have just about everywhere now, and dabs it against your chest, and then slowly over one of your breasts. He certainly seems to want to keep you clean! It's a pretty easy matter to get you into another small nightshirt, this one not even coming down to the top of your diaper. On the front of it is the Little Mermaid.

Laying on the couch, she stretches out, relieved to be able to actually move her legs, however weak they feel. She watches as you unbutton her dress and pull it off of her, leaving her mostly naked in front of your eyes, save for her diaper and rhumba panties, anyway. She flushes as you begin to clean her up, smoothing the wipe over her breast, her little nipples taut from the chilly air that washes over them. She lifts her arms, though, as you begin putting her nightshirt on, helping you to pull it over her head a bit easier. Looking down at Ariel on the front, she furrows her brows and sniffles, shifting over onto her side with a good deal of effort. Laying there, in the fetal position, she looks up at you with her binking bouncing lazily against her mouth, her eyes lidded lightly, as if slightly drunk or drugged. "Daddy? I know you said you didn't want a nurse taking care of me, but...wouldn't I be better off in a hospital until I get better? That way, I wouldn't interrupt your work or be a burden to you," she says, her speech muffled by her paci. "I don't want to keep you from doing your work... That'd make me feel bad. Besides, I wouldn't have to worry about offending a nurse or hurting their feelings if I have trouble accepting this...treatment..." she says, her eyes purposefully avoiding yours.

Daddy strokes the side of your head gently, knowing that it'll take a while for you to accept what's happened, but sure that you'll start to want, to even need his touch. "Pumpkin," he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, "Part of why Daddy has worked so hard is so that he could take off, as much as he needs to if something was to happen, which it did. We have all the money we need, and a lot of Daddy's businesses can run themselves a lot of the time, and I only need to make decisions for them now and then." Sitting down, he lifts you up and then leans you against his chest. "I'm doing this because I love you, not because I have to. And while it's true you don't have to worry about hurting a nurse's feelings too much, you have to start to learn that you can't just say and do what you like without concern for anyone's feelings but your own." One of his hands is on your thigh now, and he strokes the top of it softly. "And the fact is, I don't trust anyone as much as I trust myself to make sure that you get everything you need, and I thought it would be less embarassing for you if I was the one who looked after you now." He pulls the binky from your mouth, kisses your lips, and then puts it back again. "I'd spend more time worrying about who was taking care of you than I'd spend working, if I went back to work."

Nodding lightly as you talk, Pretty chews on her paci, staring off into space while you lovingly caress her still-drying hair. As you pick her up, she leans against you and curls up a little, her knees rising to her chest and her hands curling up under her chin as you hug her. "It's not that I would purposefully upset some nurse.. It's just that my behavior wouldn't upset her, because she's probably seen it and far worse, so she expects it... Plus, she's not related to me, so she wouldn't be hurt, doubly, because of that. I can't help that I don't like this, Daddy... I really can't! I'm trying to be good, I really am... But, sometimes I can't help myself." ---Says the girl who's curled up in her Daddy's arms, suckling a pacifier that she pretty much refuses to let go. "And, in some ways, you're right... In some ways, it's less embarrassing... In some ways, it's more. So, it's difficult for me to say, Daddy. I appreciate it, but... I'm a big girl! I'm 12 and I shouldn't be wearing clothes like this, or sucking on this," she indicates the paci, which she doesn't take out. "Can't you see how that would be embarrassing and humiliating? Tell me--how would you feel if you were in my place, Daddy?"

Listens to your concerns carefully, nodding as you speak as well, and continues to stroke your legs, both of them now, his hand resting lightly between them when you draw up your knees. "I'd think I was the luckiest person in the world if I had someone who cared about me enough to put their own life aside so they could take care of me. I know you're a big girl, and that's part of why I'm doing this. Because a nurse /has/ seen this kind of thing so many times that to her it's impersonal, just a job. To me, you're my whole life Pretty, and I'm proud to be the one who's taking care of you." Reaching under you then, he pulls you up to sit on his lap, the plastic of your rhumba panties crinkling a bit as he settles you down. He has to move that ever-present bulge aside some as he sets you down on him, though not so much that it doesn't at least poke at the side of your diaper. "So, when you start to feel embarassed, just remember that I'm doing this because I love you, and maybe that will help to make it better."

[And, this is where Pretty's Daddy went a little psycho, OOCly, and I had to end things... Unfortunately, this means no more logs, until I find someone else. As you might recall, that took quite some time, last time... So, yeah.]

The end.

The Fitzhughes: 0002 -- Regressive Neurotherapy

Thu, 02 Feb 2006 07:04:59 GMT

WARNING/DISCLAIMER: This scenario (and all continuing scenes I post with the Fitzhughes) contains heavy fetishes such as ageplay and incest -- It may also contain kinks and fetishes such as watersports, drugging and various others. Read at your OWN RISK.

Scene Rating: NC-17 - (for drugging, nudity, sexual content, etc)

♥ Pretty ♥

P.S.
Though it pains me to admit this so -very- soon after raving about having found a Daddy, Pretty (read: me) is, once again, very Daddy-less. However, I am still in the process of posting up the logs we did build, while I had the one in the previous log. -sigh- Anyway... Here we go.

Setting: The Green House - Suite 8888 [the Fitzhughes' home] (@Shangri'la MUSH) -- Description © to author/owner.

Rich woods, bright reds and glossy finishes abound in this large, roomy apartment Windows fill the walls and are fitted with quaint wooden shutters varnished to a high, warm sheen. The shutters are fixed to the inside of the walls, and are not functional--purely for decoration. The windows are hung with shades, which can be lifted with a downward tug to reveal the panoramic view of the Eden Commons below. The living area is very large, square in shape with a deep conversation pit in the center. Two walls have been painted bright red, two a glossy white, with medallions known as hex signs decorating them in bright, cheerful colors.
The kitchen is a gourmet cook's paradise, fitted with every conceivable appliance; the ceiling hung with iron racks of pots, pans, copper molds and utensils and the counters tiled in bright tulip patterns to lend cheer to the dazzle of chrome. A wine rack offers storage for precious vintage vino, and there is a small pantry off to the side to provide plenty of space for staples. The bedroom houses a huge round bed in the center, set upon a platform that serves as dresser storage. Above the bed, a mirror has been mounted to the ceiling, surrounded by small track lighting that is soft and warm, even with the mirror reflecting it back. A bath is cozied behind a bright yellow door, and the walls and floors are tiled in the same pattern as the kitchen, with an enormous claw foot tub occupying fully one half of the room. The sinks and counters are done in a fine porcelain glaze, with fixtures of warm, brushed copper.

♥~ C=(O ~♥

[Open scene...]

She doesn't get very far into her ice cream before she starts yawning, her eyelids having trouble staying in the up-position. Still, Pretty soldiers on, taking small-ish spoonfuls of her ice cream and washing those down with her diuretic-laced milk. Soon, the picture on the television begins to grow a bit fuzzy and she has to blink a few times to refocus on it. Unfortunately, the more she blinks, the more difficult it is for her re-open her eyes. Finally, she hasn't the strength left to open her eyes, again, that swirling sensation of being sucked down into the Land of Nod. As you stand up from your chair to move over to where she's obviously on the verge of utterly passing out, Pretty loses the grip on her glass of milk and bowl of ice cream. The bowl simply falls in her lap and the glass of milk topples to the floor, spilling the remains all over the carpet. Her head lolling back on the couch cushion, her hands limp and motionless at her sides, she is the very image of an angel. Her beautiful face, lax and completely untouched by an ounce of tension, and she breathes deeply, the medicine having taken full effect quite quickly. As you sit down beside her and hug her to you, she flops ungracefully, her head rolling forward onto your shoulder.

Staying still for a few minutes, Daddy holds onto you, one of his hands on your wrist, to check your pulse, his other arm around your shoulders so that as you drift further into sleep, you can feel him there beside you, big and strong, keeping you safe. Your heartrate and bloodpressure continue to drop, just as they should, your breathing evening out to a slow, steady pace. This type of sleep, he knew already, wouldn't allow you to dream, since so much of your brain was affected. It would be a while before the diuretic took effect, and once he got you bathed and dressed for bed, you'd simply sleep peacefully. Once he's sure you won't regain consciousness, he lays you back fully onto the couch, and then begins by cleaning up the spilled ice cream on your lap. He'd had plenty of practice at moving unconscious people around during his years at the nursing home, his nights spent going to school to get his Master's degree in chemistry. It was an easy matter to get you out of your dress and panties, and he brought a pale of warm water over, cleaning your legs of the sticky ice cream, and then dabbing at the carpet to get the milk out of there. Once that was finished, he picks you up like a baby, supporting your head in the crook of his arm, and carries you into your bedroom. He is methodical about how he starts to dismantle everything you've accumlated: Your clothes are boxed up, pictures taken down, everything boxed up and driven to the recycling facility, where no one would ask where it came from. On the way back, he stops at the 7-11 and gets some pampers, the largest they have, so that he barely has to alter them at all to fit you.

She sleeps peacefully, quietly, as you hold her and, when you lay her down on the couch, she is like a little doll. Her head rocks to one side lazily, her hair splayed out on the cushion beneath her in a fan of decorated sable, and her legs shift back and forth, parting almost temptingly, as you clean the ice cream from her dress and thighs. She makes no noises, save for her deep breathing, as you undress her, displaying her lovely, nubile body before your hungry eyes, her toned tummy rising and falling with her breathing. Her head falling back, hair cascading down and swaying gently as you pick her up, her arm also falls out to dangle, and her feet bumping together as you carry her to her bedroom. Laying her on her bed, her budding breasts jiggle lightly, her knees falling to rest together as you position her on the bed more comfortably. With her covers up over her, she might be dressed in anything, but you know she's as naked as the day she was born, and sleeping so soundly. She doesn't stir or make any sounds as you go about removing everything she's ever known to be hers, leaving the room quite barren. That probably will change soon, but for now, it's mostly empty. She is still sleeping peacefully as you return from getting the pampers and whatever other items you might've picked up. However, there is a broad damp spot on the covers in the general area of her midsection, alerting you to the fact that the diuretics probably took effect sooner than anticipated.

There were plenty of blankets, sheets, and towels in the house, and rather than being mad, Daddy smiles when he sees the big wet spot on the covers. "I guess you really had to go, didn't you Baby?" His voice is gentle and deep, his words exaggerated like he did when you were a toddler, though he knows they probably don't even register with you right now. First things first, he gets the wet sheets out from under you, replacing them with fresh ones as he goes, a trick he learned in the home. The mattress is water-repellent, and so though the sheets are soaked, the mattress only needs a wipe with a clean cloth and then disinfected and it's ready to go. Clean sheets and blankets are quickly in place, before he starts to work on you then. It had been so many years since he'd done this, but it all came back to him right away, as he pushed your legs apart, bending them a bit at the knee. He'd had the presense of mind to pick up some babywipes, and he opens the package, the smell of baby powder and oil filling his nostrils right away. His heart beat heavily as he started wiping you, pushing your legs further apart as he stroked the cloth over your labia, then up and down between the lips, being sure that every trace of urine was washed away, so that it didn't irritate you. He'd have to get something to lift you up with, he knew that much, and he would buy a changing table that had all the necessary attachments to get it done. But for now, he carefully, lovingly wipes all around your 'kitty', down between the cheeks of your bottom, since you were wet there too, and around your legs. It wasn't /quite/ the same putting a diaper on you this time, you weighed a bit more, and for the first time, he was aware that he was extremely hard now, almost painfully so. Before he closes the diaper, he bends down to kiss the lips softly, whispering "hello again kitty," the voice of a man who was finally reunited with the thing he loved most in his life.

Her body shifting lightly with your movements in changing the bed, Pretty inhales deeply, though she doesn't appear to be waking up. Though she's not conscious enough to feel it, the wipes are undoubtedly cool against her urine soaked skin, the lovely smell of babywipes cancelling out the scent of her accident. Your fingers, covered by the babywipe, slide through the plumpness of her sex's lips, the soft, plush flesh rolling aside easily to accommodate your ministrations. Though she's still knocked out, it seems her body responds to the attentions you give it, her little pearl of a clit hardening lightly and the pucker of her bottom dipping and flexing as you wash over that, as well. When you lean forward to plant a gentle kiss to the mound of her kitty, the skin is so utterly soft, and slightly sticky in its dampness, smelling sweetly of essence of baby. It's warm and pliant under your lips and, her clit seems to respond to this, as well. Lifting your eyes, you might notice that her little pink nipples have hardened slightly, standing up tautly in her body's reaction to your tender touches. She inhales deeply and even shifts, slightly, as if in the early moments of waking up. But, after that one shifting, she doesn't stir, again, for quite a few minutes.

Daddy would love nothing more than to continue caressing your smooth kitty and watch with fascination as your tiny pucker flexes, seeming to kiss his fingers as he wipes over it. But there is so much to do this first night, and so with a gentle, sucking kiss to your hardening clitty, he then leans back up to close the diaper, snuggly fitting it to you. Your nipples used to get hard, even as a baby when he'd clean you, and he was pleased that they still did, though of course now, they were more mature, and peaked so beautifully! He allows himself the time to stroke his fingers over your breasts a few times, his cock twitching with desire at the simple touch of them, before bringing up the sheet and blanket to cover you again. He prepares the injection that will leave you slightly paralyzed and gives it to you, looking at his watch once again, smiling that it will leave you fully aware and able to feel everything that happens, but will retard your muscle activity enough in your extremities so that it will feel like you are indeed slightly paralyzed. The rest of the night seems to zip by as he goes out again to buy you some clothes, and two dozen large cloth diapers that will fit you just so. The safety pins he buys are the kind that require an electronic key, one that only he can operate by code, so he knows that you won't poke yourself with them. Returning, he changes you into a cloth diaper, slides some plastic pants over them, and dresses you in a little girl's long tshirt, one that will let him see your young breasts and those wonderfully perky nipples. The timing is perfect, and he's sitting in the chair by your bedside as you begin to wake up.......

Though she is completely unconscious, as your lips wrap so deliciously around the hard little button of her clit and suck it gently, you might think you hear her exhale a soft moan. Then again, it could just be your imagination. As you rise from between her legs, Pretty is still in the same position she was in before you started cleaning her, so lovingly, and she does look like a little sleeping angel, resting so utterly peacefully in her drug-induced unconsciousness. Fastening the disposable diaper to her, she almost looks even more helpless and innocent than she did before, her limp body lying supine on her freshly changed bed. Her nipples respond very nicely to your gentle tweakings and rollings, the massaging of her little breasts a pleasant sensation under your hands. She doesn't respond, thankfully, as you inject her with the medicine in the syringe and, pulling the covers back over her, she is silent, save for her heavy, deep breathing. When you return, she hasn't moved from the position, and it's getting easier for you to change her, as you adjust to the difference in her weight and get back into the hang of putting a cloth diaper on her. Her little plastic panties, see-through pink with a multitude of ruffles on the bottom, looks quite cute when in conjunction with her baby-sleepshirt, her breasts peaking the soft fabric lightly. As you sit down in the chair by her bed, she inhales and shifts slightly, a soft groan escaping her lips. Her brow furrows lightly and she cracks her eyes open, her lips parting.. "Daddy?" she whispers, her throat dry and a little hoarse. "Daddy...I can't move my arms or legs very well," she whimpers.

"I'm here Pretty, I'm here with you Baby." He moves to stand beside your bed, his face a mask of concern and love, both of which are genuine. Knowing you'll be scared at not being able to move, he quickly soothes you by stroking your head. As he decides what to tell you, he starts from the beginning. "You had a tiny stroke, Pretty. Something happened inside your brain, and though you'll recover completely, it'll be a slow process as you learn to use your arms and legs again. His own mind, not feeling any guilt at what he's doing, begins to believe what he's telling you, if only to keep him from accidentally revealing the truth to you somehow. "You've been in a coma for four days, and I've taken care of telling the school what's happened, and been sitting here beside you the whole time. The doctors say you'll be as good as new in a year or so, but not to try and push too hard as you recover." He'd keep you away from the TV for a week or so, and you'd lose track of time, and wouldn't realize that only one night had passed after all before you woke up just now. "They gave me some bottles to feed you from for now, thinking that it would be safest not to start you drinking from a glass, or even a straw for a week at least. Are you thirsty? I can give you some juice if you want." Of course the diuretic has been added already, he smiles at you, thinking of touching your bare little kitty when he changes you. Slipping a finger under your plastic pants the way he used to do when you were a baby, he checks to see if you need changing, and silently lets you know you're in a diaper now.

"A stroke!?" she cries, her chest starting to rise and fall quicker as she begins to panic. "I was in a coma? Oh, my god," she whimpers, tears beginning form in her eyes. As you stroke her head, attempting to comfort her in this awful time, tears spill from the corners of her eyes, rolling down to soak into her hair. "Oh, no... No, it can't be! Daddy... a year!?" she whines, beginning to hyperventilate in her moment of panic and upset. She closes her eyes and cries, wishing she could curl up into a ball, but finds her limbs uncooperative. "Daddy," she sobs, looking up at you with fear in her eyes. "Isn't there some medicine they can give me to help me move? I mean, this is awful!" She's quiet for a few moments, save for her panting and crying. "I can drink from a bottle, but not from a straw? Dad, I'm not a baby," she hiccups, trying to catch her breath and calm down a little. "But, I am thirsty," she sniffs, her brows knitted upward. Her eyes, so pretty with their pale green irises, are red-rimmed from her crying, already, and are quite glossy and shiny from the tears. When your finger slips inside the plastic panties, beneath the diaper, she gasps and her head jerks up. "Oh, my god! A diaper?? Daddy, this can't BE! What about a bedpan? This is awful," she sobs, hammering her head back down on her pillow, already upset, again.

Daddy had a warm, damp washcloth ready and as you cry, he gently washes your face, though some of the tears wet your hair. He feels bad that you're so upset for now, but he knows it's all a necessary part of keeping you safe. "Part of what happened to you is that your inner muscles will have to be trained as well, Baby. You won't be able to control your bladder enough for me to have time to get a bedpan under you. I know it's embarassing, but look at it this way: I changed you when you were a baby, so it's not like I haven't seen everything a few thousand times before. You might as well know I'll have to give you your baths too, but I've taken care of all that. I ordered a special whirlpool bathtub that I think you'll enjoy very much." He sits on the side of the bed, just where your shoulders are, and he sits you up to lean you against him. "The doctors said it would help your brain if you drank from a bottle, something about getting your muscles recoordinated." Bringing the nipple of the bottle to your mouth, he presses it gently against your lips as he holds you, so much like the way he did when you were a toddler. "It's your favorite apple juice, and I don't want you to be embarassed that I'm feeding it to you, all right sweetheart?"

"Oh, god," she cries, even as you lift her up and slip into place behind her, cradling her to your body. The warmth of your body, the strength of your muscles holding her close, these are comforting things to her and she wishes she could wrap her arms around you... Only she can't quite move, yet. She can wiggle fingers and toes, but she can't seem to get the strength up to actually move her arms or legs. "This is awful... I'm..." she cries, tilting her head away from the bottle, at first. "I'm sorry, Daddy... I know you're just trying to help me, but this is so humiliating," she sniffles, her eyes trained on the bottle you still offer her. Slowly, she parts her lips and takes the nipple of the bottle in her mouth, sucking at it gently. Luckily, you found a specialty shop in town that sells teenager to adult sized baby items, and you were able to get adult-sized nipples, pacifiers and baby clothes... Suckling gently at the nipple of the bottle, Pretty exhales softly, almost making babyish sounds as she sucksucksucksuckswallows. If she notices the taste of the diuretic in the juice, she doesn't say anything. After a moment, she breaks off of her feeding and looks up at you, "Daddy? What happened to my room? Everything's gone! You said I've been in a coma for four days, but..."

Knowing that you'd get around to asking what happened, he had another lie all ready to go. "The doctors said it would be best if we put all that into storage while you recover. Apparently, there's something about putting toddler's things in here that will make your recovery easier, and that I was supposed to tell you that it's ok for you to start feeling like a very little girl, as if you were growing up all over again. So, it's not just ok for you to like all this, but it's better for you!" His voice has slowly taken on that of a man talking to a toddler, the subtle shift in his tone and accents not very noticeable at all. He cradles you against his powerful body, watching as your lips work on the large nipple of the bottle, breathing a sigh of relief that you can't see just how hard watching that gets him. There's no doubt you'll see him aroused before long, but he'll simply tell you it's a physical reaction to touching you so intimately, and that it's nothing to worry about. He knows, already, that you'll want it sometime, that you'll want Daddy to take you that way. "I just want you to get better, Pretty. For now, just think of me taking care of my Baby girl as she grows up. It'll help you get better, and you won't be quite so humilated at the way I have to care for you." Leaning forward, he looks into your eyes. "I love you Pretty. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you to help get you better."

Furrowing her brow, Pretty listens as you feed her the lie, finding this -very difficult- to believe. "But... That makes no sense... Daddy, why would me being in a room for a baby help me get better? Why will it help me to think of myself as a little girl, growing up? I'm 12! This is wrong! I want you to get a second opinion... I want to see another doctor," she says, her voice quite stern. Now, though she's on the verge of throwing a tantrum, this is easily remedied. You can always hire someone to play a doctor and give them the information you want them to give her. She won't know any better and you'll put off a hissy fit, now. Her chest rising and falling quickly in her pouting fit, she turns her head to find the nipple of the bottle, again. Her tongue sliding out to take it into her mouth, she begins suckling from it, once more, her eyes soon growing heavily lidded from the soothing repetitive motion and noises, coupled with the warm, strong security your body affords her. Your stiffness goes unnoticed, though it will likely upset her, when she finally does become aware it. She makes soft sounds as she nurses from the bottle you hold for her, the juice and diuretic disappearing quickly from the bottle. Releasing the nipple with a popping sound, she sniffs, "I think I'll always be humiliated... I know you did this for me when I was a baby, but I'm a big girl, now. I may be sick, but I'm still a big girl..." Trailing off, she is quiet for a moment before she whispers, softly, "I love you, too, Daddy."

Daddy's voice is soothing, as always. He'd already decided that he would handle everything himself, going so far as spanking you should you continue to resist. He'd weaned you of tantrums when you were a toddler, and he would do it again. "It's not your mental state that is in question Pretty. I've already done the research on what the doctor's said. It's the environment that will allow your brain to recover more quickly, if we, and you especially, stop trying to concentrate on what you've lost. Now please don't throw a tantrum, you know I won't put up with it." Sure, his story was full of holes, but it was as good as any other about why he was putting you in diapers and feeding from a bottle. "You know I'd only do what's best for you, don't you?" And in his mind, this was the best, he was telling the truth. Once the bottle is empty, he sets it aside, then leans you more forward as he starts to massage your back with one hand, alternating between pats and gentle caresses. "I need you to be strong for me Baby, and trust that what I'm doing for you is the best thing to make you completely heatlthy again." He leans you far enough so that your breasts press against his forearm, and secretly, he relishes the feel of your stiff nipples against him.

"Daddy? Please. It doesn't have to be today or tomorrow... I want to hear it from the doctor. Ok? Please," she says, lifting her eyes to look into your face. She needs to hear it for herself, to make it easier to accept this horrible treatment method. "I don't understand how it works, the idea of being treated like this will help me recover faster..." Pursing her lips, Pretty seems to think over your statement, though she's really feeling a little ashamed for being so upset about the whole thing when you're only trying to help her. "I know, Dad... I know. And, all I can do is promise to try. It's so humiliating, though. Imagine if you were in my position, Dad. If you had to wear diapers and drink from a bottle? How would you feel?" she asks softly as you begin to rub and pat her back, effectively attempting to burp her. Her under-developed breasts just above your forearm, she whines softly at the strange feeling this sort of treatment brings to her tummy, embarrassment burning in her chest.

Listening carefully to your arguments about your condition and 'recovery treatments', he decides that having a doctor come over to visit you might be a good idea after all. "All right Pretty, I'll see if the doctor can come over now, if she's not busy." He lays you back carefully onto the bed, and takes a phone out of his pocket. "Yes, it's Mr. Fitzhuges. Doctor Fletcher please." His voice carries the tone of a man in charge of things, not as if he were asking someone, but was /telling/ them to get the doctor on the phone. "Hello Simone? Yes, it's Daddy. Do you think you could come over this evening? Pretty is rather unsure about the treatment that you prescribed for her, and it would be much better if you could explain everything to her." He listens for a few seconds. "Yes, 30 minutes would be just fine. She's awake now, just like you predicted, almost to the minute." He listens again. "No, hardly able to move her arms and legs at all. She seems very alert though, and apparently has feeling in all limbs. I'll leave the door open, so you can just come on in. Right, thank you." He folds the phone up and puts it back in his pocket.

"Oh, thank you, Daddy," she smiles, her tone of one obvious relief as you stand and lay her back on the bed. She seems to look unhappy as you leave her, the warmth of your body gone from her, leaving her with only the warm bed beneath her. Pretty rocks her head to one side, watching you as you pace back and forth, one hand lifting your phone to your ear, and the other planted on your hip as you talk on the phone. She smiles softly, watching as you battle dragons for her, riding on your white steed. As you fold your phone back up, she seeks your eyes out with her own, "Thank you, Daddy. I just need to hear for myself. That's all." She smiles weakly, lying there helpless in her diaper and baby tee, unable to move her arms and legs beyond a slight shifting. "Hold me?" she asks softly, her lower lip quivering. "I'm scared of what the doctor might say..."

With a look of pure love, Daddy comes back over to the bed, sliding on of his arms under your back, and the other under your thighs, and lifts you effortlessly, making sure your head is cradled in the crook of his arm as he turns and then sits down on the bed again. The fit is amazing, the way he holds you as if you were meant to be there, your head resting on his shoulder, your arms, nearly lifeless, danging down but still supported, your legs carefully held together, providing you some modesty, though you can't move very well. He strokes the side of your thigh, not too high, not too low, his touch warm and secure. Humming for a few minutes, he does all he can to calm you, to let you know he is, and always will be your Daddy, the man who loves you The Most in all the world. "Doctor Fletcher will be here in a few minutes," he whispers to you. "She won't come into your room until I talk to her in the living room first, but then I'll let her come in alone, and you can talk to her in private. How does that sound?" You seem so tiny beneath him, and you realize that it would never be any trouble for him to lift you as often as you needed, for whatever purpose. There couldn't be a more devoted, or loving person to care for you. About that time, you hear the front door open and then close again. "Mr. Fitzhuges? It's Simone." Her voice is low, steady, and very pleasant. Standing again, Daddy sets you down on the bed, gets your pillows comfortable, covers you up, and then goes to the livingroom, leaving your door open.

As you pick her up, she dangles in your arms like a ragdoll, her arms and legs bouncing as you shift her to one side so you can sit on the bed with her in your lap. As you rest her weight against you, the plastic panties, often called rhumba panties because of the ruffles on the bottom, crinkle noisily, causing Pretty to flush with embarrassment. Though you have to support her in that semi-upright position, she can move her head and she rolls it to rest on your shoulder, her nose and lips pressing against your warm neck. She whimpers quietly in her shame and you feel warm tears trickle against your neck, cooled by her breathing as she cries silently. Your humming seems to calm her slightly and, by the time you speak to her, she's stopped crying, mostly. Sniffling, she nods her head, "That'd be good, Daddy," she whispers. Then, there's the doctor lady calling out to you from the living room. She looks scared, once more, as you put her down on the bed, leaving her by herself. What's the doctor going to say?

There is the sound of Daddy and the Lady Doctor talking in hushed tones, and you can make out an occasionaly word, mostly hers: "Yes sir." There is finally silence in there, and Dr. Fletcher comes into your room. She is a professional woman, her hair in a bun, wearing a lab coat, a knee-length skirt, and some very expensive glasses. There is a momentary look in her eyes as she glances back out the door. It's a combination of awe, fear, devotion. "Pretty? My name is Simone. I'm a neurologist. That means I work on peoples brains and nerves. Your Daddy said you had some questions for me, and so I came as soon as I could." She sits down on the edge of the bed, and strokes your forehead, brushing any stray hairs out of the way. "I know this is frightening for you. But you should know that your outlook is very good, and you should make a full recovery." She is warm and genuine, and there's no reason to doubt who she is.

As you, the lady doctor, enter her room, Pretty lifts her head a bit, as if she would sit up straight, if only she could. When you glance back at the doorway, that strange look in your eyes, Pretty frowns a little, unhappy with what that could mean. Now, her mother left years ago and she's never seen her father with anyone else... And, she doesn't particularly want to start. Narrowing her eyes as you sit down on the bed, she moves her head out of the way of your kind gesture. "I do have some questions, yes. My father told me that, per my doctor's orders, that I needed to be treated like a little girl, and act like one, in order to quicken my recovery from this stroke thing. You can see my room, now... Empty. All of my things are gone and I don't know where to. I'm in a -diaper,- doctor. My father had to feed me juice from a bottle. This is horribly humiliating and I -can't- see how it's the only course of action available to me," she says, trying to keep her tone even. Then again, she didn't like how you looked at her Daddy, and maybe a little hostility from that and the stress and humiliation of her situation add a bit of an edge to her words.

The doctor keeps her eyes neutral, and her face expressionless as you talk to her, but the slight blush to her cheeks is a give-away to the feelings she has for your Daddy, when she hears the hostility in your voice, and recognizes just what it is. "I know this is all very humiliating for you Pretty. But as you start to get better, you'll understand much better why we are choosing this course of treatment for you. Its technical term is 'Regressive Neurotherapy,' and it's been used successfully for about fifty years now, with the best results being had when it's a case such as yours. It isn't so much that we want you to act like a little girl, it's just that your mind has an easier time reconciling what has to happen to you for the next 12 to 18 months as you recover, if you accept giving up all responsibility as /if/ you were a little girl." She glances at the door again. "Did you know, your Daddy wouldn't allow anyone else to come and take care of you? Do you know why? He loves you Pretty. He knows that having him here will speed your recovery and cause you less emotional trauma than if a nurse came here to do it all for you." She holds your hand then. "Your Daddy saved my life once, did he tell you that? I don't want to go into the details, but let me tell you that there is nothing I wouldn't do for him or his family, which is you. Did he tell you that he's an MD? He is. He just never took the licensing exam, at least not officially."

Furrowing her brow as you explain this Regressive Neurotherapy idea to her, Pretty can almost forget the animosity she feels for you as a result if the goo-goo eyes you made at her Daddy. Well...that kinda makes sense. Actually, it makes a lot of sense, but it doesn't make accepting it any easier. "Oh... And, this is necessary, you say?" she asks lightly, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Then, as you mention her Daddy, she is reminded of your earlier indiscretion. "That's right. My Daddy loves ME," she says softly, her eyes narrowed even further, in something a little less genial than suspicion. "Maybe he saved your life....I don't know. He's never talked about you," she says lightly, delivering a stinging little barb with the nonchalant statement that you don't matter to her Daddy, like she does. Crooking a finger, she beckons you closer to her, a soft smile on her face as she prepares to tell you a secret. "As for the number of things you'd do for him, better count out having sex with him or approaching him in that fashion. 'Cause if I find out you are, when I can walk, I'll make sure -you- can't," she whispers into your ear, the venom palpable. "I'd like to see my Daddy, now. If he is an MD, I'll have him tell me. I don't need you to sing his praises... It sounds really desperate, Dr. Fletcher," she says with a cold little smile. "DADDY?" she calls out, sure that she can be heard from the bedroom, with the door open.

There is the rustle of a newspaper, and the sound of Daddy standing up, and then he is in your room with you and Dr. Fletcher. The look on his face is as it always is for you, a love so deep that nothing, or no one could ever come between you two. He moves to your bed right away, the lady doctor backing up, her eyes downcast, though a soft smile is on her lips. "I told her about the diagnosis and her treatment," the doctor whispers, barely audibly, "Mr. Fitzhuges." Daddy immediately sits with you, lifting your head and shoulders to lie against his chest as he cradles you. "Thank you Doctor," your Daddy replies, looking at her, though she doesn't look back at him. She does continue though. "I think Pretty had some questions for you though. Did you want me to stay while you ask him, Miss Fitzhuges?" There is something of a light quiver in her voice now, as your threat sinks in. "Oh?" Daddy asks, his eyes flicking from her back to you. "What is it sweetheart? Dr. Fletcher didn't make something clear?"

Pretty lights up as you enter the room, her face instantly clear of the thunderstorm that had been brewing on her lovely features. As you lift her up and cradle her in your arms, settling her comfortably, Pretty casts a smug look in the direction of the unfortunate Dr. Fletcher. "I think you can /go,/ Dr. Fletcher. Thank you for explaining things to me," she says icily, a chilly smile on her lips as she glares at the doctor lady. Tilting her head, she looks back up at you with a warm smile and presses her cheek against your chest in a loving manner. Her features sinking into a sulky expression, she pouts and says, "Send her away, Daddy. I don't want to see her, again." Sniffing lightly, she turns her head even more so she doesn't have to look at Dr. Fletcher, who is most likely looking very unhappy about this turn of events.

Daddy doesn't have to say anything to the doctor, she simply leaves then, the front door closing softly. "What is it Pretty? What happened? Is it because she told you about what I've been trying to explain? I was hoping she'd shed some light on everything." He strokes your hair gently, smoothing it out, and untangling the beaded strands, his finger sure and his touch very soft. "I guess she told you that I didn't want anyone else to take care of you," he whispers, his strong arms hugging you lightly. "And it's not just because I'm as qualified as anyone else to do the job. It's because you are my family, and I love you, Baby. No one /could/ do a better job, because of that alone." With careful pulls to your hair, he undoes every tangle and loop, until your beads hang down so that the slightest turn of your head causes them to rattle and jingle. Getting another warm washcloth, he lightly washes your face again, getting the remaining tear tracks from your soft, beautiful skin.
You sense Daddy hopes you understood his last whisper. Daddy loves his little girl, I love how excellently you play her. It shows a lot of caring, and I thank you for it. I think there's a lot of you in her, by the way. You breathe life into her with your very soul, don't you?
Daddy whispers "afks for a couple again, rr and short smoke...back in a few...."

As the doctor leaves, Pretty turns her pale green gaze up to you and smiles a little, "No... She explained things to me. It makes sense, but I still don't like it. It's embarrassing..." Pausing to take a deep breath, she purses her lips, "Dr. Fletcher has eyes for you, Daddy. And, I don't like it. It makes me unhappy. I don't know why, other than to say something about her seems off. She said you saved her live, once, and she'd do anything for you or your family. I didn't like the sound of that. Has she thrown herself at you, Daddy?" her tone gets a bit harsher, her brows furrowing deeply at the idea of that hussy doctor attacking you as you round the corner at work, or something. "That's why I don't want to see her, again. ...She said you're a doctor, only you hadn't taken the licensing exams for it? Is that true, Daddy? How did you save her life?" she asks, her eyes closing in enjoyment while you run your fingers through her hair and wash her face with the warm washcloth.

Daddy flinches almost, but not quite, imperceptibly. "She told you that?" He takes a deep breath, still washing your face, and then your neck. "A long time ago, she was in a bad situation, where a man was controlling her life, making her do things, and she didn't have any way out of it, literally. I confronted the man, and killed him when he attacked me. Simo...Dr. Fletcher wasn't a doctor then, and in fact, she wasn't much older than you are now, she was about sixteen at the time. Anyway, I arranged for her to live with a family I knew she'd be safe with, and I paid for her to go to school again, helped her get her life back in order. She went on to medical school, and became first an MD, and then a neurologist. Over the years, yes, she's made it clear that she wanted to be more than a friend to me, but I didn't ever let it go there. I've never touched her in the way you might be thinking of." Rinsing the washcloth, he starts on your arms next. "As for me being a doctor, yes I studied all the material, and yes, I took all the classes. I didn't take the exams because I didn't want to be a doctor, but as you know, a chemist instead. I did take an unoffical licensing exam, and I aced it frankly. So yes, I'm qualified as a doctor, but no, I'm not one." He leans down to kiss your forehead then, and hugs you gently before continuing with your sponge bath.

Frowning deeply at the story, Pretty pauses a moment, trying to enjoy the light bath you're giving her with the washcloth, but finding it difficult. "Daddy... You don't /love/ her, do you? You don't find her attractive, do you?" she asks quietly, looking up at your face, trying to see if she can gauge your reaction to glean truth from it before the words come out of your mouth. You're her Daddy and, as such, she knows you might tell her a fib, to keep her from being upset. When you don't answer right away, Pretty's reaction is quite palpable. Though she can't really leave your arms, she turns her face away from you and doesn't respond as you talk about your years of schooling to become a chemist. She turns away from your kiss, a sullen expression on her face, "Well, if you love her so much, why have you never told me about her? Why don't you just marry her and leave me here, to die?" she asks, her voice full of hurt and anger. How could you? How could you fall for some hussy of a doctor and betray her, like this? Angry tears leak from her closed eyes, and you can feel her arms twitching, because she's trying with all her might to push away from you, so she can sulk in peace.

Deciding that he won't lie to you about Simone, he tells you the truth. "Dr. Fletcher is the granddaughter of a man who once help me and your mother out with some money, and he asked me a few months after that if I could help him find Simone, his granddaughter. But you see, Dr. Fletcher had brought shame to her family, and so could no longer be a public part of them anymore. It was up to me to save her or leave her. I saved her." He lets you cry, continuing with your other arm then, washing as gently as he had always touched you. "You can see for yourself that she is attractive. But Baby, I don't want her that way, I don't want to marry her, and in fact, the only reason she is part of our lives at all is because she is the doctor who handled your case when you were first taken to the emergency room." He holds your chin then and turns your face toward him, and kisses your lips, tasting the salt of your tears. "You are all the family I want or need Pretty. You are the lady of my house, my little girl, the one I love more than anything else."

"She's not attractive.. She's ugly! She's ugly and desperate! I saw how she looks at you and it made me sick. It made me very angry and, if she comes back, or I hear about her trying to make a move on you, I'll find some way to get her. I told her so," she says softly, her eyes narrowed as you hold her chin, her mouth moving against yours as you dip to kiss her and she doesn't return it, choosing to talk, instead. "You say that, but you never told me about HER? About SIMONE? Well... How can I believe you, now, Daddy? That hurts," she says, her brows drawn down in a dark way. "I know Mom left a long time ago and you must be lonely... But, you've never talked about another woman... You've never even talked like you'd want someone else, like that... To marry or whatever... Why did you keep this from me, unless you didn't want to upset me because you were planning to make her my new mom?" Her lip quivering, she's in a full-on hissy, now. In her irrational upset, she neglects or glosses over some of the other things you said, hearing what she wants to hear. It's really more like an argument a man might have with his wife...if only it weren't coming from your little girl.

Daddy holds your chin then, his huge hand holding your entire face it feels like, as he forces you to look at him. "Let's get one thing straight right now, Pretty." His voice has an edge to it that you've rarely ever heard. He lowers his face to yours, his nose less that an inch from your own. "You are /my/ little girl, not the other way around. Daddy does a lot of things in his business that you don't know about. I am not required to tell you anything except what I /want/ to tell you." His face reddens slightly as his anger takes hold of him. "Of course I've been lonely. Why do you think I spend so much time trying to make your life better, why I give you nearly everything you want? Why do you think it hurts me the way it does when I see you drifting away, hanging out with your friends, saying barely two words to me in a day?" He relaxes his grip on your chin, but doesn't let it go. "Do you know why I never remarried? It's because /you/ are the girl in my life. I don't have time for anyone else. I don't want anyone else. You are the reason I get up in the morning, the reason I work so hard, the reason I come home again instead of staying out all night and finding some pretty woman to spend the night with." Kissing you while you're still shocked into silence, he then continues. "Of course women have made offers to me. But would you know I've turned all of them down? I haven't been with anyone since your mother left, because on that day, you became the girl in my life. I love you Pretty. I love only you."

Her eyes widened slightly, she's certainly shocked by the tone of your voice, as it's not something you've used with her very often... In fact the only other time she can recall was four days ago, before her stroke... (ha!) She listens quietly, her eyes flicking back and forth between your own grey-green eyes, her brows knitted upward. Though what you say is the utter truth--you're telling her that you love her, not only as a daughter, but in the way that you'd love a wife--what Pretty hears is that you love her so much that no other woman will do... But, she doesn't quite understand how deep and far-reaching your love for her goes. That you could want to have her in that very special way, between her legs...that would never occur to her. Not yet, at least. "I love you, too, Daddy. Just tell all those women to go away, ok?" she whispers, her eyes bright and wide, pouring out her childlike, innocent and unquestioning love for you. It could even be misunderstood as a very grown-up type of love... Which, in some ways, it probably is, though she doesn't realize /that/, either.

Daddy kisses you again, gently, but the kiss lingers for a few seconds, and then a few more. He pulls back then. "I've always told them to do that, Pretty, and I always will. Because you are the girl I love, the one who fills my life with such happiness, the one who comes to me when she's happy, or sad, or just needs a hug." Another light, brushing kiss against your lips and the bath continues. "I'm sorry I yelled at you just now. But I wanted you to know that not all of what Daddy does, he can tell you about. It's not that I don't want you to know, it's just that it isn't appropriate for you to know, that's all." He lays you back onto the bed, and after rinsing the cloth again, starts to wash your feet, playfully dabbing at your toes, letting you get used to the idea that he'll be washing every part of you, for many months to come. "You're the most beautiful young lady I have ever seen," he whispers to you, his eyes wandering up your legs to the plastic panties you're wearing then slowly up to your face.

Her mouth, against yours, is so soft and plush. There's something about her lips that's so unlike other women's... Very soft and yielding to your mouth as it seeks out forbidden pleasure from her. She returns your kiss, her eyes closed, and, though she doesn't pull away, she's a little confused about why the kiss goes on so long. "Well, just you tell that Simone person, then. She doesn't seem to take the hint. Maybe she's misdiagnosed me, so you'd get rid of me. Maybe she thought that, if she could get rid of me, she could have you..." Pretty's fantasies are pretty wild and far-fetched, and you know this isn't so, because poor Simone had nothing to do with it. It's all because of you, in fact. She lightly presses her lips against yours as you dip for one last kiss. "Is it because you killed a bad man, once, Daddy? I mean, he was bad, right? Not that I care about that ugly bitch, but..." She makes a little unhappy noise as you leave her and move dow to wash her feet, tickling her toes. She would jerk and laugh, if she could.. As it is, all she can do is twitch and laugh. Unfortunately, she feels a warm, wet sensation flooding into her diaper as she laughs, her cheeks flushing darkly as she falls silent. When you lift your eyes to slide up the line of her legs, you notice that the pink plastic panties seem a bit damp in the middle, the wet cloth darkening the plastic against it. "Oh, no," she cries, wishing she could bury her face in a pillow.

Daddy's face seems to light up when he sees that you've peed again, though he does make it seem that he's relieved, and not physically excited at the sight. "Now, I'm going to have to clean you up and change your diaper, I guess you know that. Please don't be too embarassed. I've seen everything you have. And if I might just say so, you have a very beautiful body, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, and everything inbetween." He kisses one of your feet, then the other. "I will have to touch you intimately Pretty, but for me, just do your best not to think about it too much. Do you start to see why you thinking of yourself as a very little girl might help you? You were never embarassed when I changed your diaper when you were a baby, and in fact, you used to really enjoy me wiping you clean and powdering your bottom."

[Scene fade...] Continued later...

The Fitzhughes: 0001 -- The Dress

Sun, 22 Jan 2006 23:21:57 GMT

WARNING/DISCLAIMER: This scenario (and all continuing scenes I post with the Fitzhughes) contains heavy fetishes such as ageplay and incest -- It may also contain kinks and fetishes such as BDSM, watersports and various others. Read at your OWN RISK.

Scene Rating: PG-13 - (for mild violence and drugging)

♥ Pretty ♥

Setting: The Green House - Suite 8888 [the Fitzhughes' home] (@Shangri'la MUSH) -- Description © to author/owner.

Rich woods, bright reds and glossy finishes abound in this large, roomy apartment Windows fill the walls and are fitted with quaint wooden shutters varnished to a high, warm sheen. The shutters are fixed to the inside of the walls, and are not functional--purely for decoration. The windows are hung with shades, which can be lifted with a downward tug to reveal the panoramic view of the Eden Commons below. The living area is very large, square in shape with a deep conversation pit in the center. Two walls have been painted bright red, two a glossy white, with medallions known as hex signs decorating them in bright, cheerful colors.
The kitchen is a gourmet cook's paradise, fitted with every conceivable appliance; the ceiling hung with iron racks of pots, pans, copper molds and utensils and the counters tiled in bright tulip patterns to lend cheer to the dazzle of chrome. A wine rack offers storage for precious vintage vino, and there is a small pantry off to the side to provide plenty of space for staples. The bedroom houses a huge round bed in the center, set upon a platform that serves as dresser storage. Above the bed, a mirror has been mounted to the ceiling, surrounded by small track lighting that is soft and warm, even with the mirror reflecting it back. A bath is cozied behind a bright yellow door, and the walls and floors are tiled in the same pattern as the kitchen, with an enormous claw foot tub occupying fully one half of the room. The sinks and counters are done in a fine porcelain glaze, with fixtures of warm, brushed copper.

♥~ C=(O ~♥

[Open scene...]

It was just the two of them, and had been since his wife had left. No, he didn't hold any grudges against your mother, and in fact, still loved her, and wished her only the best in her new life. How many years ago had it been that she disappeared, and then had written once to tell you and him what she'd done? Seven years? Eight? Brandt missed those times. You were just learning to walk, still needed diapers sometimes, and you were his little Princess, you always had been, to this very day. But you were about to become a teenager, and you were feeling your independence more and more, becoming distant from him, and it had made him feel unloved sometimes. If only there were a way to go back! To go back not to when your mother was here, but to go back to just after she left, when it was you and Daddy, and he took care of you every day, and in every way you needed. If only.....

It's been rough for Pretty, since her mother left. You've been a wonderful father, but a growing girl needs a mother for various things. After all, who is she going to ask about boys? What it's like to kiss a boy and if kissing one will make you pregnant? She's grown up happily, with you as her doting, loving father, but she's missed having a mother, too. Recently, it's become even more painfully apparent to you, as she begins turning away from your mouth kisses, only accepting ones on the cheek or, at the very least, a hug. She doesn't ask you to read her bedtime stories or to check for monsters under her bed, anymore. She's been wearing make up, lately. And her clothing has become less childish and more young adult. Her skirts are shorter, but not in a seemly fashion, according to a father's eyes. This much is apparent, today, as she traipses into the living room and plops down on the couch, picking up a magazine. Chewing some gum, she blows a pink bubble before letting it pop. "Hey, Dad," she murmurs, her pale green eyes flitting behind thick, long lashes as she looks over her teen magazine.

It had already been a trying day at work. It was 'Bring your daughter to work day,' but you hadn't wanted to do that in the last three years, so he didn't ask this year. But there had been a little girl there, who clung to her Daddy the whole day, hanging on his every word, and it made Daddy all the more wanting, all the more needing to have that back in his life. Looking at you, your short dress, the bubble gum, the magazine, something was starting to take shape in his mind, a plan to have his baby back, one way or the other. "Pretty, I've asked you not to wear dresses that short, haven't I? There's no reason for anyone to see that much of your legs. And your last report card wasn't very good. I've been trying to give you enough independence to do what you like, but young lady, I'm losing patience with the way you disregard the rules I've given you." His eyes do wander down your legs, then back up again. "So either start buying longer dresses, or I'll choose your clothes for you."

Heaving a /large,/ put-upon sigh, Pretty rolls those lovely eyes upward and she sinks back into the couch. "God, Dad! It's not -that- short. And, about my last report card," she groans, her hands flopping out limply on the cushions beside her, "I think a couple of my teachers have it out for me. I /know/ Mr. Johnson hates me. I think it's because I told him his toupee wasn't very good and he needed to invest in a new one, if he wanted something that looked realistic. I was just trying to help." She dips her chin down to her chest, her brows furrowing as her lower lip slowly juts out in a pout. Her lovely hair, which is so unique in and of itself, drapes like an exotic, sable curtain over her shoulders, threatening to hide her lovely face. "I really am trying, y'know? At school? But, I really think I should be able to wear this. What's wrong with this dress? It's not like some of the /other/ girls at school..." she grumbles in a sulky tone.

His face reddening slightly, though you don't know it's as much at the plan he's hatching as it is at your response to him. He has to bite back a chuckle when you tell him about Mr. Johnson, who'd called that very day to tell him about your little antics, though he hadn't the heart to punish you for it, it was just too funny! "I'm /not/ in the mood for your excuses, or your backtalk! I said that dress was too short, and that's what I mean!" He walks right up to you then, and grabs your shoulders, not too tightly, but tight enough to sit you up straight on the couch. "And stop that pouting and hiding behind your hair as if you were living in the stone age! I'm tired of having you slouch and lounge around as if you didn't have a spine!" When he backs up again, you can see that his chest is rising and falling in deep breaths, and his face is a bit redder now. "Am I making myself understood?!"

Lifting her celadon gaze to your visage as you respond angrily, Pretty's jaw drops, as if she can't believe you're acting this way. Before, you always kinda sighed and nodded, letting her go about things her own way. To a certain extent, she's right. It /could/ be worse. Some of the girls in her school look little better than common street whores, wearing push up bras and fishnet stockings, Whore Red lipstick and much hairsprayed hair. Meanwhile, your angel has remained fairly chaste, and natural in her look, despite her recent adjustment to the shorter skirts and light makeup. She gasps as you grasp her shoulders so tightly and shake her a bit, "Dad..." Her eyes are wide and full of fear, relaying her inability to understand what's caused this reaction in you. "I'm sorry," she whispers, lowering her chin and looking at you through her long lashes. "I'm sorry..."

It was that look that he missed so much, the look of awe, and yes even fear sometimes at how powerful Daddy was. Oh yes, he'd hatched his plan and he was going to do it. Sure you might say you were sorry now, to placate him, but he knew that you'd go right back to doing as you wished. You were right about some of the other girls at school, he thought, and they looked more whorish every day, and he knew, deep down that it wouldn't be long before they were gone from their families. He wouldn't, he couldn't take losing you. Even though you were still very young, you had the body of an older girl. Your breasts had developed early, and they were not healthy and bouncy and firm, as he knew from when you flounced around in your nightgown in front of him. And he'd had to use every ounce of strength not to reach out and touch them, squeeze them, run his fingers over your nipples. But this was much more than those primitive urges, he wanted you back as you were when you were a toddler, and the plan takes shape. He'd tell the school you went to live with your mom, no he didn't know where you were. He'd keep you here, and you'd be his baby, and he'd be your daddy, and that's how it was going to be from now on. "Honey, I just don't want you to wear your dresses short. It's slutty, and unbecoming of a beautiful young lady. Would you like me to go shopping with you to buy some new ones?" Little did you know, the dress you were wearing might be the last one of that style you would ever wear again, if he had anything to say about it.

That strange look in your eye, the way you seem to zone out for a minute, it worries her. What could you be thinking of and what brought it on? Swallowing thickly, Pretty stares at you with a look of confusion and anxiety painted on her lovely face, her brows knitted upwards as you hold her so firmly by the shoulders. "Slutty?" she whispers, dropping her head to look at her dress. "But, Dad, it's just a sundress. It's not slutty," she sniffs, looking almost hurt by your comment. "But...if it will make you happy, we can shop for new ones. Maybe we can find some that we both like and we'll compromise. Ok?" she asks, her voice one of gentle convincing, an attempt to let you know she's willing to work with you on it, if only you'll calm down. "Daddy, you're hurting me," she exhales in a strained whisper, her lower lip quivering lightly. She tilt her head to look at one of your hands, so large and strong, circling her bicep tightly, her pale skin a little flushed beneath it.

Looking down, following your gaze, Daddy sees that he's still holding your arms in his iron grip. You were so small compared to him, so tiny and delicate. Yes, he knew already, this was what he wanted. To hold and caress you, to cradle you in his arms as he fed you, to change your diaper when you went potty. He was going to have this! Sure, it was a little strange that he'd want that, but weren't you /his/ daughter?! Didn't he have the right to raise you as he saw fit!? Of course he did! One of his thumbs strokes the soft skin of your arm, the look in his eyes far away for a few more seconds. He was touching your breasts with the sides of his hands, and they were as firm and soft as he'd imagined. Smiling, he lets his thoughts wander to what it will be like when he washes those for you, and there's another primitive stirring in his stomach then. He licks his lips, and loosens his grip on you. "Sorry Pretty, I didn't mean to hurt you." There would be plenty of hurt, he knew, before you came around to his thinking, but you /would/ come around to it, he was just as sure of that.

There's a strange sort of feeling in her stomach that rumbles, muttering darkly, whispering frightening sensations through her, as you look at her in such a way. She doesn't notice your hands brushing against her breasts, only that look in your eyes and the burst of violent anger you'd never displayed to her, before. "Dad, did I do something wrong? I mean, I know my grades aren't the best, but they're not horrible. I promise to try harder... But, like I said, Mr. Johnson probably won't give me good grades, no matter what I do. He looks at all the girls funny and sweats a lot. And, he gets mad if you try to help him..." She chews at the fullness of her lower lip, dropping her gaze in a slightly ashamed manner, "And, I don't want you to think I'm dressing like a slut. That hurt, when you said that, Daddy." Sniffling softly, she looks back up at you as you loosen your grip on her arms, which have begun to hurt a little from the tenseness of your grip. As you catch sight of her eyes, silvery tears spill over her naturally rosy cheeks, rolling off her chin and soaking into her dress.

Now, you've always been his Princess, his Darling, his Whole World, and he wouldn't purposely hurt you for anything. "I didn't mean to say you were a slut, sweetheart." His big hands move up to cup both your cheeks, and he wipes the tears from your face, leaning down to kiss your forehead. "I was saying that showing that much leg reminds me of how much skin sluts show. And the hell with Mr. Johnson. His toupe' is pretty awful. Hey now, I didn't mean to make you cry. What do you say we have some ice cream?" As a chemist, he already had the compounds he needed to put you out for a while as he carried out his plan. When you woke up in the morning, it would be to a very different world. A world where Daddy made all the decisions for you, where Daddy bathed you and dressed you and kept you clean. It was best for you, he knew. It was the only way to keep you safe, to keep you with him, to keep you from becoming a slut somewhere who didn't know how to dress and dropped out of school and turned to drugs. Yes, he would keep you safe and sound, eternally his Baby Girl.

Sniffling, again, she lifts her teary, glistening light green eyes to yours, their coloring so like yours, and she blinks slowly, her tears bunched together with her tears, as you lightly brush the dampness from her cheek. She leans into the kiss you press against her forehead, as she always has, and smiles a little at your words. Maybe you didn't really think she looked like a slut, but it felt like it at the time, and the sting still remains. Though she'd only smiled weakly before, she laughs softly at your assessment of Mr. Johnson's horrible rug, nodding her head. "Ok, Dad. Some ice cream could be good. Did you get strawberry, this time?" she asks, her tone a little lighter than before, her lush lips curled into a tiny smile. Picking the forgotten magazine up, she straightens its pages and places it back on the coffee table with a brief glance at her arm, where a slightly pink band circles it due to your earlier upset. Looking down at the floor, she inhales a little and makes as if to stand, as if she were going to fix her own ice cream, along with the milk she usually has with anything she eats that's sweet. "Do you think we'll go shopping tomorrow, after I get home from school?" she asks, idly.

"You go ahead and read your magazine, and I'll get the ice cream. I got strawberry, just for you." There would be a bit of magic dust in your milk as well, he decides then. Not only is his baby girl going to wear diapers again, but he'll make sure that you use them, often. How else would he get to give you all the baths and clean ups that you'll need? How else could he show you that he's the best Daddy in the whole wide world? "And yes, we'll go shopping right after school," he lies. It was a small lie really. He'd be doing some shopping tonight while you were out cold. The compound would keep you out for at least 12 hours, and he'd put a diaper on you before he left. The 7-11 had some disposable ones that might fit you if he altered them some, and he could finish buying the things a growing baby girl needed after that. If he hurried, he could even get you into some nice pajamas, no, a nice little baby's night shirt would be even better! As he disappears into the kitchen, he has to adjust his pants, which are now very tight in front as he thinks about dressing you again.

Pausing half-way between rising and sitting, Pretty sinks back into the couch, looking up at you as you move toward the kitchen. Her brows knitting once more, she looks at the doorway to the kitchen, where you'd once stood, and tries to figure out what just happened. Looking down at her magazine, she picks it up and places it in her lap, looking at the cover with little interest. Her gaze dips down to her arms, the fading pinkness a reminder of your actions. What happened? What had she done to make you so angry? She truly is dumbfounded. Rubbing lightly at the outsides of her arms, like someone who's cold might do, she leans back into the couch and closes her eyes, trying to relax after that intense, emotional moment. After a minute or two, she opens her eyes and picks up her magazine. Hmm. 10 Ways to Make Him Hot Under the Collar. Smiling softly, she begins to read, crossing her legs in a decidedly lady-like fashion, bouncing one foot lazily. With one hand she brushes her hair back from her shoulders and grips the back of her neck, as she tends to do when she reads.

Glancing around the corner a couple times to make sure you're still sitting on the couch, Daddy quickly reaches to the top cupboard and gets out the ingredients he needs to make the compound for your ice cream. It doesn't have to be exact, just a close ratio. He grinds it up in the small mortar, and sprinkles it over your ice cream, adding whipped cream once it's done. Your milk was easy, just a couple of drops of the diuretic he used sometimes for himself, to flush his system. He carries the bowl and the glass out and puts them down in front of you, even remembering to carry a napkin out as well. "Let me get mine, and we'll enjoy our ice cream and watch some TV." There's no going back now, he's decided. You need protecting. He needs his baby girl back again. When he sits down again, he's carrying his own bowl of ice cream, identical to yours, right down to the whipped cream on it. Grabbing the remote, he turns on one of your favorite shows, and starts to eat his ice cream, smiling. He's a man who's going to keep his baby girl safe and happy.

Looking up as you re-enter the room, Pretty smiles softly and closes her magazine, placing it back on the table. She looks down at her bowl of ice cream, with its whipped cream, and smiles brightly, reaching for it. Lifting it from the table, she places it in her lap while you go back into the kitchen to get your own portion. Settling back on the couch with her ice cream in her lap and her glass of milk in her left hand, she smiles as you flip the channel to the Hello Kitty and Friends show. Now, she's 12 years old, but she's never outgrown Hello Kitty, nor anything of the whole 'kawaii' genre of cuteness. Sanrio and Barunson are two of her favorite companies, which produce cartoon characters that are exceedingly cute and sickeningly so. Her face even lights up as she watches the show, scooping dainty spoonfuls of ice cream and whipped cream into her mouth, following almost each with a swallow of milk. She doesn't seem to suspect a single thing. She doesn't even notice a strange flavor in either, which is probably better, anyway. Laughing softly at the show, she smiles, her pale green eyes glued to the images of cute cartoon characters toddling about, getting into mischief and having to solve the issues through good manners and problem solving by working together.

[Scene fade...] Continued later that day. I will post it when have it edited and rated. :)

Introductions Anew: Out With the Old -- Meeting Daddy Fitzhughes

Sun, 22 Jan 2006 22:19:53 GMT

The man you see appears to be in his mid-thirties, and stands a few inches over six feet tall, and weighs about 250 pounds. Even clothed, his physique is impressive; straight posture, muscular arms and legs, a deep chest. He has fair skin, and greyish green eyes that are set into a handsome face, though by the intensity of his gaze, it's easy to see that he also has a strict side to him. His dark brown hair is short, but not harshly so, kept clean and soft, trimmed and combed.

He has a thin nose, neither too long, nor too short, the top of the bridge angled slightly, giving him a Mediterranean appearance. His lips are full, though not too much so, definitely masculine in appearance, soft and appealing. He has a wide, strong jaw, and his face is clean shaven.

Comfortably dressed, he is in business wear: His black blazer is spotless, worn over a pressed white shirt which has the topmost button undone, and over his legs are a pair of pressed tan slacks, which hint at the defined muscles of his thighs, the large bulge at his crotch also hints that he is one generously
endowed man. Even his hands are muscular, his long, thick fingers looking warm and very strong, the nails carefully trimmed and rounded. His shoes are polished to a perfect shine, obviously very expensive and custom made, wrapping nicely around his large, sure feet.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

You see a man in khaki shorts which have been cut to end at mid-thigh, who appears to be about thirty, stands a few inches over six feet tall, and weighs about 250 pounds. Starting at his head, he has very dark brown hair, which is cleanly cut and combed so that it is off his ears, and blocked in back, that of a successful business man whose grooming is important to him. His grayish-green eyes are intense, framed by long dark lashes, his eyebrows darker still. He has a handsome nose, the bridge angled slightly, and his nostrils somewhat narrow, above a mouth with generous lips, masculine and yet not too thin, the kind of lips which could kiss lovingly, or utter a command to have someone punished severely for a relatively small infraction. His cheekbones are high and pronounced on his wide face, and he has a square jaw, giving him an overall look of a handsome, rugged man. From head to toe, his skin is lightly tanned, though appears smooth and soft above chiseled muscles, and he has no body hair.

His body is the result of a good diet, plenty of exercise, and his constant search for activities which not just challenge his mind, but his body as well. Pectorals which appear to have been cut from granite grace his deep chest, above abdominal muscles that are so defined, they cast small shadows into the valleys between them.

Continuing down, his hips are narrow, but not fragile in the least, and from behind his buttocks are round and muscled, that of a man who runs tirelessly for hours at a time. His groin fills the front of the shorts, the outline of his manhood pressed against the material, an estimate of six inches when flacid would be a safe guess. Thighs which support him are corded with muscle, though not obscenely though, his body mass that not of a weight-lifter, but of a man who works hard, and plays hard. Calves of iron-hard flesh continue down to thick ankles, his feet also appear to be well toned.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

18 or OVER, ONLY... (Scroll, please.)

(Erect)

The man you see appears to be in about 30 years old, and stands a few inches over six feet tall. He has fair skin, and greyish-green eyes that are set into a handsome face, though by the intensity of his gaze, it would be easy to see that he also has a strict side to him. His dark brown hair is short, but not harshly so, kept clean and soft, trimmed and combed.

He has a thin nose, neither too long, nor too short, the top of the bridge angled, and his lips are full, though not too much so, definitely masculine in appearance, soft and appealing. He has a wide, strong jaw, and his face is clean shaven.

Nude and aroused, this man is made for physical love. His body is hairless, except for a patch of fine black hair above his genitals. His arms, legs, chest and buttocks all show the signs of his continued physical training, with hard, defined muscles angled outward against his smooth skin. His abdominal muscles are washboard hard, obiviously one of the results of his intensive workouts he goes through daily. His cock is magnificent. At nearly nine inches long, and well over two inches wide, it sticks outward from his body with the slightest upward curve to it, looking very heavy and hot, bluish veins bulging along it's length, and the uncircumsized head as large as a young girl's closed fist. The foreskin of his cock is pulled back so that the head is exposed, but is still loose enough so that it would move partly over the head when his cock was stroked, or when he was making love. His ballsac looks full and heavy, and hairless, its very large pendulous mass looking as if it could produce copious amounts of hot semen.

(Flaccid)

Standing before you is a naked man, who appears to be about thirty, a few inches over six feet tall, and weighs about 250 pounds. Starting at his head, he has very dark brown hair, which is cleanly cut and combed so that it is off his ears, and blocked in back, that of a successful business man whose grooming is important to him. His grayish-green eyes are intense, framed by long dark lashes, his eyebrows darker still. He has a handsome nose, the bridge angled slightly, and his nostrils somewhat narrow, above a mouth with generous lips, masculine and yet not too thin, the kind of lips which could kiss lovingly, or be set firmly as he pushed you for misbehaving. His cheekbones are high and pronounced on his wide face, and he has a square jaw, giving him an overall look of a handsome, rugged man. From head to toe, his skin is lightly tanned, though appears smooth and soft above chiseled muscles, and he has no body hair.

His body is the result of a good diet, plenty of exercise, and his constant search for activities which not just challenge his mind, but his body as well. Pectorals which appear to have been cut from granite grace his deep chest, above abdominal muscles that are so defined, they cast small shadows into the valleys between them.

Continuing down, his hips are narrow, but not fragile in the least, and from behind his buttocks is round and muscled, that of a man who runs tirelessly for hours at a time. Though not aroused, his manhood is still impressive, easily six inches long, and uncircumsized. The foreskin completely covers the head, giving it a slightly tapered look toward the tip, the hole formed by the foreskin around the head about one-quarter of an inch in diameter. Thighs which support him are corded with muscle, though not obscenely though, his body mass that not of a weight-lifter, but of a man who works hard, and plays hard. Calves of iron-hard flesh continue down to thick ankles, his feet also appear to be well toned.

Introductions Anew: Out With the Old -- Meeting Mihkendaelie "Pretty" Fitzhughes

Sun, 22 Jan 2006 21:08:19 GMT

WARNING: The following cut contains a very long description of Pretty (Mihkendaelie Fitzhughes)... She is /also/ underaged, in the description. If this offends you, please don't read it.

Demure and unassuming, the pale girl before you has a look of undying innocence that drapes about her, like a soft, snowy blanket of Pretty. At her tallest, the small girl can only claim to reaching the endearing height of around four feet and ten, and that's standing on the tips of her dainty, small toes. Her hair, a lustrous, vibrantly shiny sable in hue, dark and so vividly in contrast with her pallid complexion. All over her head, a collection of assorted beads are peppered through out her hair. It appears that the girl did all this work herself, almost as if possessing sight from all points. Small sections of her curls are braided; the lovely and diversely decorative beads are woven into these tiny braids. She's also tied series of beads on some locks of hair. Some locks are twisted and held thus by beads, capped at the ends. It really doesn't seem that so many beads are really present, but the effect is spectacular. A few ribbons interwoven in a few of her beaded, thin braids, provide creamy contrast to the pitch ebon of her hair. When she moves her head in certain manners, the beads clack very, very gently in an almost musical fashion. The sweepingly dark locks cascade over the soft rounds of her shoulders, caressing and shimmering across the delicate, but pronounced curve of the small of her back. A few errant tendrils of the gently waved hair frame her heart-shaped face, bringing attention to the budding beauty of her features. Refined, thin eyebrows of the matching sable arch slightly over wide, bright eyes.

Veiled temptingly by thick, black lashes that curl naturally, her almond-shaped eyes are graced with irises of the palest green imaginable; though, by no means, are they dull, bearing a rich, soulful shade, no matter how pale. Her pert, rounded nose is set a little low on her face, though it seems to fit her face rather perfectly, lending a foreign feel to her overall features. A dusting of lightly colored freckles, which would be almost unnoticeable if it weren't for her ivory-toned skin, kisses the bridge of her nose and fade to nothing at the tops of her full, pretty cheeks. Her cheekbones are high and prominent, and the cheeks are tinged with a natural pink flush that offsets her very pale skin nicely. Sweetly bowed and naturally dark, her full, voluptuous lips hide small, even pearly teeth that appear with complimentary and matching dimples, when she smiles. Her jawline is bold, but not overly so, adding more to the appearance of her fragile, ethereal state of being. The graceful, slender line of her neck is greeted by the equally delicate slope of her shoulders.

Though young, the girl's chest is nearly fully-developed, and they are sufficiently full enough to be pleasing to almost any eye. Like the rest of her body, the flat, smooth plane of her abdomen is toned from the movements, actions and adventures of an active girl. Her sides slope inward gently at her waist to flare out, barely, at her hips. The gentle swell of her hips promises the epitome of a womanly figure, when the girl grows into her own. Small, soft hands with little fingers play over the surface of her rather muscular thighs. Coupled with her strong calves for a girl still quite young it is indicative of the fact that she's a rather good runner and her slender frame allows for her agile, nimble movements. The rounded spheres of her bottom, that rest below the small of her back, are full and smooth, complimenting the graceful lines of her back. Today, Pretty is wearing a rather fetching sundress of a deep cognac. The skirt of the dress is rather high on her thigh, but is loose and of an a-line cut. Should the wind take a notion to lift her skirt, she is, apparently, without undergarments of any kind. The thick straps rest atop her shoulders and the neckline is square, dropping lower in the back than in the front. She wears knee-high white, clingy socks and a pair of comfortable, black, patent-leather baby janes.

Intermission: An Explanation and Continuation

Sat, 21 Jan 2006 21:02:31 GMT

Hi, again! I'm sorry it's been so long since I last posted an entry worth reading (almost a year, in fact!) However, as I noted in my updated userinfo, some things happened in the past year that are worth noting, and need to be explained before I can continue.

First of all, Purity (the character on Shangrila MUSH) is no longer there. If she is, it isn't me. Things happened, as they usually do: her Daddy disappeared, never to return, her babysitter disappeared, and I got really down. It's exceedingly difficult to find someone into AB/T/DL on that place, even if there are much harsher and stranger ones that get fulfilled daily! Anyway, the good news!

A new AT was born on Shang and her name is Mihkendaelie (mih-ken-dah-lee) Fitzhughes, and she goes by the sweet name of Pretty! (I am fond of nicknames; aren't I? :D) Only a couple of days after creating her (and you will be meeting her, shortly,) a Daddy found her and, to be honest, y'all.. He's as near to perfect as any little girl could hope to find! It was absolutely amazing.

So far, we've had wonderful scenes and he seems to really be devoted to me and Pretty! SO--To make a long story short, I'm going to be posting up the new setup information (Pretty's desc and Daddy's desc) and then I'll be putting up the introductory info to the first scene! :)

If any of you have stuck with me through the long, long wait... Thank you and enjoy!

♥ Pretty Pumpkin ♥

P.S.
If anyone knows anything about CSS and overrides and all that, could someone help me figure out why the light pink background doesn't cover the entirety of my journal entries? It should and I even remember that it did, at one point. But, it doesn't, anymore. This makes me sad. ;_;

P.P.S.
Well, I've discovered that it's not really a problem with the CSS, but my browser (Firefox). Foo. I viewed it in Internet Explorer, but the main background's not the right size, coming up short on the bottom. I just dunno what to do! It seems that no matter what browser I put it in, it's never quite right. SO---if it looks like poo on yours, I apologize. :/
-toddles off, crying at the injustice of it all-

Fun Little V-Day Quiz!

Sat, 05 Feb 2005 04:19:48 GMT

(Picture no longer available.)

Your Candy Heart is "Beat Me!"

Between a spanking and a time out, you know what to choose.
Valentine's Day isn't perfect, without a baseball sized bruise!
Forget chocolate! It's all about taking a bit out of you.
You don't mind a little scratch marks mixed in, too!

What Naughty Candy Heart are You?
More Great Quizzes from Quiz Diva

Installation 0002: The First Meeting - Recht

Sat, 05 Feb 2005 03:34:27 GMT

Notes:
I'm not sure if you've ever read a roleplaying log, before, so I'll explain a little something. When two people roleplay (at least, usually,) they tend to use a mixture of first and third person. They refer to themselves in the third, while referring to their RP partner in the first. This makes the scene more realistic for the roleplayers. So, while reading this, you can put yourself in either Recht's shoes or Purity's, as your preferences run. So, keep in mind that the voice used in the scene shifts and might be awkward, at first.
Also, the separate paragraphs are referred to as 'poses,' and the ones written from Purity's perspective are written by -me- and his player writes the ones from Recht’s perspective. Please note that all of this is © me, unless otherwise noted. Recht, of course, and all of his poses are © to his player. PLEASE, do NOT jump onto Shangri'la and start searching for anyone other than Purity, because I've changed all names for their anonymity's sake. If you -do- happen to find a character there, other than Purity, be warned that it is NOT the character that appears in the scene. That is all! Enjoy!

♥ Purity ♥

Setting: Hinata Teahouse - Garden (@shangrilamush.com) -- Description © to author/owner.

A small courtyard garden. The veranda runs around it on three sides with sliding screens leading to other rooms. A bamboo step down leads to the stepping stones which run from the veranda to a square stone well in the rear. A rustic winch and bucket provide water to the bamboo pipe that fills the hollowed out top of a great grey boulder. An evergreen rhododendron fills much of the courtyard, its spent purple blooms littering the ground, while slim miniature trees with bare trunks sprout up in several places providing vertical interest and contrasting with the solidity of the stones and the lushness of the shrubbery. A cicada hums, hidden by the foliage, singing for its mate.

♥♡★ ☆ ★♡♥

[Open scene...]

"Well, hello there, little princess," Recht declares brightly, a smile beaming from his face as he moves through the teahouse out into the garden and spies you. "How has your day been?"

Looking up from her magazine, one of Shangri'la's versions of Elle, Purity narrows her eyes and looks you up and down in thought. Pursing her lush lips, she decides to smile back at you, canting her head to one side as she replies, "Well, it's been kinda boring. But, this place is kinda boring. So, I guess I can't 'spect much." She looks back down at her magazine, chewing on some gum apparently, as she blows a bubble, popping it before sucking it back between her glossy lips.

"Mind if I join you?" Recht asks, ignoring the attitude you display with the way you answer. "And, yeah, this place is kinda boring unless you're into all that weird kinky shit that the people around here get up to,' he adds with a sigh, before he sits beside you without even waiting for your answer.

Giving a roll of one shoulder, a gentle one, Purity smiles, "Sure. There's enough room, here. Let me just move my backpack." Having said that, she jerks her backpack away before you can crush poor MoMo panda, swinging the decidedly girly little straps over her shoulders, letting the little backpack shaped like a pink and white panda rest against her lower back. She crosses her legs, laying the magazine across them and bounces a foot. "Mm, I suppose. If they like it, though, I say let 'em. I don't judge people too much," comes her response.

"Neither do I," Recht replies flatly without committing to anything. "Recht Damfeld, by the way," he adds, offering a hand in greeting as he notes how you just manage to get your backpack out of the way before he sits down.

Lifting her brows, somewhat, at the curt response, Purity glances back down at her magazine. That is, until you offer your hand. Taking it lightly, shaking it as an extremely feminine woman might, the flat of her four fingers resting in your palm briefly. "My name's Purity McCall, but some people've called me Pumpkin. Either's fine with me," she smiles lightly, her jaw working on the gum, again.

"Well, Pumpkin, most call me Recht," he replies as he lifts your hand and gently places a kiss to the backs of your fingers, a gesture of olde world chivalry when a man would meet a woman. "So, what kind of things do the young people of this city get up to? It's been so long since I had any interaction with anyone who wasn't over the hill like me, over 25," he says, knowing that for a girl of your age, being over twenty five would seem like being as ancient as time itself.

A giggle emits from Purity's smiling lips as you kiss her hand, a gentle tip of her head is given simultaneously. "Recht, hmm? If that's what you prefer," she responds, withdrawing her hand from yours. Lifting her brows at the mention of your possible age, she purses her lips in a small grin. "I don't know. I don't hang out with most of the young people, here. They're all so.. childish. They don't know how to live. Plus, I tend to outshine them, so they don't like me much. Jealousy is a wicked flaw," she relates, showing just how wonderfully modest she can be.

"Pretty sure of yourself and self opinionated, aren't you Purity?" Recht replies flatly, immediately trying to deflate your bubble and show that he cares not about your high and mighty attitude towards others. "It might serve you well to be just a tad more humble and a lot less 'I am'ish,' he adds, turning to look at nothing in particular, knowing without seeing it firsthand that his words will incite you.

Brows furrowing, Purity's lip parts with the retort, "Well, it's quite a bit different when you know you're the kind of person who inspires jealousy in others. Maybe it's not so clear cut for you, Recht." Huffing slightly, she scoots farther away from you on the little bench and flips the glossy pages of her magazine a bit harshly in her irritation. Why /shouldn't/ you realize what a prized jewel she is? It's plainly obvious!

"I've got news for you Miss McCall," Recht replies, referring to you by the rather formal sounding form of address now as he speaks. "It's not jealousy that you invoke in people, it's disdain and disgust. You're a brat! And what's more, you've most likely been one all your life and been coddled by over doting parents who thought that the best way to deal with the problem was to give their little princess everything she asked for." His words are a scathing admonition filled, unfortunately for you, with the truth, something he's discovered about you in just a few minutes since meeting you.

"For /your/ information, Mr. Damfeld, you wouldn't know a good thing if it bit you on the butt! I'm not a brat, at all. I just happen to be self-confident and know that I'm a wonderful, pretty person. Just because you're not used to girls who don't have problems with self-esteem doesn't make me a brat. And, I really don't think I make anyone feel disdain or disgust. Except maybe you. So! If you don't mind, I'll be going elsewhere!" Purity slaps her magazine closed and, standing, begins trying to shove it, rolled up, into her little backpack.

"Bingo! Typical behavior of the little princess who didn't get her own way or didn't like what was said to her!" Recht taunts triumphantly when he watches you get all huffy and defensive in response to his uttering, probably way overdue too, of the truth about you. "Go on, run off home to mommy and daddy and have a real good sook to them about how a man who said nothing more than the truth was rude and cruel to you and hurt your feelings. Who knows, daddy might buy you a new outfit, or a diamond or even a car, just to placate you and calm you down. Like he most likely has done all your damn life!"

Spinning around, her pink, silkily straight pigtails swirling about her head as she does so, Purity stomps her foot and grips the rolled up magazine by her thigh in a clenched fist. "You don't know anything about me, Mr. Damfeld! Don't you dare presume to tell me about myself, my family, or how we function! What you said was completely untrue and horribly rude!" Throwing the magazine at you, she turns on her heel and begins to stalk off, growling at you, "I hate you, and I wish I'd never MET you! Just leave me alone, and stay away from me!"

Recht laughs heartily as the magazine hits him in the chest and falls to the ground. He stands up a moment lady then in a most fatherly tone calls after you. "Stop right where you are young lady!" His voice booms through the garden as he folds his arms across his chest and stares at the back of your head.

Stopping in her tracks... not because you told her to do so, but because you dared to say such things to her, Purity turns and glares at you. "Don't talk to me like that. I'm not some girl who's up for grabs. You want someone you can boss around? You run go find someone in public that's dressed in little more than their skin and hair. I'm sure she'd be down on herself enough to make YOU feel special and wonderful. You could convince her that she's /lucky/ to be in your company. That'd make your cock seem bigger, huh? Well, screw you, pal! That's not me, and your dick stays the same size it's always been, be it big or small!"

Recht ignores the tantrum and most unladylike language you use during it. "If you've finished your hissy fit, you can come back here and get your magazine. And then, when you've done that, you take me to your parents so I can tell them a few home truths about their little girl whom they so obviously believe butter wouldn't melt in her mouth!" he retorts in the same tone he used to demand that you stop.

"I don't /want/ that magazine, anymore. It's touched you, and your awful negativity has rubbed off on it! So, you can keep it. I can always get more," she sticks her tongue out at you, thumbing her nose, as well. "As for my parents? They aren't here. They're back on Earth. I'm on my own and proud of it! I'm an adult, now, and you've no right to speak to me like that! So, if -you're- quite done with your lecture, I'm going HOME, now!" Purity turns to leave.. Then, remembers that she didn't pay for her tab. Pursing her lips, she marches back in your direction and turns toward the lobby, fully intending on paying her bill.

"Well since you're here on your own, I'll just have to make it my duty to and mission to see you become a little more grounded and a lot less conceited and self centered," Recht replies having gleaned the most useful knowledge of your lack of parents here in the city. As he watches you change direction he follows you then moves behind you in the queue as you wait to pay your bill. "When you've paid your bill Pumpkin, we're leaving together," he whispers in your ear. "Don't make a scene about it, or I'll give you an old fashioned skirt up, panties down bare-assed spanking right here in front of everyone," he adds as his left hand reaches out and clasps your right elbow.

"What!? It's not your duty! I'm FINE. You just leave me alone!" Purity screeches, whipping her head back toward the lobby's direction, so she doesn't trip and fall on her face. That'd -really- ruin her exit. Not that having to go back and pay the bill hadn't. As she feels you grip her elbow tightly, she inhales sharply, as if to call out for help... But, thinks better of it. "You wouldn't dare," she hisses at you, jerking at her elbow and ramming it backward, as best she can, depending on the tension you have on her arm and how prepare you might be for such an action. She still moves toward the counter, jerking at her elbow. She asks in faltering speech, due to her jerking her elbow, about the price she owes.. And, paying it, she glares at you, "Leave me alone, Recht Damfeld. Go back to the hole you crawled out of!"

Recht rides the thrust of your elbow backwards, the years of training when worked for the government having also prepared him for the backlash and as such the blow barely glances his midsection. Quickly he follows after you and again grasps hold of your arm, quickly spinning you around to face him. "I warned you not to make a scene and in case you're wondering, I would dare," he adds then grabs the back of a nearby chair and sits in it pulling you down over his lap as he does. He leans forward and rests his left arm heavily across the small of your back then grabs the hem of your skirt and flips it up, then without fully baring your teenage ass to the other patrons, proceeds to administer the spanking he promised you.

There was a smile of smug satisfaction, having successfully freed her arm from your grasp... But, that all changes when you yank her down over your lap, her backpack flopping forward to bounce against the back of her head. Screaming shrilly, Purity begins kicking her legs, her hands grasping and pummeling whatever they can reach of your leg that's nearest to her, "LET ME GO!" Her ass exposed, you can see she's quite grown up in her choice of undergarments. She wears a nearly see-through pink, glittery thong, which rides low on the gentle swell of her burgeoning hips. Her hair curtains her face, somewhat, pooling on the floor in soft pink, shimmering puddles that seem to constantly ripple as she struggles. She screams, each time you slap her ass, tears starting to well in her eyes as you don't hold back. "STOP! STOP! LET ME GO!" she cries, tears beginning to streak her cheeks, just before they fall to dampen some of her hair that rests on the floor beneath her.

"All the patrons are looking at you Pumpkin," Recht says nonchalantly as he continues to rain blow after sweltering blow down on your thong split globes, each one resounding off the walls even over the gasps of astonishment of the other patrons. "And until you calm down and start acting your age, I'm going to continue spanking you. Something, I can see, that your daddy should have started doing to you a verrrrrry long time ago."

"Acting my age!? What exactly is that? Tell me how to do it and I will!" she begs, her ass burning like the seventh circle of hell must! She continues to squirm, her body jolting with each blow, her hands now just gripping your leg for some mild comfort in this horribly embarrassing moment. The worst in her life. "STOP LOOKING AT ME!" she screams through sobs, her voice cracking, somewhat. "Please, stop! PLEASE! I didn't do anything wrong!" comes Purity's next plea to you.

"Apologize to the nice people Pumpkin, then to me for the way you spoke to me outside and I will. Until then, your ass keeps getting turned a bright rosy red," Recht says calmly, turning to look at the other patrons while he still continues to spank you in front of them, your histrionics not phasing or embarrassing him in the slightest while he sets about giving you the first real taste of discipline you've ever had in your life.

"I'M SORRY! I'm SORRY! I'M sorrY!" she babbles, the apologies not directed to anyone in particular. Just general apologies. "I'm sorry, Recht! Please, stop spanking me! PLEASE!" she begs, her nails digging in as she squeezes your leg tightly, trying not to scream so loudly with each blow that you deal her. It doesn't really help, as she cries out in pain each time, her voice growing more and more hoarse with each round of howling.

Recht stops spanking you when he hears your pathetic plea for mercy and the apology, which he knows you've never ever in your life uttered before with such sincerity. Slowly, gently his hand rubs in circles over your ass as he keeps holding you down over his lap, trying to soothe and ease the burning in your asscheeks. "You won't speak to me or anyone else like that again, will you Pumpkin?" he asks softly, his tone the same calm even fatherly one he's used from the time he clasped your elbow in the queue.

So relieved you've stopped, Purity begins laugh-sobbing, the pain still too great to have the tears disappear. Not only that, but she's still embarrassed as all hell. She simply cries to herself, realizing that the people are still watching, as you caress her bottom. It doesn't make the searing sensation disappear, but it /is/ comforting. And, that calm, sweet concern in your voice is something she's never really experienced, before.. It's oddly appealing to her, in such a vulnerable state. "No... But, I.. don't know what I did that was wrong, Recht. I really don't," she manages to say between hiccoughs and lingering sobs.

Recht pulls your skirt back down to cover your flaming asscheeks then rises from the chair, helping you back up to your feet. He turns you around to face him then brushes your hair from your face and leans forward to kiss you softly on each eyelid as his thumbs gently wipe away the tears streaking your face. "What you did wrong was behave inappropriately for a young lady Pumpkin," he says in that same calm even fatherly tone. "I won't tolerate that sort of behavior either in public or in private from you," he adds before he reaches up to stroke your hair softly. "Now," he adds as he slowly turns you around, "Slip off to the ladies room without making a scene and get yourself looking a bit more respectable then meet me back here," he adds as one last playful slap lands on your skirted rump.

The sudden change from the brutal beating... to the kisses on the eyelids and the tender touches... leaves Purity confused, and her lower lip quivers, tears spilling over her cheeks anew. She's not sure /what/ to feel for you, other than a good measure of fear. "In private? What do you..?" she begins to ask, the words interrupted by sniffles... and you telling her to visit the ladies'. Nodding dumbly, she grimaces and falters as you deliver the light smack to her bottom. She's having trouble enough just walking without grimacing in pain, but the slap, playful as it was, still only made matters worse. Dropping her face into her hands, she sobs quietly to herself as she stumbles her way to the ladies' room. While in there, she does her best to clean herself up. She has to continually brush water over her eyelids, so they won't get too puffy.. But, tears seem to keep coming. Giving up for a moment, she braces her hands on the counter and sobs to herself... She didn't think she could cry any more than she'd already done, but she gets a good five or so minutes of it before it trickles off. Sniffling, she repairs the damage, once more, and applies more lipgloss to her lush lips. Brushing her hair quickly, she puts all the items back in her backpack and adjusts it so it doesn't bump against the top of her exceedingly sore rump as she walks. Then, she's back in front of you, swallowing thickly, unsure of what's to come, next.

"Mmmm, much better. I trust your bottom's quite sore Pumpkin. Yes?" Recht asks in a soft tone barely more than a whisper as he pulls you into his arms and holds you against him, once again taking the time to gently kiss your eyelids, knowing from experience that it's the swift change of his touch that keeps you off guard.

Nodding like a small child, her eyes lowered, she sniffles in response to your question. "Very," she mumbles, against your chest, almost instinctively turning her head and nestling her cheek against you. She blinks confusedly as you kiss her eyelids, once more. "Why are you...? I... want to go home," she says in a small voice, her pale green eyes riddled with confusion and upset. But, it's an unfocused sort of upset. A numbed, depressed sort of sad. The kind one feels after a good beating.
"And so you shall pumpkin, but first, along the way, we need to do a bit of shopping," Recht replies softly as his hands move to your skirted flaming tush and gently he caresses it through the material. "And there will be no tantrums about what is bought, or I'll give you another spanking in the other store just like I gave you here. Is that clear Pumpkin?" he says in that same soft yet commanding fatherly tone as finally his hands move from your ass and he holds you against him, feeling your trembling body against his own while the sobs still wrack through you.

Shopping? That perks her up, slightly. She always loves to go shopping! She shivers against you as your hands stroke the sore rounds of her bottom through her skirt, her eyes squinting slightly as the normally soft fabric of the skirt irritates the skin. "Tantrums? But, why? What are we buying that would make me upset?" she asks, confused. She's also confused as to why she said 'we.' Why should your shopping affect her? Why should her shopping be supervised by you? She has her own home, as she's sure you have yours. What's going on? Her brain can't quite function clearly enough to get these words out, though. All poor Purity can do is nod dumbly, once more, a soft whimper escaping her throat as your arms encircle her in an embrace.

"Come along then babygirl, let's go shopping. And remember, conduct yourself with dignity and grace and remember your place please. Speak only when you're spoken to," Recht responds, not giving you an avenue to pursue your unspoken questions by giving voice to them, while he waits for your inevitable reaction to being called babygirl. He slips his arms from around you then takes your right hand in his left and looks towards the door. "Come along pet. Wave good bye to all the nice people," he adds with a gentle tug on your hand.

Babygirl? Her brow furrows lightly, her chin tilting upwards as her eyes seek out yours. "Wha... Baby girl? What do you mean by that?" she asks, as if in a daze. Then, you bowl her over with rules. How she should behave. How she shouldn't speak unless someone spoke to her, first. "But..." she whines softly, her lower lip jutting out, endlessly frustrated with herself for not being able to collect her thoughts in a coherent enough fashion to voice them. Pet?! She whines in protest at that term, clearly not liking it.. But, her hand weakly lifts, the free one, and waves to the people, nary a glance thrown back at them as she stares down at her feet, following you out the door.

[Scene fade...]

The scene was continued at a later date. When I have time to edit the logs, I'll post it up. (I edited this one, as much as I could, for grammar. But, it's tedious work and I probably missed a lot in Recht's poses. So, please let me know if there's a problem that's so glaring that you can't stand it.)

Installation 0001: Meeting the Characters - Recht

Sat, 05 Feb 2005 02:59:18 GMT

A tall man, standing well over 6 feet in height, with broad shoulders and a strong, muscular, and athletic build. He carries himself with dignity and is always prepared to stand by the courage of his convictions. Those that see him will notice his face, first-- or, more correctly, his piercing, bright ice blue eyes. A scar on his right cheek, the result of a lab accident when an experiment he was working on went horribly wrong, is the only other distinguishing feature that is readily recognizable on this man's face.

He appears to be normal, like most of the human race, his body well defined and in proportion as a result of years of strict adherence to an exercise regime; which, even now, he continues. The clothing he wears currently is nondescript and doesn't attract attention: a simple pair of black slacks, black thickly-soled boots similar to combat boots worn by the military, a black turtle neck sweater and a windbreaker to keep out the chills of winter.

Installation 0001: Meeting the Characters - Purity

Sat, 05 Feb 2005 02:54:26 GMT

Warning: This cut contains a very long, detailed description of Purity "Pumpkin" McCall, before she has her first forced AT (adult toddler) experience.

Some people encapsulate a concept with a single glance. Some people radiate sex. Others inspire fear with no more than a gesture. The girl before you, however, has something else entirely, something known to the Japanese as 'kawaii.' In simple English terms, that means she's just about as cute as it's possible to be.

Purity stands more than a few inches short of five feet in height, her build that of an Olympic gymnast. Her unnaturally-pink hair catches the eye quite easily at a first glance. Straight as a board, the shiny strands spill down to the middle of her back. Large portions are gathered atop her head as well into a pair of cute balls with pigtails pouring out of the center and falling down to her shoulders. She appears to be asian in origin, possibly Korean, with large, almond-shaped eyes, a pale, dusky sage in color, overshadowed by thick black lashes. Eyebrows, gently arched above, frame and compliment those expressive eyes perfectly. Her porcelain features have a creamy tint underlaying the usual olive hue of her ancestry. Her small nose is powdered with sparse, light freckles, making her appear all the more girlish. Her mouth is full and rich, yet small, a cupid's bow adorned at the edges with sweet dimples. Her ears are small and nicely shaped, adorned with magnetic pearls (no pierced ears for her!).

Purity's clothing is elaborate and cute, snug-fitting enough to show her attractive build. Her basic top is a lycra tube-top, white in color, short enough to show just a hint of her belly, including her navel, and the top hem held in place over the peaks of her diminuative chest. Stretched across her perky bust is an image of a sleeping, impossibly cute bunny, apparently snoozing, draped across a cloud. Beneath are the words "Sleeping Co~ * Fluffy dreams are the best!" ((c) Barunson) Across her shoulders is another garment, a quarter-shirt, this one made of shimmering pink spandex. The material cuts off right at her collarbone, leaving a moderate amount of creamy skin fully in view before her tube-top comes into view. The hems on the quarter-shirt are black, the slit neckline cut in a narrow diamond shape. Her arms are slender but compactly muscled, showing her athleticism. She wears a pair of arm sleeves that don't meet her shirt, hooked around her thumb, dark green on each end fading into sage green in the middle. Her hands are delicate and small, with a large ring in the shape of pink heart that sparkles and flashes when you press it on the index finger of one hand, and a grape Ring Pop on the middle finger of her other hand. She wears a tiny backpack, as well. Shaped like a magenta and white panda bear, (Momo to those in the know,) the shoulder straps thin and extremely loose, letting the main body of the pack to rest against the small of her back, the dangling legs of Momo bouncing against her firm bottom. She carries numerous things in there, ranging from make-up to toys to snacks.

Purity wears a mini-skirt that extends down to just above mid-thigh, a provocative, school-uniform like garment, even as it seems to fit with the rest of her cute wear. Worn low enough to reveal the purple-white swirl of her thong straps caressing her hips, the A-line skirt fits snugly on those hips, cupping her bottom. The skirt has five large, smooth, even pleats and is charcoal in color, with dark grey kanji running across it. On her right hip, a pair of black leather straps with purple-tinted metallic buckles add a splash of color to the garment and serve to keep the skirt in place. The skirt reveals a generous amount of thigh and leg, the tight muscles of her gymnastic training on full display, here. Just below the knee, bright white, baggy socks somehow cling to her, defying the laws of physics as they grow baggier as they go down until the loose fabric drapes over the top of her boots. Thick-soled and adorned with metal grilles at the heel and toe, the black boots come up to right about mid-calf. Made of black leather, they're quite busy things, should one see them when Purity's socks are down, with three straps across the shin and one across the foot, the buckles bright silver, assuring a snug fit. A set of D-rings also adorn the front and back of each boot. Clomping and bouncing about in these things, Purity certainly makes quite a sight: sweet, innocent, unbearably cute and undeniably more than a little bit sexy.

What Sort of Diaper Story Character Are You?

Mon, 24 Jan 2005 22:05:50 GMT

(Image by me.)

Disciplined Baby - Naughty, naughty. You may be toilet trained, but you still behave like a little baby. Diapers are used to remind you that you're not as big as you think.

What Sort of Diaper Story Character Are You?
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Yay! This was -not- a surprise. ;D

Lolita Quiz

Sat, 22 Jan 2005 14:15:03 GMT

You are a ~*Kawaii Lolita*~

Kawaii means "cute" and that's what you are. You are never seen without your little teddybear. The colour of your dress is mostly pink, baby blue or white. You like all Lolita shops - as long as they sell "Angelic Pretty" and "Baby, the Stars Shine Bright." You like it cute and flashy... and you are always looking like a baby doll.... =^.^=

What kind of Gothic Lolita are you? (Japanese - Lifestyle for girls)
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