by Kat Rose
I mean, it would make sense if she decided she wanted me to wear women's underwear or something. That would be embarrassing, right? Some of the fraternities do that. At the beginning of the year, you'll see freshman pledges sprinting through campus in nothing but pink or lavender lingerie. It's always funny.
But this definitely isn't lingerie.
The van door slides open, and those strong arms lift me up like I weigh nothing at all. Damn, these guys are strong. I'm almost walking, but they support most of my weight.
The ground is rough, some kind of concrete. The door opens, and they dropped me. I stumble forward, and I feel the crinkle of plastic between my legs.
"You guys can wait outside. I don't think this will take all that long," she says.
Tentatively, I start to reach up for the hood.
Julia giggles. "It's okay. You can take it off."
I grab the fabric and rip it away. I throw it on to the floor, and then I look around.
"Welcome to the nursery," she says. "I hope you don't mind of the Greek letters. A friend of mine is in a sorority, and they use this place for some of their sillier initiations. I swear, that girl and her friends just have way too much money."
This is a nursery. There's no other way to describe it. It has a large crib off to one side, some kind of changing table or something, a big rocking chair, and lots of stuffed animals along the far shelf.
"You have to take me back to campus," I tell her.
"Oh? Is the baby telling me what I have to do?"
"Baby?" I asked, staring back at her.
With an impish little wiggle, she points down toward my crotch.
Part of me doesn't want to look down; maybe that same part of me knows exactly what I'm wearing. But now, I can't put off the inevitable any longer, and I glanced down between my legs. I see it, this plastic wedged between my thighs.
"What, what is that?"
"Sweetie, it's your diaper. You're wearing a diaper because I put you in diapers because that's exactly what you need."
Diapers. She love saying that word. She spits it out onto the air each time, mocking me.
"No. No way!"
"Absolutely. Just look down. You're wearing diapers, nerd."
I flinch when I hear that word. I look up at her, and I press my fingers into the palms of my hands. When I lift my arms, I see the white, padded gloves. There is no opening for my thumbs. In fact, these mittens look like something that a baby might have to wear to prevent scratching.
"What are you going to do with me?"
"Oh? It's not obvious? Here. Let me explain it to you, baby boy. I'm going to film you. I'm going to film you, and I'm going to take lots and lots of pictures, and you're going to do whatever I say. Because if you don't, it's only going to get worse."
"Why? What you going to do with pictures of me?"
At this point, she saunters over to me.
Julia’s still in her cheerleading uniform. The silver and blue sparkles along in the hem of her skirt. Those pleats sway from side to side as she strolls along. She seems to hover, graceful and beautiful. But now, she crouches down so she can look into my eyes. "Isn't it obvious? I'm going to publish them."
"What? No!"
If she takes pictures of me wearing a diaper and if she publishes it, that'll be out on the web forever. It'll never go away. My reputation will be destroyed before I even get the chance to build it! Later on in my career, I'm sure I'm going to pick someone off. I hate the idea that some businessmen or politician will be able to just type in my name and find the degrading picture of me. And just like that, no one will listen to me. No one will visit my blog or read my articles!
"Yes. Remember, I gave you the chance. So now, the only question is this. How better you going to make it?"
The possibilities swirl behind my eyes, each one more embarrassing than the last. The prospects stabbed into me, so I shake my head.
"I, I'll do whatever you want." As I say those words, I deflate. My shoulders slumped, and she shoves into me, knocking me down. She straddles me.
"Oh, you don't need to look so sad, baby boy. I bet you've always wanted to have a cheerleader for a babysitter."
"No."
"Yeah," she says, completely discarding my protest. "I bet you are one of those little boys who looked out and saw beautiful cheerleaders and always hoped to that one of them would take care of you one day. You are probably a precocious little guy. Well, you look very cute in your diaper now. That's why you're going to tell me that you have a big crush on me and that you are so happy I am your cheer sitter."
Cheer sitter? "I'm your cheerleader and your babysitter." She cocks her head to the side. "Now, tell me you're going to be a good little boy and that you have a big crush on me."
"No. No way."
"Remember what I said before? If you don't cooperate, it's only going to get worse for you," she teases.
"Julia, let me go right now. If you don't, I'm going to make sure that the administration hears about this."
"The administration loves me." Each word comes out clipped and sharp. "If you mess with me, Dylan, you're going to get in a lot of trouble. You sure you want to do that? I mean, it’d suck if you got expelled."
I'm on my back and I stare up at her, hoping that I might be able to discern some twitch, something to tell me that she's bluffing. But no, she's placid and completely confident. Julia really believes this. And why wouldn't she? People love her. It makes sense that the administrators would be eating out of her hand, just like everyone else.
I inhale, right past my teeth. Then I look up at the ceiling. I can get this over with quick. "I'm a little boy and I have a crush on you. Please, can you be my cheer sitter?"
She reaches down, her hand going straight to my diaper. She cups my balls through the layers of plastic and cotton. Then she squeezes, just enough to make one thing very clear: she can hurt me if she wants to. If she squeezes a little bit harder, incandescent pain will shoot through me, right from the root of my genitals.
"Care to try again?"
I gulp. "I'm, I'm just a little boy, and I have a huge crush on you! Please, please can you be my cheer sitter?" I ask, the words floating out from my lips.
"Sure! I'd be happy to be your cheer sitter!" She hops up off of me, and she goes over to the big, full length mirror. "Crawl over here," she says, snapping her fingers and pointing to the spot by her feet.
Crawl? Really?
For a second, I watch her, searching for some sign that she's joking.
She isn't.
"If you don't come over here right now, I'm going to really some film of you getting spanked."
Spanked?
That jolts me, so I move. I move along on my knuckles and my knees. The heavy pillows on my hands make it easy to crawl. And yet, it still embarrassing. The shame burned through my skin, especially because I look up and around. Wedged into each corner of the room, little cameras watch me. I spot each lens, and I know that she's recording this, all of this.
Worse, she's going to be able to edit out all of her threats. Then she can post it online, and people will come see my article for her drunken cheerleaders, and there will be links in the comments section. I'm sure of it. She will make sure that people learn all about me, how I wear diapers, how I crawl in a stupid nursery.
"Here. I'm here," I say to her.
She crouches down in front of me and touches the tip of my chin. "Yes, you are. Now, I'm going to get you dressed up, but first you need to tell me that you're cold little boy."
"Please, please don't make me," I tell her. I know that it sounds like I'm begging, but I can't stop myself.
"Yes, I'm making you. So say it."
"In the cold little boy," I mumbled.
"Louder."
"I'm a cold little boy!"
"Now tell me you want me to get you dressed."
I inhale sharply through my teeth. I feel the cool air against my gums. "Please, can I get dressed? You dress me? I'm reall
y cold!" As I call out those words, I start to sound more and more childish. It's impossible to keep that pathetic shiver out of my voice.
"Sure thing, sweetie!" She hops up, making her skirt rise. Despite my circumstances, I glance in her direction, and I still feel it, that magnetic attraction that pulls me toward her.
Like so many other guys, I know she's beautiful. I also know that I wouldn't ever stand a chance with her.
"What do you want to wear? Blue or purple?"
"Blue!" I chirp immediately.
"Blue it is," she says, and she pulls out an outfit. She holds it up by the shoulders, and I'm not even sure what I'm looking at. At first, it reminds me of a leotard. It has sleeves but no parent legs. Not only that, it is blue, just like she said, only it's decorated with little yellow stars. It definitely looks like something that a baby would wear.
"It's a onesie," I say before I can stop myself.
"Yes! It's a onesie!"
"Please, don't make me wear that," I say. "I'm already wearing a diaper." That last word nearly catches in my throat, like I can’t admit what she’s done.
"And that reminds me. I want you to thank me for putting you back in diapers."
My eyes get big. "What?"
"You heard me! Thank me for putting you back in diapers. Tell me that you need to wear them because you're just a helpless little baby boy. Oh, and if you don't say that, then I'm going to spank you, and we both know you're going to have to say it anyway. So yeah, you might as well do the smart thing. Show me that you can be a mature little baby."
Mature little boy...yeah right.
My lips part, and I don't know what to say. I don't know how to process what she's demanding of me. As my nostrils flare, I exhale, wondering if I can really do it.
No. I can't. I'm not going to let this girl control me. I stand up, slowly. And even if the diaper crinkle between my legs, I glare at her, hard. I steel my gaze, make it very clear that she's not going to intimidate me.
But then she pokes me, jabbing two fingers in my chest. "No. I didn't say you could get up."
Then she does something I couldn't ever expect. She sweeps her leg out, kicking me right at the back of my knee. I collapsed, dropping down onto the floor.
Before I can try to stand again, she lifts 1 foot and puts it at the back of my neck. She shows me down so I'm on my hands and knees. "See this, nerd? This is where you belong. You're going to be a pet and a toy. You're my little plaything, whether you like it or not. You do as I say because I own you now."
"No, that's not true!"
She adds just a little bit of weight to her foot, shoving me down so I'm on my stomach. I kick out, but she straddles me, and now she touches her hand to my backside. "You know, I was almost hoping I wouldn't have to do this, but I guess you need to be taught a lesson. That's okay, Dylan. I guess you aren't as smart as you thought you were."
Somehow, I don't understand exactly what she means, not until she lifts up her hand. Her Palm flies down, and I almost imagine a whistling on the air right before I feel her strike.
She doesn't go for my ass. With my diaper on, the padding would make a spanking pretty ineffective. Instead, she strikes the back of my thigh, and it hurts. This sharp stinging cuts into me.
"That was one," she says. She spanks me again. "That was two," she says, adopting the singsong voice of a girl talking down to an immature little boy.
Me.
"Three. Four. Five. Six. With each count, she strikes, and I start wiggling on the floor, struggling to get away. But I can't. There's nowhere for me to go. Besides, she has me pinned.
Deep down, I have to wonder if this girl actually knows how to fight. She knocked me onto my stomach with disdainful ease. Does that mean she has what it takes to keep me here as her prisoner?
"Seven, eight, nine!" She counts out each one, and I'm whimpering now. I can't keep those sounds locked up in my chest, no matter how hard I try.
Even after she stops, the pain lingers, jolting through me. Aftershocks of distress rippled through my body, making me twitch.
"You can have one more, but only if you beg for it."
Beg for it. This is a test. I recognize it right away, but I don't see any way out of it. I can either beg for one more slap against the back of my leg, or she will keep counting. She could go to ten, twenty or thirty. I choked back a gasp of worry, knowing full well that this girl can do whatever she wants to me.
How? How is that possible?
The answer bubbles up almost immediately. She kidnapped me. More importantly, this beautiful girl has friends. Julia knows the kinds of big, bulky dudes who can easily grab me or beat me up.
My bottom lip starts to shake. "Please, please, would you spank me one more time?"
"Why should I spank you?"
I'm fully aware that this is being recorded, that she will be able to take these clips and put them together to make me look like some pathetic little boy. After this, no one will take me seriously. No one will care about what I have to say. That notion stabs into me, but maybe I can get the recordings back?
That idea provides me with a glimmer of possibility. So I gulp back my dignity for her. "Please, I need to be spanked because I've been a bad boy. I've been a stupid, immature brat, and I don't deserve to be treated like an adult. Please, spank me!"
Her hand flies down, swinging hard. There's one more clap against the back of my leg, and then her weight disappears.
Panting, I'm not exactly sure what I should do.
So I stay there, on my stomach, my fingers pressed into my palms.
"Time to get you dressed," she says.
I roll over and look up at her. If she still holding onto the onesie. "This is going to look really cute on you. I'm going to get you dressed up, and then I'm going to take some baby pictures. Doesn't that sound like fun?"
Murmuring something noncommittal, I look over at the door.
"Don't even think about it," Julia chides.
Because as I can't help myself, I ask, "Why not?"
"Because my friends are still outside. Don't worry. They won't interrupt, unless you really need some discipline. I don't think you would like to be spanked by my friends, would you?"
I look back at her. Under normal circumstances, I probably wouldn't think much of Julia. Sure, she's hot, but there are lots of very attractive girls on campus. No, it's the power she wields, this implicit confidence, like she knows she can do whatever she wants.
I've heard stories about how she can even intimidate some of the professors.
What's her secret?
"I'll be good," I say.
"Get up on your knees," she orders, making it sound like this is normal, natural even.
By her command, I climbed back up onto my knees. As I do so, I can feel the heat simmering along the backs of my legs. That spanking was brutal. Usually, when I think of a spanking or corporal punishment, I imagine some parent lightly tapping the kids behind. But no, that's not what I experienced. It was so much more intense.
At least the stinging has started to fade.
"Hands up in the air. Reach for the sky."
I don't need that kind of patronizing instruction.
Even so, I do as she asks, raising my knuckles toward the ceiling. She opens up the bottom of the onesie, and then she pulls it down along the length of my body. My hands slide into the sleeves, and then I feel the clingy, almost Lycra material. It's tight against my body, especially between my legs.
Julia is down on her knees as well, only now she shoves me, forcing me to land on my back. She brings the bottom of the onesie up between my legs, and I hear the snaps as she locks them together.
"One, two, three, four," she counts allowed, like she's trying to teach me something.
I glare up at her, but the cheerleader just smirks.
"You don't like cheerleaders, do you?"
"I don't think my opinion is irrelevant," I growled back.
"It's okay. Lots of people don't like cheerlea
ders. They resent us for being powerful."
At that, I snort.
Julia smirks for a second before asking, "What? You don't believe me?"
"No. I don't believe you. Cheerleaders are glorified mascots. You come out, and people pay attention to you because he wear short little skirts. Yeah, you get some attention, but no one really cares about what you do. You're just a bunch of pretty bodies. Most of the time, the fans aren't even looking at your faces. This want to see if you're going to hop high enough to flash your tights."
When I'm done with those words, I'm panting again. Julia keeps her eyes on me the entire time. Now, I can't match her gaze. Nervously, I looked down.
"It's okay," she says. She touches two fingers to the underside of my chin, and I can feel her fingernails as they skim along my skin. "I know that you're just a baby boy, so your opinion really doesn't matter. You can say whatever you like. It's fine. You know why your opinion doesn't matter?"
"You just said it. I'm supposed to be a baby boy."
"Yes, and that is relevant because you are an immature brat, like you said. But there's something else."
When I don't answer right away, she digs her nails up against my jaw. It starts to hurt, if only for a second or two before I ask, "What? What else is there?"
"There is me. I'm your cheer sitter, remember? I get to teach you how to behave and ensure that you act like a good boy. Like right now, you let me address you without any problems whatsoever. For that, I think you deserve a reward."
That's when she leans in and kisses me on the tip of my nose. Her lips are soft, warm, and I inhale at the right moment, so I catch a breath of her perfume. It reminds me of cherries or strawberries.
My mouth begins to water again, and she pulls away, giggling, probably because she knows exactly what kind of effect she has on me. She has the same effect on most men.
"We have the first layer on. Now it's time for the second," she announces before hopping back up and heading right back to the closet.
"Second layer?" I asked.
"That's right. It's a little bit chilly in here."
"You're just wearing a top and a short skirt," I tell her.