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Taylor’s New Role, Pt. 1

Taylor thought her senior year of college was going to be the best year of her life. It was her last year to soak in the college experience, and she intended to do just that.

She never expected it to end up like this.

Taylor always wondered how her boyfriend, Sean, managed to stay so relaxed under pressure. It was the quality she admired most about him. No matter what was happening he was always calm, cool, and collected.

Unlike Taylor. Whether it was midterms, essays, or even making it to the 8 AM class she had to take, she incessantly stressed over it. Not even Sean's steady presence and assurances could soothe her frayed nerves.

The situation only got worse as she started Spring semester. With graduation approaching like a runaway freight train, Taylor knew she'd be thrust into the adult world in only a few months. She'd need a job, an apartment, all of it. Taylor couldn't have been more overwhelmed.

Unfortunately for Taylor, her nerves came with significant side effects. Side effects that would change the trajectory of her life and relationship with Sean.

You see, there was a direct correlation between Taylor's nerves and her overactive bladder. The more nervous she became, the more you'd find Taylor sprinting to the bathroom, fighting an overwhelming urge to pee.

For years, it had merely been an annoyance, not a problem. Sure, she'd need to rush to the bathroom, but she'd always make it. Nothing to worry about, just something to deal with.

So Taylor pushed it aside. She had more pressing concerns, anyway.

“What do you want to do for spring break, babe? Sean asked as they ate dinner at his apartment. Taylor loved his apartment—it was her safe space, her haven. Unlike Taylor, Sean lived alone. Though Taylor spent so much time there she might as well have been on the lease.

Taylor thought about it. She wouldn’t settle for somewhere basic and cliché—it was her last Spring Break, after all. No, this trip had to be special—their last hurrah before they became boring adults.

Taylor didn’t know it yet, but she would never become the adult she imagined.

“What about Mexico?” Taylor responds, “maybe Cabo or Cancun?”

For the rest of the night, they mulled over increasingly exotic destinations. For a few hours, Taylor forgot all about her worries and concerns. At least until she tried to sleep. Before long, Taylor went from imagining partying on some foreign beach with Sean to her future after it, never noticing her growing need to pee as she fitfully drifted off to sleep.

“Taylor…Taylor. Wake up.”

Taylor heard Sean’s voice trickle into her dream. For as anxious as she was falling asleep, she had remarkably good dreams. She was dancing with Sean, taking shots on bars, and…something else. She remembered sprinting to the bathroom, feeling the intense relief of making it on time.

“Taylor,” she heard Sean say again, shocking her awake. She felt cold and…wet. “You wet the bed last night.”

Sean expertly handled the situation. Taylor was obviously mortified, but both of them chalked it up to a one-off event. She wasn’t a bedwetter, Sean assured her. It happens every so often.

Except Taylor woke up in a puddle every morning for five days. The more it happened, the more worried Taylor became. The more she worried, the more likely she was to wake up wet. It was a vicious cycle. A cycle that Taylor would never escape.

As always, Sean never showed any signs of panic or concern. Every morning when he inevitably woke up in a wet bed, he calmly woke Taylor up and washed the sheets, assuring Taylor everything was okay.

That night, Taylor went to Sean’s apartment as usual. It had been a long week for Taylor between the bedwetting and a tedious, difficult courseload. She needed a quiet Friday night with Sean.

Taylor noticed something different about Sean, though. There were subtle, almost imperceptible changes in his behavior. Sean was always helpful, respectful, and generous, yet tonight he seemed even more so. Taylor couldn’t put her finger on it.

Something about the way Sean acted made him feel…was powerful the right word? Maybe authoritative? Taylor tried to decide. He wasn’t bossy or mean—no, it felt too loving to be either. He just seemed more…in control. Protective.

Whatever it was, Taylor didn’t mind. She felt surprisingly safe and comfortable, even when he insisted he handle dinner while Taylor relaxed. Or when he cleaned the dishes himself. Or when he unilaterally decided they should watch Finding Nemo, saying it was “perfect” for her. Even when he rebuffed Taylor’s request for a glass of wine. Taylor contented herself with cuddling with Sean under the blankets on the couch, watching the movie.

Once the movie ended, Sean decided it was time for bed. As they got up to head to his bedroom, Taylor heard him say something that flushed her cheeks with embarrassment: “Taylor, can you try to go potty before bed?”

Taylor froze. She’d never heard Sean call it a “potty” before. Despite her overwhelming embarrassment hearing his suggestion, Taylor meekly agreed. “O-okay,” she said, barely more than a whisper. Taylor didn’t use the “potty,” though, unwilling to give in to Sean’s infantile demands.

But Taylor’s embarrassment was only beginning. As she walked into his bedroom after humiliating time on the “potty,” she found another, even more humiliating item waiting for her on his bed: a package of pull-ups. Sean sat next to them, waiting expectantly for Taylor.

“Wh-what are those?” Taylor stuttered.

“It’s time you wore some protection to bed, Taylor,” Sean said sternly, yet with a surprising undercurrent of love, “your accidents aren’t stopping. So you need to wear these until you get it under control.”

Taylor understood this wasn’t a negotiation. Sean expected her to wear the infantile garments next to him. She watched as he calmly opened the package, taking out the pull-up she would soon be wearing. Seeing it made her stomach drop, the yellow and blue stripes a poor imitation of the underwear it would soon replace.

“Come here, Taylor,” he said, the authority unmistakable in his voice. Taylor did, wordlessly walking towards the inevitable humiliation. Without another word, he pulled down Taylor’s pants, then underwear. He fluffed the pull-up, separating the leg holes.

“Up,” he demanded, tapping her left leg. When she did, Sean slipped the pull-up over her leg, up to her calf. The process repeated with the other leg. Soon, the pull-up was lifted into place.

“There,” Sean said, satisfied, “how does it feel, Taylor?”

A dawning realization grew in Taylor’s mind. Sean’s behavior all night made sense. He treated Taylor exactly how you’d expect to treat someone who still wears pull-ups—all part of the power dynamic that inherently comes with diapers.

“No, no, no, this can’t be happening!” Taylor thought in a panic, “I don’t need pull-ups!”

Sean never took his eyes off Taylor. He patiently waited for her to answer.

To Taylor’s horror, her body answered for her. Her frayed nerves were pushed past their breaking point, throwing her bladder into overdrive. Without warning, Taylor felt her bladder violently spasm. Before she could even react, she felt a growing warmth in her pull-up. She looked down in terror, unable—unwilling—to comprehend what was happening.

For a nanosecond, Sean’s eyes grew wide when he realized what was happening before regaining his composure. He saw a darkness spread in Taylor’s pull-up, expanding as it did. Neither spoke until Taylor finished.

Calm as always, Sean looked up at Taylor’s face, her cheeks red with shame. “Well, I’m glad you were wearing your pull-up!”

“I-I-I don’t u-understand!” Taylor sobs, humiliation getting the best of her.

“I do,” Sean replied, getting up and hugging Taylor, “you had an accident. Like the ones you’ve been having all week. But it’s nothing to be ashamed of, Taylor. I’m here.”

Their embrace was interrupted by the sound of dripping. Sean stepped back, looking down at Taylor’s now leaking pull-up.

He sighed. “Taylor, honey, I don’t think these pull-ups will cut it, especially if you’re going to keep having accidents when you’re awake. Tomorrow, we’ll get you something more suited to your needs.”

Even though it was left unsaid, Taylor knew exactly what he meant: diapers. And even worse, he thought she was having daytime accidents. Well, she was having daytime accidents.

Panic and frustration welled inside Taylor. “I don’t need diapers! I’m not a baby!” Taylor shrieked, her tone very much as infantile as the baby she denied being.

“Look at me,” Sean commanded, “I understand you’re embarrassed. But you just leaked through your pull-up. You weren’t sleeping when you wet it. You obviously need diapers if you don’t want to leak every time you have an accident. And you’ll need them whenever you’re at risk of having an accident, which now appears to be when you’re asleep and awake.”

The next morning, Taylor followed Sean into his car. Every step reminded her of the pull-up that he insisted she wear. Not that Taylor could deny its necessity anymore as she passed the garbage can that now contained two wet pull-ups.

Taylor meekly held Sean’s hand as he perused the diaper aisle of the medical supply store. Grabbing diapers from the shelf, slowly, methodically inspecting them to determine if they will meet Taylor’s needs. He never asked or accepted Taylor’s input or opinion.

Finally, he settled on a case of Northshore Megamax diapers over Taylor’s whining that those diapers were too thick. She didn’t pee that much, she insisted, and besides, how would she go to the bathroom? Sean brushed her concerns away.

Once they got home, Sean led Taylor straight to their bedroom, grabbing a Megamax from the package. “Lay down,” he ordered.

For the first time she could remember, Taylor was about to be put into a diaper. Despite her fear and hesitation, she laid down. Sean—not her—was in control. She watched as he gently ripped the sides of her pull-up and removed it from her body. She expertly fluffed the diaper that would soon be wrapped around Taylor.

Without warning, Sean lifted Taylor’s legs with his left hand, sliding the diaper under her with his right. Taylor felt his strength as he did. Despite her embarrassment, she almost enjoyed his newfound authority over her.

He generously applied baby powder, its babyish scent filling the room, a subtle reminder of Taylor’s position. Taylor felt her diaper pulled up to her stomach before hearing the tabs opening, trapping her in her first diaper.

“There,” Sean beamed, checking his handiwork and fretting with the leak guards, “perfect fit!”

Taylor stood up, the bulk between her legs unmistakable. “These are so bulky, Sean! I don’t need them this thick!”

Sean just laughed. “You don’t need to worry about that, okay? Besides, we need to go over the new rules for your diapers first.”

“R-rules?” Taylor stammers.

“Yes, silly,” Sean responded, “what did you expect?”

“I expected not to be in a diaper!” Taylor retorted.

“Well, I’m not the one who wet the bed all week. Or leaked through a pull-up when I was wide awake. Hard to expect not to be in a diaper when that happens, babe.”

Taylor glared at him, no clever responses forming in her head.

“Anyway. Rule number one: you are absolutely, unequivocally not in charge of your diapers, understand? I am. You are not to touch, remove, or change your diaper under any circumstances. I will check and change your diaper when I see fit.”

Taylor opened her mouth to argue. “Don’t interrupt, sweetie. I need you to hear these rules, okay?”

“Good, thank you, Taylor. Rule number two,” Sean continued, “you can tell me whenever you need to go to the bathroom and I will help remove your diaper. If you go two weeks without having an accident during the day, I won’t keep you in them. Same for night. But if you do have an accident, the 2-week period resets. If you are not out of diapers by Spring Break in three months, I will keep you in them permanently. If that happens, you will use them for everything. No exceptions.”

“Rule number three, you are not to wear anything over your diaper when we are home. I want to see if you’ve had an accident. And, hopefully, it will inspire you to act like a big girl and not wet your diapers.”

“Rule number four: you will listen to what I say at all times. Anyone in diapers cannot be in charge. It’s absurd to think they could. So, until you’re out of diapers, I am in charge. I will order for you at restaurants, decide what you wear for class, and when you go to bed.”

“Rule number five: you will not touch yourself or orgasm without my permission. Diaper girls do not get such luxuries.”

“And, finally, rule number six: if you break any of these rules, you will lose a “big girl” privilege. They will not come back until you are out of diapers. So, for example, if you do something like talk back to me, I’ll expect you to use a pacifier until you learn to think before you speak. Got it?”

Taylor couldn’t believe what she heard. Sean expected her to follow these rules? She’s an adult, not some petulant little girl. But even as she wanted to yell at him, to tell him what she thought of his BS “rules,” she realized she was…turned on.

How could she be, though? It didn’t make sense. Why did this bulky, humiliating diaper between her legs feel so good?

As she stared into Sean's eyes, she knew she would follow his rules. She was a diaper girl, wasn’t she? And if she was, Sean should be in charge. He’s always been so calm, so collected while she was never either of those.

Taylor didn’t understand it, but she knew she wanted this. She needed this. A devious smile flashed across Taylor’s face. “Got it, daddy.”

Sean returned the smile. Whatever this was, it was going to be fun.

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