The Weekend Visit, Part 22

There were so many things that I wanted to say.

That I didn’t actually need diapers. How all my accidents thus far had just been a series of circumstances that had left me with no alternatives. That if she would just let me be Annelise the nineteen year old, that everything could go back to normal. It all sounded logical and straightforward in my head, but I knew deep down that I’d barely make it through a few sentences before Kate reframed things from her point of view. And since I was the girl currently wearing dirty diapers, it would be impossible to argue.

I also didn’t get much of a chance. The second we stepped into the private bathroom, she shoved the pacifier back in my mouth. “This will go more quickly if you’re not whining,” she curtly said. Locking the door behind us, she met my eyes and said, “Nod if you’re going to behave, Annie.”

My cheeks were no doubt the shade of the pacifier as I reluctantly nodded.

“And you’re twelve years old?”

I nodded again. It was easier to affirm it nonverbally anyway, rather than hearing the embarrassing words in my own voice.

“A diapered little brat?”

Another nod. The more we went through the degrading phrases, the easier it was to simply go along with it to move on to whatever was next. I was already getting pretty desensitized to most of them, which I didn’t realize was probably more harmful in the long term despite being helpful in the moment.

Once Kate was satisfied with my silence and my continued ‘agreement’ to all the things she was labeling me as while we were visiting our relatives, she made short work of lowering the changing table. “Strip, diaper girl,” she said, as if it was the most casual thing in the world. “Come on, I don’t have all day.”

Speaking of being desensitized, it’s not like I had any reason to hesitate when it came to revealing my diapers to just Kate. She had seen them plenty of times, and it was also the only way out of the mess I was currently stuck in. I pulled down the pink skirt and revealed the bulky diapers to both myself and my sister as I awkwardly stood a few feet away from the table.

“Shirt too, Annie,” she clarified, “You made quite a mess in your diapers, baby sis. I don’t want to risk anything with a white shirt.”

Path of least resistance. Going with my initial ‘strategy,’ not that it did much in the grand scheme of things, I reluctantly took off my shirt as well. It had been one thing wearing diapers and a t-shirt. I felt way more self conscious now that the rest of my body was more on display, especially since the tight training bra didn’t do my chest any favors. I half expected Kate to whip out her phone right then and there. Instead, she merely patted the plastic table next to her.

Just like at the pharmacy, climbing on was all kinds of awkward. The height was obviously designed more for the person doing the changing, as most of the time it would be as simple as placing a baby down. For a girl my age and my size, the only dignified way to get on was to hop up backwards the same way someone might sit on a kitchen counter. In regular underwear, that would be fine. In diapers, however, I winced in discomfort as I landed on the contents within the bulky padding.

Kate didn’t seem to notice or care. She merely took my ankles and abruptly pulled my lower half up and sideways until I was more lying on the changing table than sitting. While the surface held my weight, it was definitely too small for a girl like me. Both my head and half my legs dangled off opposite ends. As for the latter issue, Kate was quick to resolve that by having me bend and spread myself like I had already done a number of times during previous diaper changes.

As she began undoing the pins, Kate said, “By the way, I was really only talking about adding days for you wetting yourself. I assumed yesterday was a fluke, but I guess I was wrong. Here’s what I’m thinking, little sis. Since some people call it number one and number two, that’s what we can do for your time in diapers. I’m assuming you did both, so we’ll have to add three days for this accident.”

It didn’t take me long to process the meaning of her words. Going from eight days to nine was bad enough, but jumping straight to eleven?! That was getting dangerously close to two weeks in diapers. I shook my head in protest, instantly feeling ridiculous from both the pacifier as well as how my high pony swished back and forth from the movement.

“Yes, Annie,” she countered, “And remember, days that you use your diapers don’t count. So you’re going to have to start over tomorrow. Eleven days in diapers, brat. If you can manage to stay dry that long, of course.”

That was too much! I had already thought about how five or six of the eight days would be back at our parents’ place, meaning I’d have to somehow hide the multiple layers of diapers Kate insisted that I needed. How was I supposed to keep that up for over a week after this visit was over? I shook my head again, biting down on the pacifier’s nipple and considering if it was worth it to speak up through the pink ring. I decided it was a bad idea. Less because of the no speaking rule, and more about the fact that I was currently positioned for a diaper change. It was exactly the best moment to attempt a stern conversation about how all of this was unacceptable.

Kate just rolled her eyes. “We can make it twelve if you’re going to be immature about it. That would be kind of cute, actually. It would match your age! What do you think, Annie? Twelve days in diapers?”

I immediately shook my head. No. She couldn’t just add a day for next to nothing like that.

“Eleven, then?” she smirked.

In retrospect, it was such an obvious trap. Between the two very limiting options, it was clear which one I would prefer. And, without my voice, there wasn’t much I could do but give a tentative nod of my head. I’d have to ‘agree’ for now, and try to talk Kate down later. As if that would do a lot of good, considering how many times since we arrived at our cousins’ place I had told myself that I’d have to wait only to strike out anyway when it was eventually just the two of us.

“That’s what I thought. Now, let’s deal with your dirty diapers, Annie.” Her casual tone made it so much worse. As if this was completely normal, despite how I was wearing panties this time yesterday and rolling my eyes at her immaturity. “Hold still, brat,” she instructed me, “As long as you behave and do as you’re told, this won’t take long.”

Undoing the first side took her a minute or two; not surprising, considering how tightly she pinned up the diapers each time. The opposite side was worse, as I had to deal with her chest being slightly more pronounced as she bent over me. The sides of her boobs were more than enough to remind me just how flat I was in comparison.

When she finally finished loosening the diapers on both sides, she wasted no time in opening them up. I scrunched up my nose at the smell. It was honestly a relief that the combination of thick diapers and excessive baby powder seemed to keep it from being noticeable when I had been walking around after the humiliating accident, although there was obviously no such protection when my diapers were fully undone.

“Fucking disgusting, Annie,” Kate commented after a single glance, “You do realize we could have avoided all this if you had just asked to use the bathroom like a big girl, right?”

I was well aware. And I had tried to explain as much to her, for all the good it did. Now I was in a similar situation, where I could only awkwardly suck on the pacifier instead of being able to give her a mature answer.

Moving on right away, she said, “You know the drill, baby sis. Lift that little ass up and don’t move an inch until I say so.”

She used the same wasteful process as the other time I had been on a changing table. Discarding the reusable diapers right away, she placed a disposable one underneath my still dirty backside in order to wipe me after the majority of the mess had been tossed away. Of course, the alternative would have been walking around with the dirty diapers afterwards, so I couldn’t really complain about her methods.

As usual, I didn’t love that my sister was getting an up close and personal view of my most private areas, nor the fact that she didn’t seem to be trying that hard to be careful or gentle with her cleaning approach. More than once, I squirmed and sharply inhaled in discomfort as she roughly rubbed my slit with one of her passes with the cold wipe. All it earned me was a sharp pinch on my inner thigh and a reminder that this would go a lot more quickly if I behaved.

The final part of the job was what I would never get used to or comfortable with. Although it was mostly the wet wipe making contact with my bare skin, there was no avoiding the sensation of Kate’s fingers digging into my backside. It wasn’t nearly as violating or overly thorough as during the bath earlier, but it was still my own sister literally wiping my ass for me.

She clearly didn’t have the same hang-ups I did, probably because getting to do this babysitter-like task on her older sister was more fun for her than it was weird.

“By the way, Annie,” she said, as she wrapped up the cleaning of my back door, “This is the only change you get today. You’re lucky my purse could even hold one set of spare diapers for you. If you have another accident, you’ll just have to deal with it until we get back to the house.”