New World Order - Chapter 5

Sorry this took so long to come out - I've had to negotiate with Patreon over the New World Order story, but you'll be pleased to know this is another long chapter.

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“Daddy… Daddy… Daddy!” Ella moaned. She was bent over the living room table, frilly skirt flipped up and pull-ups pulled down to her ankles while John fucked her roughly from behind. The table was hard and uncomfortable beneath her, but she didn’t care; she was too focused on the wonderful sensation between her legs, the way her boyfriend was gripping her hips, the feeling of being totally, utterly under his control as he pounded her pussy. John grabbed a handful of her long, chestnut brown hair and tugged. “Oh fuck!” she cried. Her pussy was rocked by a wave of pleasure, and she came tantalisingly close to orgasm. “I’m almost there!”

“Not yet, baby girl,” John said firmly. His breathing was rough and laboured. “Daddy decides when you cum. Not you.”

“Oooh…” Ella moaned. It wasn’t fair! It was her body, not his! But her pussy pulsed powerfully again.

“Only good girls get orgasms,” said John. “Are you a good girl, Ella?”

Ella’s face reddened more than it was already. “Yes, Daddy!”

“Say it, baby.”

She could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “I’m a good girl, Daddy!” she whined. Her tits were rubbing delightfully against the table, braless and covered only by a pink t-shirt declaring her Daddy’s Pretty Princess. She could feel her orgasm getting closer again.

“Say you want your Daddy to do you hard.”

Ella groaned. Do me. She hated that phrase, and John knew it. It sounded so crude. So whorish!

“Say it, baby,” he said, slowing his pace, “Or you won’t get anything.”

“Do me!” Ella gasped, her face burning. “Do me, Daddy! I’m a good girl and I want my Daddy to do me hard!”

John rammed his manhood deep in her pussy, and Ella came. At the same time John finished inside her and let out a deep groan of satisfaction. “Good girl,” he said, bending over her and panting. She could hardly hear him through the dizzy haze her mind was in. “That’s my good girl.”

Ella was barely conscious as John scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to the sofa. She was only dimly aware as he slid her training pants back up her legs and settled them into place over her bottom, and she was still breathing very fast as he sat her in his lap and started to rub her back, cooing softly to her. “You did so well, baby,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Daddy’s so proud of you.” She wished it didn’t make her feel good, but her tummy fluttered pleasantly at his praise. She nuzzled her face into his chest almost instinctively.

But, as her head cleared, the reality of how she’d acted began to hit her. God, how many times had she called him Daddy? What would Miranda say if she’d seen that? Ella could feel a now familiar shame spreading through her body. She was pathetic. She was a disgrace to women everywhere. So much progress had been undone by a group of lunatics, lunatics like her own boyfriend, and here she was getting off on it, cuddled up in one of their laps wearing a pair of oversized potty training pants. She felt some of John’s cum dribble out into the padding between her legs, and her sense of shame and self-disgust seemed to increase tenfold. She imagined she could hear Miranda’s cold, dismissive voice speaking to her. Look what you’ve let yourself become, Ella. You’re nothing but a cumrag for the patriarchy. I bet you wanted this to happen, didn’t you? Her pussy wettened again, and she hated herself even more. More than anything she hated the way she was proving her boyfriend right. She’d wet herself in public twice now. The first she could put down to that psycho barista, but what excuse did she really have for the second? Pissing her pull-ups, falling to pieces in the middle of the mall, walking home clutching a teddy bear to her chest and holding tightly onto John’s hand while she cried like a toddler. She was supposed to be a twenty-four-year-old woman for God’s sake!

John had turned the television on, and Ella was distracted from her thoughts by an advert for adult nappies. They were becoming more and more common now, and she wasn’t even shocked by the sight of the blushing young woman modelled a pair of ultra-thick Pampers, a very forced smile on her face as she swayed her hips from side to side and wiggled her puffy, padded bottom for the camera. “Pampers for bigger girls!” the narrator was saying. “Perfect for big little ladies who just aren’t ready for potty training!” The camera did a close-up of the woman’s nappy, and Ella felt sick at the sight of the wet patch that was spreading across the crotch. The white padding quickly became tinged with yellow, and it drooped low between the girl’s legs. A faint hissing was picked up by the microphone, and the advert held the shot on her diaper for a full ten seconds while she filled it with pee. It looked thoroughly soaked. “Pampers sag and discolour for that classic 'needs a nappy change' look,” said the narrator, as the woman straightened up, spread her legs, and smiled down at the sodden diaper hanging heavily between her legs, “but they can hold at least three big wettings before they leak, leaving your precious girl plenty of time to play without frequent visits to the changing table!” The woman grinned at the camera, let out a fake-sounding giggle, and toddled off screen – no doubt to go and cry with shame in the corner of the studio.

Maybe it was just because of the sound, like hearing running water, but Ella realised suddenly that she needed to pee as well – but she didn’t think she could face her ridiculous potty time routine at that moment. She could just about force herself to do it if she was a little horny, by convincing herself it was just a weird sexy game with John, but having just had sex, the thought of getting her tits out and begging ‘Daddy’ to let her ‘go pee-pee on her potty’ was more than she could bear.

John let the commercial play to the end before changing the channel, and Ella’s eyes widened at once when she saw what was on the screen. It was Angela Smith, the leader of the former opposition party, who Ella had last seen being carted off in the back of a van. But her heart didn’t even have time to lift before she realised that this wasn’t some triumphant return to the political stage, perhaps accompanied by an army of rebels to bring the patriarchal regime crashing down. No, Smith was dressed in much the same way she’d been last time she was on the news. She wore a pale yellow dress that did little to hide her bulky nappy, and matching ribbons held her blonde pigtails in place. But it wasn’t Smith’s outfit that sent Ella’s heart plummeting into the pit of her stomach. It was her expression, her mannerisms. She was fidgeting in place like a restless little girl and holding the hand of a man standing mostly out of frame. The thumb of her other hand was playing around her lips, as if she wanted desperately to slip it into her mouth and suck on it, and there was a vacant, dim look in her eyes. A newswoman was standing next to her with a microphone; her clothes were only a few steps above Smith’s, a white blouse and a tartan skirt that made her look like an overgrown schoolgirl.

“And now in women’s news, an exclusive interview with Angela Smith, back from her time at etiquette school,” said the woman. “We’ve been told she has a few words she’d like to share with everyone.”

Smith glanced up at the man next to her, then looked back into the camera and said, “I’m sowwy for being naughty…”

The female interviewer looked taken aback. She waited a couple of seconds, clearly hoping Smith was going to say something else. “What do you mean, Miss Smith?” she asked. She sounded unnerved, and Ella guessed she’d been expecting an angry outburst from the former politician, perhaps hoping she’d take the chance to tell millions of viewers to rise up and fight against the new regime.

“She means you, Angie-pangie,” said the man holding Smith’s hand, when Smith simply looked confused.

“Oh! Um… I was being a bad giwl.” Her thumb had crept between her lips, making the babyish accentuation of her speech even more pronounced. “Saying fings about giwls, like that we’re gwown-ups and stuff. Dat was vewy naughty… But it’s okay, ‘cause I’m a good giwl now! I learned at eti… at etique… I learned at school!”

The interviewer looked alarmed now. “But you were only there for a few weeks,” she said, somewhat desperately. “At the etiquette school, you were only there for a few weeks!”

“Uh-hu!” Smith babbled happily. She seemed to have got over her initial shyness. “Dey taught me ‘bout all kinds of fings, wike-” She broke off suddenly. There was a funny look in her eyes, a focus that hadn’t been there before, and Ella waited with baited breath for her idol to break out of her babyish persona, for the reveal that it had all been an act, a trick to get the men to drop their guards so she could implement her plan. “Uh-oh!” Smith gasped, her free hand leaping to the seat of her diaper. She looked up at the man whose hand she was holding. “Daddy?”

“What is it, little angel?”

“I fink I gotta do a big poo-poo!”

The man laughed. “Can’t you wait until after your interview, sweetheart?”

“Nu-uh!” said Smith, shaking her head and making her pigtails flap about. “Dunno how to hold it! Gotta go now!”

“Okay, baby,” said the man, still chuckling. “Go ahead and do it in your nappy then. And good girl for letting everybody know!”

Smith beamed at him. The interviewer was looking shocked, and her horrified, open-mouthed expression was mirrored on Ella’s own face. This couldn’t be happening! It was impossible to do this to a grown woman like Smith! But a moment later, Smith’s thumb was planted firmly between her lips. She bent her knees, and a look of intense concentration appeared on her face. Then, with a loud grunt, the seat of her diaper bulged out beneath her as she started pooping her pants on live television.

“No, no, NO!” Ella shrieked, leaping to her feet and stomping the ground in her anger. “This is all supposed to have stopped by now!” She picked up the remove and shut off the TV – the last thing she saw before the screen cut to black was a close-up of Angela Smith’s face, scrunched up and cross-eyed with the effort of making a dirty diaper.

“What’s the matter, baby?” John asked. He looked concerned at her sudden outburst. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this!” Ella shouted, gesturing around angrily. “All this! This is all supposed to have stopped! Things should have gone back to normal by now!”

“This is normal, baby,” said John patiently, getting to his feet too. “This is how things are going to be from now on. Women got to have a few decades pretending to be grown-ups, but that’s all over. For most of history you’ve just been perpetual minors, and that’s the way it’s going to be again.”

He tried to reach out and pull her into a hug, but Ella shoved him away. “SHUT UP!” she screamed.

“Ella!” John said sternly. “Don’t you raise your voice at me, little girl. If you don’t stop throwing this silly tantrum right this instant, you’ll be going to bed with a very ouchie bum-bum tonight!”

“FUCK YOU!”

She was over his knee in an instant, her pull-ups dragged down to her ankles, her pale bottom upturned. But her tushy didn’t stay pale for long.

“NOOOO!” Ella shrieked, as John started raining down swats on her vulnerable rear, harder than he’d ever done before. Smack! Smack! Smack! “STOP IT!”

“Not until you learn your lesson, naughty girl!” said John, alternating between her jiggling bum cheeks as he spanked her. “And clearly you’re a slow learner!”

“LET ME GO!”

“No, baby. I’m not going to let you go. Not ever. You’re mine, and I’m going to make sure you learn your place!” Smack! Smack! Smack!

“OWWW! STOP IT! PLEASE, JOHN!”

“I can tell that sitting around all day once your chores are done isn’t doing you any good, little lady, so starting Monday you’ll be attending an etiquette school, just like that Angela girl did!”

“NO!” Ella screamed. “YOU CAN’T!” She felt cold terror inside her as she thought of Smith. She wouldn’t end up like that too! That couldn’t happen!

“Your silly friend Miranda will be going too, I’m told, so you won’t be alone.” Smack! Smack! Smack! “Maybe they’ll be able to teach the two of you some manners!”

Ella didn’t know how long her spanking lasted, but she was sobbing, her face stained with tears, by the time John let her off his lap. “OWIEEE!” she wailed, hopping ludicrously from foot to foot and clutching her blazing backside.

“Corner time, missy,” said John, taking her by the arm and dragging her over to the corner of the living room. With her training pants still around her ankles, she had to shuffle as fast as she could to avoid falling over. “You can stand there and think about what a naughty little girl you’ve been! Hands on your head, and no rubbing your bottom!”

“B-but…!”

“Not a peep out of you, baby,” said John, and before Ella could say another word, he’d shoved a large pink pacifier between her lips. “Spit that out and you’ll go right back over my lap!” He turned her around to face the corner and she heard his footsteps moving away.

Ella whimpered. Her bottom stung so badly, and her bladder was aching now. She was desperate to rub her burning rump to relieve some of the pain, but she didn’t want to risk another spanking. Instead she started shaking her bottom from side to side to let the cool air hit her bare skin. She knew it must make her look stupid, like a toddler doing a silly dance, but she needed something, anything, to dull the hot pain in her posterior.

Without sight of a clock, she had no idea how long she stood there with her nose in the corner, wiggling her sore bum and sniffling – but eventually a new problem arose. Her need to pee was desperate now, and in truth she was no longer just shaking her bottom for the cold air. She was doing a potty dance. John had said not to say a peep, but surely this was an exception.

“Daddy?” she asked quietly, her words garbled by the huge rubber nipple in her mouth.

There was a moment’s pause. “What is it, baby girl? Daddy told you not to make a sound, remember?”

“I know,” she said feebly, hating how dumb she sounded with the big dummy in her mouth, “but I need to do a pee-pee on my potty, p’ease.”

She heard him getting to his feet and walking over, and soon his shadow had fallen over her. Was she about to get another spanking?

“Good girl for telling me, darling,” he said gently, and Ella felt her stomach unclench. He reached down and pulled her pull-ups back up her legs. “Pee in your pull-ups, Ella. No potty privileges while you’re in time-out.”

“What?! Daddy, no!”

Smack! Ella winced as John delivered a painful swat to her bottom. Even through her training pants, it still stung. “Do it now, little girl.”

Ella’s bottom lip wobbled. She closed her eyes. For a few seconds, nothing happened, but then she felt it, the increasingly familiar feeling of warm wee-wee flooding her padded pants. Just like the woman in the advert, she knew a wet patch must be spreading up the front of her underwear as it slowly started to sag between her thighs. She could feel the growing weight hanging off her hips. A faint hissing sound was in the air, and she could smell it too – the unmistakable babyish scent of a wet nappy.

John’s hand crept between her legs, feeling her heavy, pee-soaked pull-ups. “Good girl,” he said. “You can come out of the corner now, baby. I think someone needs a nice, long nap to settle down. And then, if you’re very good, I’ll change your pissy pants before dinner.”

"Yes, Daddy..."