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Training for Tiffany
🕑 Added 2024-06-21 23:00:02 +0000 UTCWhaa…? What the… fuu–
Tiffany blinked into the eye-searingly bright light. Her head was exploding with pain, her gut churning, her mouth chalky and sour with the memory of alcohol. Ohh… yeah. Alcohol. She'd been out last night. Clubbing. Fourth night straight. Fuuuck…
"Well, well. Look at who's finally awake! If it isn't Jeremy's little booze slut!"
She knew that voice. Into her bleary vision loomed the unfocused image of the woman whose voice it was. Margaret. Their family friend. The strong-willed, capable Margaret. A career woman. Always on top of things. Always so stupidly smart and pretty and in control.
"Uhhhh- huuuhh?" Tiffany ventured, attempting to rise from the sofa on which she seemed to be lying. Something felt… weird. These things… were they her clubbing clothes? Since when did she wear white cable-knit stockings up to her knees? And this skirt… so poofy… so short…
"God, you're so pathetic, aren't you?" Margaret observed wryly, and Tiffany blinked resentfully back, feeling her friend's fingers slip into her tousled hair and tighten around her scalp. "Yeah? Nod along for me," Margaret ordered tersely. "You know it's true. Say 'yes, I'm a pathetic little booze slut.' Just a dumb bitch out frittering and drinking her life away instead of being a responsible adult and wife."
"What the fuck? What the hell's wrong with you?" Tiffany spluttered, rising to her feet – only to sway and stagger unsteadily as the room reeled around her. "Why am I even here? How- how come I'm not at home-"
"Because your husband asked me to fetch you," Margaret retorted crisply, though Tiffany was too busy blinking down in confusion at her outlandish attire to listen properly. "Because you wound up passed out on a filthy club floor last night, and someone needed to take care of you. Because it's past time someone made you straighten up and fly right."
"Why am I wearing…" Tiffany's slurring mouth fumbled for words in tandem with her fingers fumbling at the lace and silk around her wrists. "Whatever the fuck this is?"
"Why? Because you've earned it, silly." Margaret was laughing as she took in her friend's wondering gaze. "It's a maid outfit: perfect for an immature twenty-something who needs to learn to work for once in her fucking life."
"Wait… what?! What the fuck?! And what's going on- this thing-"
Hands fumbled fruitlessly at the thick bulk around her waist, and Margaret let out a satisfied chuckle. "Oh, sweetie – at last! You're only just now noticing the best part, huh? It's a diaper, honey. A nice, thick diaper. You want to know why, huh? Well, it's because you're a fucking immature baby, that's why. And also because you fucking pissed all over my car's back seat last night."
Tiffany's brown eyes widened. Her gaze dropped to her own waist. Her hands tugged tentatively up on her perilously short and petticoated skirt. And now her eyes were filling with shock and horror as the full import of Margaret's words finally sank into her hazy brain.
"A di- dia-?! No, no nononono- You- you can't-"
"But I can. I already have." Margaret smirked, shaking her head at her friend's clearly illogical protests. "While you were lying here passed out, drunker than a skunk. After all, I was the one who put up with cleaning up your pissy, smelly ass. And I think it's only right that I – being Jeremy's good friend and all – get to dress you exactly as I see fit."
"You- you bitch!" Tiffany's eyes were narrowing now, forehead furrowing indignantly. "Come on, give me back my clothes! You have no right to treat me like thi-"
But even as she spat out her vehement protests, Margaret was pursing her lips in ominous displeasure. She reached deftly down into the end table. And before Tiffany could register, she was being spun around and shoved face-first onto the sofa… while a giant, rubber ball gag was jerked unceremoniously into her gasping mouth.
"Quiet," came Margaret's order, and a squeal of pain escaped past Tiffany's wide-drawn lips as the leather straps wrenched tight. Buckles clicked behind her head despite her struggles. Her jaw was forced into uncompromising silence. Then, she was staggering upright once more, a thin ribbon of drool already escaping past her gag and dribbling pathetically down the front of her lacy maid outfit.
"Now, let me be perfectly clear." Margaret tugged the mutely struggling Tiffany forward, gazing sternly into her fear-filled eyes. "You're with me now. I'm the one in charge, and I intend to do everything I have to in order to turn you around. At first I was just intending to put you to work as my maid for a few months. But then with last night… well…"
She smirked down at the thick padding around Tiffany's groin, then lifted the poofy skirt and gestured at the sturdy metal chain circling her waist. "I decided that I couldn't very well have a maid pissing all over my house. So you're in diapers, now, baby. And you'll stay in them – here, with me – until Jeremy and I are both satisfied you've learned to be an actual, responsible adult."
Tiffany let out what was probably an ardent plea for mercy. But gagged as she was, all that emerged was a meek little grunt. A grunt that made Margaret chuckle… and reach for the toilet brush.
"Good girl! Now, come on now. Be a good dear for me. Waddle off and go scrub my toilet. Unless you want me to take a pic of you and send it to your darling little group chat? Along with a little caption saying how fucking much you love being a little diaper slut?"
Well, at that Tiffany turned white. Gurgled. And then, shamefully, took the proffered brush from her friend's hand.
"Good girl," Margaret repeated softly. "Now that's more like it. Come now… let's get you started. Before your hubby comes back and finds that his stupid baby of a wife can't even clean a toilet."
***
Could a gagged young woman beg? Maybe not in so many words, no. All Tiffany could really muster was a series of plaintive moans and grunts, together with a frantic clutching at her bum and an uneasy writhing in the giant bouncer swing that held her captive. But it was clear enough to Margaret – and to Jeremy, who now ten hours later had arrived and was quickly turning Tiffany's desperate hopes into the stuff of nightmares.
Because much to her dismay, Jeremy hadn't been surprised in the least. He hadn't raised even an eyebrow at the sight of his wife waddling pathetically toward him in what could only be described as the attire of a kinky, submissive diaper maid. "Good work," was all he had said upon arrival – but only to Margaret, upon whose lips he planted a long and lingering kiss, while Tiffany stared with all the shock and horror of a betrayed wife.
"What's the matter, baby?" Margaret mocked now, watching in evident amusement as Tiffany let out yet another frantic series of grunts. She slid up from underneath the bare-chested Jeremy, her seductive curves on display beneath her filmy nightgown. "Aww, are you upset? Upset that your hubby doesn't actually want to fuck an overgrown baby maid who can't even clean a house without pissing herself?"
Jeremy chuckled, lolling over with his well-toned abs on display. "Oh, it's okay, Marge! She's probably just begging for a clean diaper. You said she's been in that one since this morning, right?"
"Fair," Margaret returned, her hands stroking condescendingly through Tiffany's tousled pigtails. "But I'm sure it can last until tomorrow, right? Besides, the last thing I want to be doing right now is changing your pathetic little wife-baby's pampers. I'd much rather be checking what's in your pants, you know…"
Jeremy chuckled, reaching up and planting a fervent kiss on Margaret's parted lips. "Well, aren't you a thirsty one," he grinned ruefully. "Tell you what: Tiffany? You want a change tonight, don't you? A change out of that soggy, nasty diaper you've been piddling in all day?"
A gulp. A look of mortification in his wife's brown eyes. And then, a shameful, beet-red nod.
"Well, then! Only one condition." Jeremy beamed, sitting up and dropping his hands down to run suggestively over the formidable erection beneath his boxers. "You agree to let Marge and I fuck – you know, because we're the adults in the room. And in return, you'll get a diaper change tonight: before tomorrow, and before your poor little ass gets all covered in a rash. How's that, baby?"
Another gulp. Eyes widening. A desperate bounce in the swing, and a pathetic squelch from the well-soiled padding within. Then… she nodded. Slowly. With cheeks afire at the realization of what she'd just done.
"Good girl," Margaret assented, a sultry chuckle escaping her. Down to the floor dropped her nightgown. Forward she stepped, nude body on display. And even as she sank languidly down onto the bed beside her family friend-turned-lover, she was turning a gloating eye in the captive Tiffany's direction.
"Oh, don't you worry, sweetie. I'll show you what a real adult does with this man of yours. You know… a woman who doesn't drink and piddle her life away."
The sound of her lusty laughter almost drowned out poor Tiffany's plaintive, frantic gurgles of despair.
