Tweet
It took me only about ten minutes to take care of my business, including brushing my teeth and all. Once I had fresh clothes on I did a little bit of exploring in the closets. The smaller one held, as expected, the linens. The second one, the largest of the three, was the treasure chest: dozens and dozens of disposable adult diapers of different brands and strengths, all neatly sorted; a number of thick cloth garments; waterproof pants; and boxes of disposable latex gloves. Evidently Pratima used the gloves while changing herself. I smiled as I realized that one day I might help Pratima to change.
The middle-sized closet contained a tall, stainless steel diaper pail with lid. I resisted the urge to open it and see if there was “treasure” inside. Also there was what looked like a dumbwaiter, a small elevator used to transport stuff between floors of a building. Finally, there were a few shelves of toiletries, toilet tissue and paper towels
Done with the closets, I finished by looking at her tub and shower stall. Spacious, as expected, with a fantastic fixed nozzle head and two hand-held heads. At one end of the tub was a plastic bucket; I made a note to eventually ask the doctor about it.
My expedition done, I went back down the long hall to Pratima’s bedroom. She stood and smiled as I entered, and I saw that she had taken off her sari, revealing a matching blouse and pants. For the first time I got a good look at Pratima’s figure, hidden for so long under her raiment: slightly but pleasingly plump, nice hips, and a good sized bust. All of it for me to ravish whenever the moment arose.
“Welcome back, Danny,” she said, giving me a hug and yet another kiss. “Did you find everything to your liking?”
“Yeah, baby,” I said. “You have a fantastic, uh, ‘water closet’. In fact, I think everything about you is fantastic.” I stroked her back gently, going as far south as I dared without touching her diaper area.
“You are always so nice to me, dear Danny,” she crooned, and hugged me a little tighter. We held that position for a few moments, then she said, “I will now go to my water closet and change for dinner. There is space in that closet for you to hang your clothes, and you may use the top drawer in that chest.” She gestured toward a marvelous antique piece. “Will you wait for me here or downstairs in the parlor?”
“I’ll be downstairs.” I’d decided to wait until later to acclimate myself to Pratima’s boudoir. Draping her change of clothes over one arm, she put her other arm around my waist, her head on my shoulder, and again we went slowly along the corridor to the bathroom. About halfway there she stopped suddenly with a little gasp; by now I knew that meant she was pooping herself. Sure enough, the faint ginger scent came. I gave her a little squeeze, followed by a not-quite-as-little kiss. “It’s okay, baby,” I reassured her, and we resumed our stroll.
I expected Pratima to stop me at the door and go in alone. Instead, she beckoned me in behind her. Of course I looked at her bottom…and was rewarded with the sight of a pretty thick bulge under her pants. Pratima had to have been wearing one of the cloth diapers I’d seen earlier. It was all I could do to keep my eyes from popping out of my head.
Pratima, a psychologist, must have deduced what I was thinking. “The bulk you see,” she said,
“is caused by my protective undergarment. When I am in public I must take special care to contain odors and leaking. Therefore I wear a heavier garment. When I am in my home I can use slightly less protection. I will now shower and change my garments.”
I was amazed at how frank Pratima was in describing her diaper use. A moment later it got even better.
“Once we have become more comfortable with each other, I wish for you to assist me in changing. As I have said, I would like for you to see all of my person.”
Momentarily dumbstruck, I could do nothing but give her another hug and a kiss.
Breaking away, Pratima said, “Leisha will soon be ready to serve dinner. I will meet you in my parlor in about twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be waiting, my dear.” I excused myself and headed up front to put my things away. I couldn’t stop thinking of Pratima’s bulky diapers, and her intention of letting me change them! How long, I wondered, would it take us to become more comfortable with each other?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
About ten minutes later I made my downstairs toward the spacious living room. In the front hall I noted new additions to Pratima’s usual household miasma: the aromas of what would surely be an interesting meal. I sat down in the parlor, on the settee where the doctor had made such a stunning confession the night before; where we’d finally confessed our love for each other.
Leisha, Pratima’s cook, appeared in the door. “Good-evening, Mr. Danny. We’re pleased you could be our guest tonight. I hope you’re ready for a good feast.”
“Hi, Miss -- uh, Leisha.” I would have to get used to the idea of addressing the “help” by their first names. “Glad I could make it, too.”
“Dr. Patel’s been bouncing off the walls all afternoon. She actually left work early to make sure everything was perfect. She never takes off early…you are very, very special to her, Mr. Danny. She hasn‘t had very much happiness lately, and now you have given it to her.”
“Yeah, that’s what she told me.”
“No, really, sir. I’ve never seen her so elated in the twelve years I’ve worked for her. And let me tell you: when she’s happy, she tends to be generous. You’ll see.” The cook gestured toward the hall. “Come, let me show you the kitchen for a minute.”
I was ushered into yet another impressively huge space. It may have been Pratima’s house, but it sure was Leisha’s kitchen. In stark contrast to the rest of the place, the kitchen was an example of neatness and simplicity - no knick-knacks or elaborate decorations. The only nod to personalization was a framed portrait of Leisha and her family on one wall. Of course, the cook had the finest tools of her trade at her disposal; the range, refrigerator, freezer, dishwasher and sinks all gleaming with stainless-steel finishes. All the eyes on the electric stove were occupied by pots and pans. An island with an impressive-looking top was in the center. Under the back windows was a dinette set with three chairs. The folding doors leading to the dining room were closed.
“Tuesdays and Saturdays are my days off,” said Leisha. “On those days Dr. Patel usually orders in, or eats out. Sometimes she’ll make her own simple meals. Also, on work days she tends to get her breakfast at a carry-out. Do you cook, Mr. Danny?”
“Yes,” I told her. “Bachelor’s gotta do it all for himself.”
“Here.” Leisha pointed out the many cabinets of food and supplies, and the locations of utensils. “All I ask is that you keep my kitchen clean. When I’m happy, I can be generous in my own way. Better head back to the parlor; she’ll be down in a few minutes.” Leisha took my hands in hers. “Thank you for making Dr. Patel so happy.”
“You’re welcome, Leisha.”
“If you can get past the diapers, you will have a companion for life.” With that, she gestured me toward the front. Sitting again on the settee, I had only a few minutes to mull over Leisha’s last remark before I heard Pratima coming down the stairs. I rose to greet her.
She had changed into a lovely, light blue tunic and pants, under which I could clearly see the outlines of her protective underwear - not quite as bulky as before, but still substantial. Furthermore, for the first time I was seeing Pratima with her hair down. Nearly waist-length, thick, black, flowing, with a part right in the middle. Her pale face was almost glowing with romantic excitement. The sight of her provoked another hug and kiss (by then it really didn’t take much for that), and I started running my hands through those luxuriant locks.
“Honey, this is the most beautiful I’ve seen you so far.”
She buried her head in my chest, as if she was going to start crying again. Instead, she took my right hand and started kissing the back of it. Such a sweet woman…I led her to the settee for another short session of cuddling. Pratima’s scent was somewhat fresher, she having just gotten out of the shower; there was no evidence of ginger. Yet.
The French doors separating the parlor and dining room opened. “Dr. Patel, Mr. Danny,” announced Leisha, “dinner is ready to be served.”
Pratima rose and beckoned me into her formal dining room. As expected, it was quite large and opulent, filled with magnificent breakfronts, credenzas, and the largest table I’d ever seen outside of a restaurant. The two of us would be dwarfed by these settings. I was mildly surprised, though, to see small electric lights on the table instead of real candles.
Once again, the doctor seemed to read my mind. “I apologize for not using candles for our dinner,” she said. “I have an intense fear of open flames. You will soon learn why.” She ushered me to a high-backed seat at one corner, and sat to my left, as Leisha began bringing the meal in from the kitchen.
And what a meal it was! It was about as large as the Sunday dinners my mom cooked for us when I was little (and I had three siblings)…how on Earth would two people handle it all? But, after Leisha’s heads-up the night before, I had eaten light that day in order to make room for this. Leisha piled several slices of roast beef and large spoonfuls of candied sweet potatoes onto her boss’s plate, and I asked for some of the same. I’d expected some sort of ethnic meal; the women would soon ease me into appreciating Pratima’s native cuisine as well as others. That night, though, I dined very well on Western food…and so did she. Hell, she practically gorged herself on that dinner, which also consisted of rice and gravy, corn on the cob, and Hawaiian Sweet rolls (a favorite of mine - had Pratima read my mind again?). I found myself thinking about where all that food would eventually end up.
Between bites, Pratima told me the story of her life - or more accurately, certain aspects of her life:
“As I told you, I was born with a spinal defect known as Spina Bifida. This defect was detected by doctors when I was at a very early age, and surgery was performed to correct it. I am able to walk and move without difficulty, and my motor skills are mostly normal. However, the surgery was not completely successful - I am unable to control my bowels.” She had a slight expression of sadness on her face as she said that, and I patted her lightly on the shoulder.
“My parents could not understand how they created a ‘defective‘ child. Most of my siblings looked at me as a sort of freak. I was teased incessantly by them. Persons outside my family were even more insensitive. My protective undergarments were thick and quite visible under my clothing, and others made fun of me for having to wear them. Even our Jainist religious leaders looked down upon me. I became a kind of outcast. Only my older brother, Pratil, stood by me and defended me from abuse.” I had met Dr. Pratil Patel, a heart surgeon who also worked at his sister’s hospital and who also used my delivery company’s services. It dawned on me that Pratil Patel had at least once given me a subtle hint to Pratima’s feelings about me.
“The abuse I experienced,” she continued, “inspired me to study psychology. I felt that no one should suffer the shame and loneliness that I have. I do believe that many of my patients have gone on to better lives.”
We paused for a bit while Leisha refilled our plates, Pratima’s for a third helping. My girlfriend was really packing it in, and justifiably so: Leisha was a wonderful cook.
“When I emigrated to America, I had hoped that there would be a more tolerant society, one that would not ridicule me because of my incontinence. I hoped to find a romantic partner who would accept me. That has not happened - until now, Danny Kerr.”
“I’m so glad that has happened, Pratima.”
“During my studies for psychology, I was mentored by a woman who had a disorder known as Crohn’s Disease. She also was incontinent of bowel, and needed to wear bulky undergarments. This woman, however, had learned to accept her affliction as something that was given to her by Nature, and to have an enjoyable life. She taught me to adopt her perspective. That is why I no longer mind using these garments, and also why I told you about my affliction so soon. If I am to be a part of your life, you must learn to look past my incontinence, as you have promised.”
I shifted my chair closer to the table’s corner so I could kiss her. “And I intend to keep that promise, no matter how soiled you are. I’m looking forward to a great relationship. And you know what else? I’m looking forward to finishing this dinner and getting into some more cuddling and kissing.”
“There is one more thing,” she said. “Leisha…please bring the tea.” Momentarily, the cook appeared with a huge glass pot of the amber beverage. Right away I noticed its aroma, having smelled it from a different source so many times during the past day.
“Yes, Danny, this is ginger tea,” Pratima said as Leisha filled our cups. “It has several healthy properties. One, it is good for the digestive system. In my case, it helps things to flow more smoothly, and also to reduce odor.” The doctor certainly drank about as much ginger tea as she ate Leisha’s cooking, thus giving her poop its deceptively pleasant scent. “Also, it can help to reduce colds. Finally, the tea has a calming effect on me. Please try some.”
I’d had ginger tea before, and liked it, thus I didn’t really need to be sold on it. Still, Leisha’s version of it was more tasty than I’d ever experienced. For once I didn’t have to add sugar to tea, because the stuff was nicely sweetened. Right away its effects caused me to be more relaxed.
Pratima was well into her second cup by the time I finished my first - and these were nice big coffee mugs, not dainty tea cups, somewhat out of phase with the rest of the dishes. It took the two of us about ten minutes to kill off that pot, by which time we were beginning to feel more than a bit mellow.
“Danny, my love, I believe it is time for us to return to the parlor. Leisha, we are done here.” We stood as the cook came to clear the table. “Thank you for a wonderful meal!”
“Was everything to your liking, Mr. Danny?”
“Everything was fabulous, Leisha. I hope to have many more like tonight.”
“I believe you will, Mr. Danny.”
Pratima and I headed into the parlor, staggering slightly from full bellies and the influence of tea. Leisha closed the French doors behind us as we resumed our canoodling on the settee. Our inhibitions lowered, the kisses and caresses were somewhat more passionate than before.
We must have been going at it for some fifteen minutes when Leisha walked through the main hall, to discreetly dismiss herself. She gave me a smile and a double thumbs-up, and I smiled too (my hands being a little busy with hair and back to return the thumbs-up). We were now alone together for the first time, and Pratima’s Jinx started up in earnest.
The hugs and kisses became gradually more intense, and it was starting to get obvious what could happen. We tried to lay down…but a settee is only long enough for two average people to sit next to each other upright. The doctor, who’d said little since dinner, pointed at the stairs.
“Bedroom. Good idea,” I told her. And once more we mounted the staircase to the second floor, and down the hall to Pratima’s boudoir, where (after kicking off our shoes, of course) we assumed horizontal cuddling positions on the king sized four-poster. Now, I’ve made out with some of the few girlfriends I’ve had, but none could compare to what was happening between me and this Indian lady. All hell threatened to break loose as the kisses got even more passionate, the stroking got more adventurous. She allowed my hands to explore pretty much everything above her waist, and didn’t complain a bit as I went further and further down her back. Her hands were equally adventurous, and surely I didn’t mind.
Then it happened: as most guys do under such circumstances, I went to pet Pratima’s behind…and got a handful of diaper.
Right away I broke from her. “Oh, no, baby…I - I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry…”
Pratima gave me a quizzical look and said, “Danny, why do you apologize?”
“I touched the seat of your diaper by mistake.”
“Why do you believe you made a mistake?”
“Well…” I thought carefully about what I would say. “I have the idea that you are sensitive about, uh, that…area.”
The doctor began to stroke my hair, and smiled. “Danny, Danny, Danny…there is no part of my body that is off limits to you. We are romantic partners now, and I would like for us to fully enjoy each other.”
“Really?” I said. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, Danny. I am not very soiled.” She took my hand and guided it to her backside. “Please continue.”
Another barrier broken. I began to caress her bottom through her pants and all, gently at first. She didn’t seem to be soiled at all, nor could I smell any evidence. The material of her garment felt moderately thick, and I detected the smoothness of plastic. Gaining confidence, I began to rub the diaper more firmly. Pratima let out a little giggle and stroked my own back more quickly. Our kissing grew more and more intense, our caressing faster, firmer. I petted her on her back and her hair a bit so she wouldn’t think I was concentrating on the diaper, but when I let my hand go back south she moaned softly. I was beginning to think she liked having her diaper petted.
Then, for the first time, I went for Pratima’s little pot belly, massaging it with one hand while playing with her hair with the other. That earned me a not-so-little gasp, which I knew wasn’t her usual pants-messing reaction. The intensity went up yet another notch. Finally, I thought “The hell with this horsing around.” I put my right hand under her tunic and inside her pants and began kneading the seat of her diaper.
Within seconds, Pratima gave out her loudest gasp yet. Her eyes opened wide. Her body stiffened. She couldn’t seem to get her breath.
For a moment I thought she was having some sort of attack or seizure. But then her hips began to buck as she let out a series of smaller gasps. Her hands grabbed my hair, seeming to want to tear it out.
Pratima Patel was having an orgasm. And apparently her diapered ass was her trigger.
The convulsions seemed to last forever, though in actual time it was less than a minute. I was starting to get a headache from the hair-pulling. Finally, the doctor began to calm down, her breathing became more regular. She rolled onto her back and I followed, hovering over her. Her eyes were a little moist as she looked up at me, and she began stroking my hair gently.
“Honey,” I asked her, “are you okay?” She nodded slowly.
“I didn’t get too carried away, did I?” She shook her head and smiled. Pratima seemed to be in a bit of a daze; eventually I discovered that she was unable to speak for some time after an orgasm. After a moment I lay my head on her chest, and we remained that way for a while.
Around midnight, I started to get up, but Pratima held onto my hand. “Baby,” I said, “I gotta use the, uh, water closet, and I think this would be a good time to change into our night clothes. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
She nodded and released my hand, and I gave her a little kiss on the forehead. “There’ll be more of those when I get back.” As I grabbed my PJ’s and robe from the closet and left, she sat up.
As I took my whiz and then changed, I thought about the demure Indian who had turned into a tiger in my arms. It seemed to me that not only was Pratima incontinent, she might even be a diaper lover. That would explain why she got off so dramatically when I pawed her pad. As I’ve said, I too get off on diapered women, especially those who are messy. And my wildest, wettest dreams were rapidly coming true. I couldn’t even imagine what she would be when the real thing happened.
Somehow, I’d managed not to ejaculate during our little adventure, probably because of how quickly things had happened. I considered rectifying that situation right there in Pratima’s bathroom - goodness knows it wouldn’t have taken too long, ready as I was. But even those few extra minutes away from my love would have been a few minutes too many.
I looked at my little friend and said to it, “Your time is gonna come. Real soon.”
When I returned to the bedroom, Pratima had changed into a long, flowing nightgown, under which I could finally see her diaper. It was a Japanese-style garment, made of birds-eye linen, with a pale yellow plastic cover decorated with flowers. It had snaps on the sides, and the typical string on the front to cinch the waist. Over the top of it I could see the waist gathers of a disposable brief. Evidently she wore the Japanese pants to contain any leakage. Thinking back to our heavy dinner, it occurred to me there would be a massive load in that diaper in the very near future.
She rose from the bed as I entered and hugged me. “Pratima,” I murmured, “right now you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Still speechless, she took my hand and kissed the back of it in that sweet manner of hers. I stroked her hair and upper back lightly as I kissed her. A few minutes later she led me to the bed and switched off the light.
“Goodnight, Pratima Patel,” I cooed as we lay down. She only said “Oooo,” as she rested her head on my shoulder. Within a minute she was asleep.
I lay awake for a while longer, as it takes me a while to adjust to unfamiliar surroundings. The bedroom light was off but the room wasn’t too dark; the big windows let in reflected light from the street lamps (because of the elevation of the second floor those lights were below the windows). The open windows also admitted the cool spring air which, combined with the pleasant scents of the bedroom, the effects of the tea, the reality of a long day, and the presence of Pratima at my side, helped me to nod off. The last thing I remembered before dozing off was hearing a muffled “blurp” from the vicinity of Pratima’s bottom, followed by the scent of ginger.
The middle-sized closet contained a tall, stainless steel diaper pail with lid. I resisted the urge to open it and see if there was “treasure” inside. Also there was what looked like a dumbwaiter, a small elevator used to transport stuff between floors of a building. Finally, there were a few shelves of toiletries, toilet tissue and paper towels
Done with the closets, I finished by looking at her tub and shower stall. Spacious, as expected, with a fantastic fixed nozzle head and two hand-held heads. At one end of the tub was a plastic bucket; I made a note to eventually ask the doctor about it.
My expedition done, I went back down the long hall to Pratima’s bedroom. She stood and smiled as I entered, and I saw that she had taken off her sari, revealing a matching blouse and pants. For the first time I got a good look at Pratima’s figure, hidden for so long under her raiment: slightly but pleasingly plump, nice hips, and a good sized bust. All of it for me to ravish whenever the moment arose.
“Welcome back, Danny,” she said, giving me a hug and yet another kiss. “Did you find everything to your liking?”
“Yeah, baby,” I said. “You have a fantastic, uh, ‘water closet’. In fact, I think everything about you is fantastic.” I stroked her back gently, going as far south as I dared without touching her diaper area.
“You are always so nice to me, dear Danny,” she crooned, and hugged me a little tighter. We held that position for a few moments, then she said, “I will now go to my water closet and change for dinner. There is space in that closet for you to hang your clothes, and you may use the top drawer in that chest.” She gestured toward a marvelous antique piece. “Will you wait for me here or downstairs in the parlor?”
“I’ll be downstairs.” I’d decided to wait until later to acclimate myself to Pratima’s boudoir. Draping her change of clothes over one arm, she put her other arm around my waist, her head on my shoulder, and again we went slowly along the corridor to the bathroom. About halfway there she stopped suddenly with a little gasp; by now I knew that meant she was pooping herself. Sure enough, the faint ginger scent came. I gave her a little squeeze, followed by a not-quite-as-little kiss. “It’s okay, baby,” I reassured her, and we resumed our stroll.
I expected Pratima to stop me at the door and go in alone. Instead, she beckoned me in behind her. Of course I looked at her bottom…and was rewarded with the sight of a pretty thick bulge under her pants. Pratima had to have been wearing one of the cloth diapers I’d seen earlier. It was all I could do to keep my eyes from popping out of my head.
Pratima, a psychologist, must have deduced what I was thinking. “The bulk you see,” she said,
“is caused by my protective undergarment. When I am in public I must take special care to contain odors and leaking. Therefore I wear a heavier garment. When I am in my home I can use slightly less protection. I will now shower and change my garments.”
I was amazed at how frank Pratima was in describing her diaper use. A moment later it got even better.
“Once we have become more comfortable with each other, I wish for you to assist me in changing. As I have said, I would like for you to see all of my person.”
Momentarily dumbstruck, I could do nothing but give her another hug and a kiss.
Breaking away, Pratima said, “Leisha will soon be ready to serve dinner. I will meet you in my parlor in about twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be waiting, my dear.” I excused myself and headed up front to put my things away. I couldn’t stop thinking of Pratima’s bulky diapers, and her intention of letting me change them! How long, I wondered, would it take us to become more comfortable with each other?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
About ten minutes later I made my downstairs toward the spacious living room. In the front hall I noted new additions to Pratima’s usual household miasma: the aromas of what would surely be an interesting meal. I sat down in the parlor, on the settee where the doctor had made such a stunning confession the night before; where we’d finally confessed our love for each other.
Leisha, Pratima’s cook, appeared in the door. “Good-evening, Mr. Danny. We’re pleased you could be our guest tonight. I hope you’re ready for a good feast.”
“Hi, Miss -- uh, Leisha.” I would have to get used to the idea of addressing the “help” by their first names. “Glad I could make it, too.”
“Dr. Patel’s been bouncing off the walls all afternoon. She actually left work early to make sure everything was perfect. She never takes off early…you are very, very special to her, Mr. Danny. She hasn‘t had very much happiness lately, and now you have given it to her.”
“Yeah, that’s what she told me.”
“No, really, sir. I’ve never seen her so elated in the twelve years I’ve worked for her. And let me tell you: when she’s happy, she tends to be generous. You’ll see.” The cook gestured toward the hall. “Come, let me show you the kitchen for a minute.”
I was ushered into yet another impressively huge space. It may have been Pratima’s house, but it sure was Leisha’s kitchen. In stark contrast to the rest of the place, the kitchen was an example of neatness and simplicity - no knick-knacks or elaborate decorations. The only nod to personalization was a framed portrait of Leisha and her family on one wall. Of course, the cook had the finest tools of her trade at her disposal; the range, refrigerator, freezer, dishwasher and sinks all gleaming with stainless-steel finishes. All the eyes on the electric stove were occupied by pots and pans. An island with an impressive-looking top was in the center. Under the back windows was a dinette set with three chairs. The folding doors leading to the dining room were closed.
“Tuesdays and Saturdays are my days off,” said Leisha. “On those days Dr. Patel usually orders in, or eats out. Sometimes she’ll make her own simple meals. Also, on work days she tends to get her breakfast at a carry-out. Do you cook, Mr. Danny?”
“Yes,” I told her. “Bachelor’s gotta do it all for himself.”
“Here.” Leisha pointed out the many cabinets of food and supplies, and the locations of utensils. “All I ask is that you keep my kitchen clean. When I’m happy, I can be generous in my own way. Better head back to the parlor; she’ll be down in a few minutes.” Leisha took my hands in hers. “Thank you for making Dr. Patel so happy.”
“You’re welcome, Leisha.”
“If you can get past the diapers, you will have a companion for life.” With that, she gestured me toward the front. Sitting again on the settee, I had only a few minutes to mull over Leisha’s last remark before I heard Pratima coming down the stairs. I rose to greet her.
She had changed into a lovely, light blue tunic and pants, under which I could clearly see the outlines of her protective underwear - not quite as bulky as before, but still substantial. Furthermore, for the first time I was seeing Pratima with her hair down. Nearly waist-length, thick, black, flowing, with a part right in the middle. Her pale face was almost glowing with romantic excitement. The sight of her provoked another hug and kiss (by then it really didn’t take much for that), and I started running my hands through those luxuriant locks.
“Honey, this is the most beautiful I’ve seen you so far.”
She buried her head in my chest, as if she was going to start crying again. Instead, she took my right hand and started kissing the back of it. Such a sweet woman…I led her to the settee for another short session of cuddling. Pratima’s scent was somewhat fresher, she having just gotten out of the shower; there was no evidence of ginger. Yet.
The French doors separating the parlor and dining room opened. “Dr. Patel, Mr. Danny,” announced Leisha, “dinner is ready to be served.”
Pratima rose and beckoned me into her formal dining room. As expected, it was quite large and opulent, filled with magnificent breakfronts, credenzas, and the largest table I’d ever seen outside of a restaurant. The two of us would be dwarfed by these settings. I was mildly surprised, though, to see small electric lights on the table instead of real candles.
Once again, the doctor seemed to read my mind. “I apologize for not using candles for our dinner,” she said. “I have an intense fear of open flames. You will soon learn why.” She ushered me to a high-backed seat at one corner, and sat to my left, as Leisha began bringing the meal in from the kitchen.
And what a meal it was! It was about as large as the Sunday dinners my mom cooked for us when I was little (and I had three siblings)…how on Earth would two people handle it all? But, after Leisha’s heads-up the night before, I had eaten light that day in order to make room for this. Leisha piled several slices of roast beef and large spoonfuls of candied sweet potatoes onto her boss’s plate, and I asked for some of the same. I’d expected some sort of ethnic meal; the women would soon ease me into appreciating Pratima’s native cuisine as well as others. That night, though, I dined very well on Western food…and so did she. Hell, she practically gorged herself on that dinner, which also consisted of rice and gravy, corn on the cob, and Hawaiian Sweet rolls (a favorite of mine - had Pratima read my mind again?). I found myself thinking about where all that food would eventually end up.
Between bites, Pratima told me the story of her life - or more accurately, certain aspects of her life:
“As I told you, I was born with a spinal defect known as Spina Bifida. This defect was detected by doctors when I was at a very early age, and surgery was performed to correct it. I am able to walk and move without difficulty, and my motor skills are mostly normal. However, the surgery was not completely successful - I am unable to control my bowels.” She had a slight expression of sadness on her face as she said that, and I patted her lightly on the shoulder.
“My parents could not understand how they created a ‘defective‘ child. Most of my siblings looked at me as a sort of freak. I was teased incessantly by them. Persons outside my family were even more insensitive. My protective undergarments were thick and quite visible under my clothing, and others made fun of me for having to wear them. Even our Jainist religious leaders looked down upon me. I became a kind of outcast. Only my older brother, Pratil, stood by me and defended me from abuse.” I had met Dr. Pratil Patel, a heart surgeon who also worked at his sister’s hospital and who also used my delivery company’s services. It dawned on me that Pratil Patel had at least once given me a subtle hint to Pratima’s feelings about me.
“The abuse I experienced,” she continued, “inspired me to study psychology. I felt that no one should suffer the shame and loneliness that I have. I do believe that many of my patients have gone on to better lives.”
We paused for a bit while Leisha refilled our plates, Pratima’s for a third helping. My girlfriend was really packing it in, and justifiably so: Leisha was a wonderful cook.
“When I emigrated to America, I had hoped that there would be a more tolerant society, one that would not ridicule me because of my incontinence. I hoped to find a romantic partner who would accept me. That has not happened - until now, Danny Kerr.”
“I’m so glad that has happened, Pratima.”
“During my studies for psychology, I was mentored by a woman who had a disorder known as Crohn’s Disease. She also was incontinent of bowel, and needed to wear bulky undergarments. This woman, however, had learned to accept her affliction as something that was given to her by Nature, and to have an enjoyable life. She taught me to adopt her perspective. That is why I no longer mind using these garments, and also why I told you about my affliction so soon. If I am to be a part of your life, you must learn to look past my incontinence, as you have promised.”
I shifted my chair closer to the table’s corner so I could kiss her. “And I intend to keep that promise, no matter how soiled you are. I’m looking forward to a great relationship. And you know what else? I’m looking forward to finishing this dinner and getting into some more cuddling and kissing.”
“There is one more thing,” she said. “Leisha…please bring the tea.” Momentarily, the cook appeared with a huge glass pot of the amber beverage. Right away I noticed its aroma, having smelled it from a different source so many times during the past day.
“Yes, Danny, this is ginger tea,” Pratima said as Leisha filled our cups. “It has several healthy properties. One, it is good for the digestive system. In my case, it helps things to flow more smoothly, and also to reduce odor.” The doctor certainly drank about as much ginger tea as she ate Leisha’s cooking, thus giving her poop its deceptively pleasant scent. “Also, it can help to reduce colds. Finally, the tea has a calming effect on me. Please try some.”
I’d had ginger tea before, and liked it, thus I didn’t really need to be sold on it. Still, Leisha’s version of it was more tasty than I’d ever experienced. For once I didn’t have to add sugar to tea, because the stuff was nicely sweetened. Right away its effects caused me to be more relaxed.
Pratima was well into her second cup by the time I finished my first - and these were nice big coffee mugs, not dainty tea cups, somewhat out of phase with the rest of the dishes. It took the two of us about ten minutes to kill off that pot, by which time we were beginning to feel more than a bit mellow.
“Danny, my love, I believe it is time for us to return to the parlor. Leisha, we are done here.” We stood as the cook came to clear the table. “Thank you for a wonderful meal!”
“Was everything to your liking, Mr. Danny?”
“Everything was fabulous, Leisha. I hope to have many more like tonight.”
“I believe you will, Mr. Danny.”
Pratima and I headed into the parlor, staggering slightly from full bellies and the influence of tea. Leisha closed the French doors behind us as we resumed our canoodling on the settee. Our inhibitions lowered, the kisses and caresses were somewhat more passionate than before.
We must have been going at it for some fifteen minutes when Leisha walked through the main hall, to discreetly dismiss herself. She gave me a smile and a double thumbs-up, and I smiled too (my hands being a little busy with hair and back to return the thumbs-up). We were now alone together for the first time, and Pratima’s Jinx started up in earnest.
The hugs and kisses became gradually more intense, and it was starting to get obvious what could happen. We tried to lay down…but a settee is only long enough for two average people to sit next to each other upright. The doctor, who’d said little since dinner, pointed at the stairs.
“Bedroom. Good idea,” I told her. And once more we mounted the staircase to the second floor, and down the hall to Pratima’s boudoir, where (after kicking off our shoes, of course) we assumed horizontal cuddling positions on the king sized four-poster. Now, I’ve made out with some of the few girlfriends I’ve had, but none could compare to what was happening between me and this Indian lady. All hell threatened to break loose as the kisses got even more passionate, the stroking got more adventurous. She allowed my hands to explore pretty much everything above her waist, and didn’t complain a bit as I went further and further down her back. Her hands were equally adventurous, and surely I didn’t mind.
Then it happened: as most guys do under such circumstances, I went to pet Pratima’s behind…and got a handful of diaper.
Right away I broke from her. “Oh, no, baby…I - I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry…”
Pratima gave me a quizzical look and said, “Danny, why do you apologize?”
“I touched the seat of your diaper by mistake.”
“Why do you believe you made a mistake?”
“Well…” I thought carefully about what I would say. “I have the idea that you are sensitive about, uh, that…area.”
The doctor began to stroke my hair, and smiled. “Danny, Danny, Danny…there is no part of my body that is off limits to you. We are romantic partners now, and I would like for us to fully enjoy each other.”
“Really?” I said. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, Danny. I am not very soiled.” She took my hand and guided it to her backside. “Please continue.”
Another barrier broken. I began to caress her bottom through her pants and all, gently at first. She didn’t seem to be soiled at all, nor could I smell any evidence. The material of her garment felt moderately thick, and I detected the smoothness of plastic. Gaining confidence, I began to rub the diaper more firmly. Pratima let out a little giggle and stroked my own back more quickly. Our kissing grew more and more intense, our caressing faster, firmer. I petted her on her back and her hair a bit so she wouldn’t think I was concentrating on the diaper, but when I let my hand go back south she moaned softly. I was beginning to think she liked having her diaper petted.
Then, for the first time, I went for Pratima’s little pot belly, massaging it with one hand while playing with her hair with the other. That earned me a not-so-little gasp, which I knew wasn’t her usual pants-messing reaction. The intensity went up yet another notch. Finally, I thought “The hell with this horsing around.” I put my right hand under her tunic and inside her pants and began kneading the seat of her diaper.
Within seconds, Pratima gave out her loudest gasp yet. Her eyes opened wide. Her body stiffened. She couldn’t seem to get her breath.
For a moment I thought she was having some sort of attack or seizure. But then her hips began to buck as she let out a series of smaller gasps. Her hands grabbed my hair, seeming to want to tear it out.
Pratima Patel was having an orgasm. And apparently her diapered ass was her trigger.
The convulsions seemed to last forever, though in actual time it was less than a minute. I was starting to get a headache from the hair-pulling. Finally, the doctor began to calm down, her breathing became more regular. She rolled onto her back and I followed, hovering over her. Her eyes were a little moist as she looked up at me, and she began stroking my hair gently.
“Honey,” I asked her, “are you okay?” She nodded slowly.
“I didn’t get too carried away, did I?” She shook her head and smiled. Pratima seemed to be in a bit of a daze; eventually I discovered that she was unable to speak for some time after an orgasm. After a moment I lay my head on her chest, and we remained that way for a while.
Around midnight, I started to get up, but Pratima held onto my hand. “Baby,” I said, “I gotta use the, uh, water closet, and I think this would be a good time to change into our night clothes. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
She nodded and released my hand, and I gave her a little kiss on the forehead. “There’ll be more of those when I get back.” As I grabbed my PJ’s and robe from the closet and left, she sat up.
As I took my whiz and then changed, I thought about the demure Indian who had turned into a tiger in my arms. It seemed to me that not only was Pratima incontinent, she might even be a diaper lover. That would explain why she got off so dramatically when I pawed her pad. As I’ve said, I too get off on diapered women, especially those who are messy. And my wildest, wettest dreams were rapidly coming true. I couldn’t even imagine what she would be when the real thing happened.
Somehow, I’d managed not to ejaculate during our little adventure, probably because of how quickly things had happened. I considered rectifying that situation right there in Pratima’s bathroom - goodness knows it wouldn’t have taken too long, ready as I was. But even those few extra minutes away from my love would have been a few minutes too many.
I looked at my little friend and said to it, “Your time is gonna come. Real soon.”
When I returned to the bedroom, Pratima had changed into a long, flowing nightgown, under which I could finally see her diaper. It was a Japanese-style garment, made of birds-eye linen, with a pale yellow plastic cover decorated with flowers. It had snaps on the sides, and the typical string on the front to cinch the waist. Over the top of it I could see the waist gathers of a disposable brief. Evidently she wore the Japanese pants to contain any leakage. Thinking back to our heavy dinner, it occurred to me there would be a massive load in that diaper in the very near future.
She rose from the bed as I entered and hugged me. “Pratima,” I murmured, “right now you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Still speechless, she took my hand and kissed the back of it in that sweet manner of hers. I stroked her hair and upper back lightly as I kissed her. A few minutes later she led me to the bed and switched off the light.
“Goodnight, Pratima Patel,” I cooed as we lay down. She only said “Oooo,” as she rested her head on my shoulder. Within a minute she was asleep.
I lay awake for a while longer, as it takes me a while to adjust to unfamiliar surroundings. The bedroom light was off but the room wasn’t too dark; the big windows let in reflected light from the street lamps (because of the elevation of the second floor those lights were below the windows). The open windows also admitted the cool spring air which, combined with the pleasant scents of the bedroom, the effects of the tea, the reality of a long day, and the presence of Pratima at my side, helped me to nod off. The last thing I remembered before dozing off was hearing a muffled “blurp” from the vicinity of Pratima’s bottom, followed by the scent of ginger.