18+ only! 100% NSFW! Dedicated to age play, spanking, domestic discipline, corporal punishment, medical fetishism, and, of course, beautiful women in diapers. If you like what you see here, leave a comment or drop me a line at: parkerlongabaugh@yahoo.ca

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Goo Goo Gaga



I don’t know very much about Lady Gaga. My knowledge of contemporary pop music being only slightly more extensive than my expertise on quantum mechanics (I.E. practically non-existent), I honestly doubt I could pick a Lady Gaga song out of an audio line-up if my life depended on it. In fact, everything I know about the woman dubbed by Rolling Stone “the first lady of the dance floor” can be summed up in two points:
1: She often seems to appear in the media on a regular basis for “shocking” behaviour totally unrelated to her music.
2: Almost every time I see her, she’s wearing something that leaves her butt prominently exposed:

     Adopting an outrageous, “naughty girl” persona, she struts through the media landscape like an overgrown toddler, attracting as much attention to herself as possible with behaviour only a two year old would deem appropriate.
     And I know that it’s at least partially media savvy: the recording industry isn’t what it used to be, after all, and Gaga seems to be at the forefront of a new kind of celebrity; her music’s not the product, she is. So, as a result, her career becomes less a matter of pumping out hit singles and more a matter of staying in the spotlight, getting her brand out there, and keeping her name on everyone’s mind by any means necessary.
    But that doesn’t stop my mind from wandering...
     I imagine meeting her at a posh party in Paris. Taking her back to my room at the hotel, I kiss and caress her slowly, placing my entire focus on her: her beautiful, womanly body, her arousal, getting her more excited than she’s ever been. And just when I’ve got her trembling with excitement and anticipation, I take her over my knee and spank her in whatever ridiculous contraption she’d strapped herself into to show off her beautiful, unblemished buns that day. Not too long or too hard-- just enough to make her legs scissor and flail and turn her delectable backside all pink and make it sting a bit. When I finish, I kiss each cheek and rub it better, praising her for being such a good girl.
     I peel her clothes off, slowly, savouring every inch of her. After laying her back on the bed, all pink and nude and lovely, I make love to her tenderly, focusing my attention once more on her pleasure, eagerly taking her past the point of no return.
     And finally, when it’s  over, as she lay spent and exhausted in the cool evening air, reclining on the bed and basking in the warm afterglow, I take her feet, lift her legs, and slip a big, fluffy diaper under her wonderful, curvy backside.
     “Hey,” she protests, still groggy with desire, “what’re you doing?!”
     “Hush,” I say, giving one of her bare, up-turned cheeks a spank. “I’ve got to get you ready for bed.”
     “But I don’t need a diaper!” she protests with a laugh as I bend her legs back once more to put some powder on her full, round butt cheeks.
    “Oh no?” I ask with a grin, patting the powder into her plump derriere, still pink from its spanking. “You’re a big girl, is that what you’re telling me?”
     “Yes!” she laughs, squirming with delight at the attention I’m paying her bottom.
      “Is that what big girls do?” I ask, “Walk around with their tushies hanging out like a big ‘spank me’ sign dangling around their necks? Act like spoilt little brats who need a diaper change and a nap?”
    She blushes furiously. “Hey, that... I... you...” she stammers, her cheeks going as pink as her butt when she realizes I’m right.
     “I think you’ve needed this for a long time,“  I tell her, sealing her into her fluffy cloth diaper. “I think you just need a little coddling. I think a girl like you, who craves attention like a junkie, is desperate to be babied a little, right?”
     Looking up from her pampered loins, she pouts at me. “Maybe,” she concedes in a small voice, “but this is taking it too far! I’m a grown woman, a respected artist, and I don’t need a diaper,” she declares proudly,  squaring her shoulders and thrusting out her chest.
     “Hush, sweetie,” I say gently, pushing a pacifier into her mouth.  Gaga sits quietly, watching with large eyes from behind her soother as I take a big bonnet and a pair of plastic panties from my bag. I pull the panties up her legs and over her diapers, giving her well padded rump a nice pat. “Hold still, baby,” I say, tying the frilly bonnet under her chin, completing her transformation.
     Taking a step back to admire my handy work, I can’t help but laugh: the beautiful, saucy young lady who graces the covers of newspapers and magazines around the world has been systematically stripped of her adulthood, and reduced to the level of a petulant child, pouting from under her baby bonnet and behind her pacifier, her designer clothes replaced with a thick cotton diaper and crinkly plastic pants.
   “C’mon, sweetie,” I say, taking her hand and helping her to her feet. I lead her across the room, her bare feet padding lightly on the carpet, plastic pants crinkling the whole way as she waddles behind me. In the bathroom, I turn her to face the full length mirror so she can get the best possible look at herself.
     Behind her soother, she gasps, unable to reconcile the infantilized image of herself presented in the mirror, the plastic pacifier, frilly bonnet, thick diaper and crinkly plastic pants providing a screaming counterpoint to her shapely, womanly figure. She stares, hypnotized, unable to take her eyes off the reflection. Her face goes redder and redder, but her expression remains calmly inquisitive, as though she were watching someone else being paraded around dressed like a two year old.
     She turns from the mirror, watching me with doe-eyed confusion. Padding over, she wraps her arms around me and buries her face in my chest, not knowing what else to do. I scoop her up in my arms effortlessly and carry her back to the bedroom. Laying her on the bedspread, I give her a kiss before getting up and heading over to the mini-bar. I take out a bottle of milk, nice and cool for a warm summer’s night.
     On the bed, Gaga alternately watches me preparing her midnight snack and plucking at the waistband of her plastic pants. “This can’t be happening,” she whispers.
     Crossing over, I take a seat on the bed. Turning to her, I pat my lap. “C’mon, sweetie.” She stares at me, disbelieving for a moment, before she turns and reclines, resting her head in my lap. “There’s a good girl,” I say, stroking her temple. Gently, I push the rubber nipple into her mouth, meeting only a little resistance. Locking her eyes on mine, she begins sucking, reluctantly at first, then with more enthusiasm.  “Good girl,” I tell her quietly, watching the milk go down.
     Two-thirds of the way through, Gaga stops sucking abruptly, locking her pretty eyes on mine. “Sweetie? What’s wrong?” I ask, worried.
     My question is immediately answered by a loud hissing below, accompanied with the sound of a stream of water bouncing off a solid surface. Gaga’s face goes red, and  I know immediately that she’s wetting her diaper.
     When the sounds stop, I reach down and pat the front of her pamper. “Awww,” I say, stroking her cheek, “did you have an accident, honey?”
     Looking up at me, she nods shyly.
     “Poor baby,” I whisper, bending down to kiss her forehead. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I say, putting the nipple back between her lips, “I’ll get you changed just as soon as you’re finished your bottle.”
     She gives me a look of shock, but still continues sucking her bottle. Sticking my hand down the front of her plastic pants, I found her pampers positively soaked.  “You’re so wet, baby,” I murmur as she neared the end of her bottle. Pressing down on her diaper, I begin rubbing the soaking material against her. Gaga groans in response, thrusting her pelvis urgently against my palm. The situation overwhelms her: the spanking, the diapers, the milk, and the wetting, combine with my rubbing, takes her over the edge. She has a screaming, convulsing orgasm on my lap, then lies back, spent.
     “Good girl,” I say, bending down to kiss her again. “Let’s get that wet diaper changed, ok, sweetie?” I ask, helping her off my lap and onto the bed.
     “MMM-hhmm,” she purrs, settling in on her back and lying perfectly still, like a baby on the edge of sleep.
     Taking the materials from my bag, I strip her quickly, leaving her naked but for her baby bonnet. I can’t resist the urge to tickle her tummy, making her squeal and writhe and flop on the bed. “Hold still,” I admonish, taking her legs  and lifting her bottom into the air so I can slip a diaper under her. In moments, I have her oiled, powdered, and snugly pinned into diapers and plastic pants once more.
     Taking her hands, I pull her into a sitting position and admire her. In her diapers, plastic pants, and baby bonnet, she looks just like an overgrown toddler. “Ok, baby,” I say, pulling back the sheet, “bedtime.” Gaga pouts, but hastily complies at the threat of another spanking. Tucking her in I lean in and whisper in her ear.
     “Oh, come on,” she whines.
     “It’s ok, sweetie,” I say, taking her hand and kissing it. “Say it. C’mon—you can do it.”
     Locking eyes with mine, she stares for a long moment, and I begin to think she’s not going to say it. But then, from between quivering lips, she says shyly:
     “Goo goo gaga.” 
     Her cheeks go red hot as I lean in for a goodnight kiss. “Good girl,” I say. Rising from the bed, I turn to leave the room, clicking off the lights as I go.

 Update: Fiction crossing over into reality? You be the judge! Goo Goo Gaga Part two.

4 comments:

  1. I liked it. Wrote a few stories of my own (short ones on diaperspace (two are true) one fantasyish but still Ab/dl about gaga. except it's the opposite of what happened to her

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  2. Absolutely love this story. Hope you continue it some time :)

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  3. yes you should :D

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