Belle-Bottomed by Bluejay

(Pearl, Rarity / Sweetie Belle)

F/f, hand, otk, diapers, humanized, non-consensual

 

(28/02/2014)

 

 

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Of course your little sister had to get herself grounded today. Of course your parents couldn't find a sitter on such short notice. Of course they had to call in that favor.

 

You closed up shop early in the afternoon, and now find yourself at your family home, reminded a bit of why you moved out in the first place.

You nod.

 

You leave your father to his business and enter the house. Sweetie's probably getting a thorough scolding at the moment, so you decide not to disturb them. You set down your handbag and summon a pencil and sketchbook from it-- might as well be productive while you're waiting around, right?

 

You park yourself in a chair and visualize a myriad of patterns. A few ideas intrigue you, so you file them away in your mind for later use. Before you can put your thoughts to paper, you're interrupted by a loud smack from the adjacent room.

Oh, dear. You knew this part was coming. You lean over to listen in. Your little sister can really squeal, can't she?

 

You wince a bit with each smack. Was she getting it on her bare bottom? You take a quick peek.

Yep, definitely on the bare bottom. Poor kid. You wound up over your mother's knee a few times when you were growing up; she was never hard on you, but your butt always felt it the day after. From what your parents have told you, little Sweetie's been much more of a problem.

You feel a twinge of gulit, listening to your sister's wails. Perhaps if you weren't so occupied with your business, you could spend some more time with her. Be a good role model, keep her out of trouble, that sort of thing. Well, whatever you do won't help her today; what's done is done.

 

Your mother leaves Sweetie alone in the den. She sighs and greets you in the hall.

She shuffles past you and out of the house without another word. You step into the den.

 

Your sister is on the coffee table, laying flat on her stomach-- skirt lifted, no underwear. There's no naughty corner in this household; Sweetie Belle is spending her timeout with her red rump exposed for anyone to see.

You lay down on the adjacent couch, and take a moment to examine your sister. You stifle a giggle-- you must admit, she does look kinda cute with her butt in the air like that.

You levitate a cloth from the shelf and wipe down her tear-stained cheeks. She sighs and relaxes a bit, though her eyes continue to well up.

You stroke her hair a couple times, but she pushes your hand away.

She proceeds to tell her story, most likely glossing over certain details.

 

From what you can gather, she and her friends (slash partners-in-crime) "were tired of being pushed around" by those two upper-class kids down the street, so they hatched some complicated revenge scheme involving incriminating photographs, which somehow ended up with the three of them falling out of a tree. They actually had to go to a nurse to make sure Scootaloo's arm wasn't broken, which resulted in a phone call home, which resulted in your parents finding out about it.

She nods, sheepishly.

 

You doze off for a short time, until Sweetie wakes you.

She's still laying on the table obediently, but her legs are crossed and she's rather fidgety.

You peek at the clock. She still has about 10 minutes left in timeout, but you allow her to climb off the table and rush down the hall. You follow her until she shuts the door behind her; you stand outside the bathroom waiting to escort her back to the den.

You hear a flush, then the sound of a running faucet. You greet her when she opens the door, lift her skirt to re-expose her behind, then give her a few playful swats. She squeaks in surprise, but still follows you to the den and climbs back into position.

 

Sweetie is silent for the remainder of her timeout. You head into the kitchen to prepare her meal, a bowl of soup with a side of broccoli.

She seats herself on her naked rear. She squirms a bit in her chair as you pull her dish from the microwave and set it on the kitchen table.

She's hesitant to eat, so you levitate a spoonful of soup right in front of her. In time, she relents and consumes her dinner, broccoli and all. She complains about most of it, but that doesn't surprise you.

 

You send dishes into the sink, then lead your sister into the bathroom. You pull aside the shower curtain and turn the handle; warm water begins to fill the tub.

She complies, pulling off her top and skirt and handing them to you. You dump them in a laundry basket and wait. You scan your sister's naked figure, almost as if you were measuring her dress size. Come to think of it, you ought to sew her a nice outfit one of these days. Surely your parents would let her model for you; it's not like she's got anything else to do, being grounded and all. Before you can continue that train of thought, you notice that the bath is ready. You gently lift her into the air via magic.

 

You summon items from the shelf-- a brush here, a dab of soap there.

Eventually you build a rhythm, scrubbing her down and rinsing her off in cycles. After a while, she doesn't tense up as much, and allows you to continue. You tenderly run your hands through her hair, first with shampoo, then with conditioner.

You tickle her belly, causing her to giggle with you until she manages to force your hand away. Once you decide that she's been thoroughly cleaned, you let her just soak in the tub for a few minutes before pulling the plug.

You drape her in a towel and pat her back.

You slip into her bedroom. It's somewhat unkempt; unsurprising, knowing your sister. You try not to trip on loose piles of toys or clothing. Atop the dresser, right where Mother said, is a set of pajamas and... ooh. She's not going to like this.

 

You haven't given much thought about child-rearing. You do plan to find a nice man and settle down "one of these days", or so you tell yourself, so a son or daughter seems an inevitability. You know that it's all a long way off, but right now-- holding a bottle of powder and a diaper intended for your sister's naughty little bottom --you decide that a bit of practice couldn't hurt...

 

You tidy up her bed and call for her.

She hangs her towel on the door and presents herself to you.

She's a bit confused, but does as she's told.

That's when she notices what's in your hand. Her eyes widen, her face turns red, and she tries to scurry off of her blanket.

You manage to pin her down on the bed. She continues to squirm, but she's unable to break free.

She whines a little more, but holds still long enough for you to spread her legs and dust her with powder.

 

...Oops. That ticked her off. She starts kicking and yelling, and you can't hold her for long.

No dice. Looks like you'll have to be a bit more forceful about this. You sigh, raise your arm, and give her behind a single slap. She squeals; you have her attention again.

That seems to have worked. She still blushes and whines as the diaper is put into place, but she doesn't put up much resistance. You fit her into her soft purple jammies, then carry her back into the den and sit her in your lap.

She nods, but buries her head in shame. You hold her against your chest and rock her for a little while.

 

Her diaper is rather thick; her bottom puffs out, even under her pajama pants. It's quite adorable, though you probably shouldn't say that out loud. You set her aside on the couch and drape a blanket on her.

You head into the kitchen and put together a quick meal from leftovers in the fridge, along with a cookie and a glass of milk for your little sis. She happily nibbles away at it while you treat yourself to a quiet dinner.

 

You stack your dishes (and Sweetie's milk glass) into the dishwasher.

You summon your sketchbook and pencil. Before you sit down, you give your sister's bottom a few soft pats.

She sighs. You get to work, sketching her little figure multiple times in various poses. You can envision her in so many outfits, you're not sure where to start or when to stop. You can think of a few clients who'd be interested in these designs for childrens' wear, but for now your only concern is little Sweetie.

She whines again, but you're not about to be deterred. Once you're done with her, she'll be the cutest little girl in town, whether she wants to or not!

 

You set aside your pencil and pull your sister onto your lap. You show her your work.

Sigh, everyone's a critic. You bounce her on your knee a couple times.

She huffs again. You set her down and summon a bathrobe for yourself, stashing away your sketchbook in turn.

 

The shower is quite relaxing. Warm water rushes down your face. Your thoughts turn to your little sister; what's going to happen when your parents come back tomorrow? This whole setup was their idea in the first place, so they must have something planned. Is Mother going to cradle her in her lap and feed her from a bottle? Is Father going to enforce a regimen of naptime and bathtime? Is she going to get spanked again? More importantly, will you get to watch? You giggle at the thought. You feel a bit guilty for deriving pleasure from Sweetie's misfortune, but it quickly subsides-- the little brat brought this on herself, after all.

 

You dry off, don your nightgown, and return to the den. Sweetie's still on the couch, looking as grumpy as when you last saw her. You're about to escort her to bed when you notice something off. Your handbag is on the floor; its contents look...

 

...She didn't.

She doesn't make eye contact. You check your belongings; most of them look untouched... but your sketchbook has a few pages torn out of them, and you know exactly which ones they are.

No response. You check around, and ultimately find the missing pages in the recycling bin, all ripped up. You're furious at this point-- all of that work, wasted! You salvage what you can and go to confront your sister.

By now, you've had enough of her attitude. You take a deep breath to calm yourself, so that you don't start yelling at her. You sit down and pat your lap.

 

She knows she's in for it now. She hops off the couch and tries to rush out of the den, but you wave your hand to hold her in place.

You maintain a firm magical grip on the girl's ear. You won't pull her any closer; you can keep her from leaving the room, but she has to come to you of her own volition.

She whines and sits down on the spot. You tug on her ear, her pajamas, her diaper, but she remains defiant.

That elicits a whimper, but still no movement.

 

She squirms some more. By now, she's probably wondering how she backed herself into this corner; you can tell she really doesn't want to be here right now.

You release your hold and she rushes over to you; the poor girl's halfway to tears already, and you haven't even started yet!

You yank her up off the ground and onto your lap. She fidgets and fusses, but she's not going anywhere any time soon. You give her cushioned rear a few soft swats, in preparation.

 

You pull down her pajama pants to reveal her thick, white diaper.

You let up for a moment, and pull her pants back into place.

 

After a few more swats, you inquire about a suspicion you've had for the past few minutes:

She sniffles a bit more, then starts bawling.

Oh, dear. You were going to pause to let her relieve herself, but based on how she cried out just now, you get the feeling that it's too late for that. Sure enough, you place your hand on her diapered crotch and feel a soft trickle; she couldn't hold it for any longer.

You give her a few more firm swats, turn her upright, and hug her tightly as she sobs into your chest.

 

You lay her down on a makeshift changing table. She sits there quietly as you drop her pants, remove her wet diaper, wipe her down, and apply a fresh coat of powder.

She nods in acceptance.

 

You pick her up, carry her in your arms, and give her re-padded bottom some soft pats before you tuck her in.

You kiss her forehead, switch off the lights in her room, and go to turn yourself in for the night.

 

As you drift to sleep, you've already figured out tomorrow's itinerary for when you return to work. You might have to re-draw some of your designs, but you know which few you'll be sewing first. Tomorrow, Sweetie Belle will find herself wearing some nice footie pajamas... with a dropseat. You know, just in case.

 

THE END