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“Yep.”
Seemed a bit strange, but okay . . .
She opened her mouth and he brushed her teeth carefully, before he had her spit. Once her teeth were clean, he set the toothbrush aside and picked her up.
He settled her against his hip this time, and she had to admit that she liked it. Was that silly? To enjoy being carried around like a child?
She should probably protest that she was too heavy and could walk herself, but she had a feeling he might object.
He was weird like that.
“Is spanking a hard limit then?” he asked, going back to their previous conversation.
“Well, nooo.”
“Then why ask the question?”
Right. She had to hold in a smile as he walked back into the room and set her down on the bed. Instead of tucking her under the covers, though, he reached around for the back of her gown, undoing the ridiculous thing. It felt so scratchy against her skin.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he tugged it off, leaving her naked except for the world’s ugliest panties.
“Getting you dressed.”
“What if someone comes in?”
“Locked the door while you were peeing.”
“Lie back. I’ll try to move quick so you don’t get too cold.” He gently lay her back, then took hold of her panties.
“Um, I can do this,” she said in a high voice as she reached for her panties, tugging them back up. She pulled so hard that they ripped.
“Oh. Whoops.”
He raised his eyebrows, giving her a stern look. “I know you can do this. But looking after you is now my job.”
“So you’re always going to dress me?” she challenged. That was just silly and she waited for his reply so she could complete her arguments.
“Yep.”
“Then you . . . wait, what? You can’t always dress me.”
He had her panties off by now and had thrown them in the garbage. “Why not?”
“Because . . . I mean, you have to work, right? So do I.”
“You work for yourself, from home.”
“Yes, but . . . sometimes I get really busy. And you won’t always be around.”
He grabbed a pair of her panties. She tried to help him pull them up her legs, but he lightly slapped her hands away.
“Sometimes I might want to dress myself.”
“Why?” He sat her up so he could put a T-shirt over her head. This T-shirt was an old favorite. It was a faded purple with the image of a French Bulldog on the front, holding a sign that said: Being weird is cool.
“I don’t know . . . when I have my period and stuff,” she told him.
“Don’t see why that would make a difference. That’s not for another few weeks anyway. Should make a note, are you always regular?”
