After the Wave

Chapter 4
Best for You

Chapter Description: F -- you read that correctly: F -- humiliation. Based on ideas from the community.

Chapter IV: Best for You

When the Wave hit the cruise ship, it was a disaster brewing. And when Elizabeth Hannon emerged from the bathroom, her mother smiled proudly at her. The high school senior had put herself together with care -- a full three hours of honest work. No tiara sat atop her long, silky blonde hair; nonetheless, she appeared a pageant winner.

“You are the most beautiful angel I’ve ever seen,” her mother glowed. Elizabeth blushed, but accepted the compliment with a “thank you.” Long, flowing, sparkling prom dress... $2,000 Stuart Weitzman shoes... an array of fancy, hypnotizing jewels. She couldn’t wait to arrive at Richard’s cabin.

“But boys can be devils,” Elizabeth’s mother warned. The Wave had already struck her.

“What?” Elizabeth, having been temporarily protected by, of all things, the solid steel encapsulating the cabin’s bathroom -- felt her smile fade.

The girl’s mother approached slowly and deliberately. A sense of stern, parental determination guided her feet.

“And the most beautiful angel I’ve ever seen needs to be protected.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That outfit. Those jewels. That makeup,” her mother listed, stopping two feet away from Elizabeth. “No little angel of mine is going to the prom looking like a common whore.”

Fear and confusion swept over Elizabeth. “I look nothing like a... a whore, mother! And I’m going to the prom right now. So excuse me.”

“You will do no such thing, young lady, until we change you out of that streetwalker getup.”

Only then did the still-unexplained, aerosol qualities of the Wave waft into Elizabeth’s nose. The fear and confusion remained, but a tiny switch had been flipped in the girl’s mind. Suddenly, it was more important to do whatever it took to meet up with Richard, to get to the prom, than to assert any sort of independence or autonomy.

“Remove that dress, young lady.”

After having put so much work into getting every last inch of the flowing fabric just right, it was like a knife through Elizabeth’s heart to contemplate stripping out of it-- let alone before Richard got to see it. Let alone in front of her mother.

But the prom...

And, minutes later, Elizabeth stood stiff as a board in front of her mother, clad in nothing but a white bra and a pink thong. Embarrassed and exposed, she couldn’t imagine what unattractive, pedestrian garb her suddenly-overprotective mother had in mind for her. Jeans (probably the baggy ones that made her shapely ass invisible to men)? A t-shirt? She’d look like a tomboy, not a pageant queen.

Elizabeth’s mother didn’t break eye contact. “See? A wanton slut. Off with the bra and that strand of dental floss between your legs, Elizabeth Hannon.”

The girl’s fear and confusion intensified. But so did her impulsive need to do whatever it took to get to Richard, to get out of this situation, to get to prom. She unhooked her bra, exposing her perfect, C-cup breasts to her mother, who hadn’t seen them in proper since Elizabeth’s awkward training-bra adventure. So, too, did the young woman drop her thong and step out of it, her freshly-shaved vagina suddenly visible to the world. Her mother hadn’t seen that since before Elizabeth had any reason to shave in the first place.

The jewels came off next.

For the following 20 minutes, Elizabeth sat naked on the toilet lid as her mother clipped her proud hair into a far more conservative, youthful appearance in both length and shape.

When she saw the finished product in the mirror, Elizabeth began to cry. There was no make-up to streak her cheeks; her mother had washed it off quickly and unceremoniously.

Elizabeth was bawling like a baby when she at last realized the full extent of her mother’s intentions. She felt like one, too, what with the double-thick diaper her remarkable butt had been placed upon. She sobbed with an intensity she’d never extricate from her memory as she laid, splayed out on the bed, naked, being powdered and diapered by her own mother.

But if this was what it took to get to the prom-- so be it.

Her mother spoke maternally, but with an odd detachment, as she massaged powders and oils into Elizabeth’s crotch.

“This is what’s best for you, Lizzie,” she said. “No teenage boy would ever seduce a girl who’s been peeing and pooping in her diapers all night long.”

Kids, some teenage boys would, but that’s neither here nor there.

Lizzie amassed the strength to look at her diaper when it was finally fastened. It was oddly thick, exclusively pink, and its waistband was speckled with hearts and angels’ halos. The girl had no idea how her mother had managed to acquire something so ridiculous, in a size perfect for trim, teenaged girls.

The shortalls were the next item on the list. Every time she stepped into a leg, every time her mother fastened a snap, Lizzie felt the thick diaper tease her pussy with each motion. The thing had bulk. Lizzie knew by how far the diaper spread her thighs apart that, in a dire situation, she’d have no hope whatsoever in a bathroom emergency. She would be wearing her bathroom for the rest of the night.

Lizzie obediently slid her arms into the shoulder straps. With no bra or shirt underneath her new shortalls, anybody could get a revealing view of her tits from the side. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The clothing, too, was pure pink, with the most infantile designs imaginable stitched into its front. “Little Angel.” “Princess.” Two flowers, a teddy bear, and a star.

The shortalls had been designed to do an adequate job of hiding a conventional diaper, but Lizzie’s genitals had been imprisoned in something much, much thicker. The bulge around her waist said it all. It was about as far as possible one could get from a thong.

While she had stopped crying long enough to make the dressing-up endurable, all of this had been enough to get the waterworks flowing again. Were it not for her height -- and even with it considered -- she could have easily been mistaken for a petulant, wet toddler, having just been told that she had to choose between one of two Barbies, instead of getting both.

Lizzie’s mother waited patiently for her adult-baby daughter to compose herself, then stepped aside from her position between the girl and the cabin door.

With her bare feet, their toes’ nails ironically painted with meticulousness, she dashed for the door and began waddling her way towards Richard’s cabin.

to still be continued with more of this, and more of that.