Veronica's Voyage of Self-Discovery – Chapter 3

The beaming face of a proud groom. A giggle on the lips of the blushing bride beside him. A fork, half-lifted for the camera, loaded full with its cakey burden. And all of them, frozen forever in the glossy photograph inside their wedding album.

"One year, babe," David murmured, and as he bent over the couch and nuzzled affectionately into the soft wisps at the nape of his wife's neck. "Hard to believe, huh?" She let out a happy little noise of assent, her fingers clutching at the happy faces within the album in her lap. "Tell me about it!" She laughed, turning and planting a kiss on his handsome, unshaven cheek. "Still not regretting anything?"

"Well, hmm… let me think," he responded, holding up a finger in mock deliberation. He slipped around the end of the worn little sofa and settled close beside her. "Let's see. You know… the only thing I regret is…" He smirked at the unamused expression on Veronica's face, then burst into a soft laugh. "That I didn't bend you over the table right there and ravish the most beautiful bride that ever was."

"Oh, really?!" She giggled, trying and utterly failing to maintain her arch displeasure. "You'd have scandalized everyone so bad! Think of poor Grandma, huh? Just think of her blood pressure!"

"Scandalized?" He laughed, and now he was massaging her breasts with fond familiarity. "Oh, babe, you really think a bit of steamy sex between two lovebirds would scandalize anyone? I know something that would have scandalized them much more, you know…" And now he was grinning and flipping back to another set of photos – ones showing the lovely bride walking sedately down the aisle on the arm of her proud father. "Just imagine what they would have said if they'd known what sort of special underwear was hidden under that poofy skirt, huh?"

"Aww, stop it!" Veronica retorted with a laugh, shaking her head in denial. "You're never gonna let me live that gag down, are you? I should have known, what with you slipping Joyce that pack of diapers before the rehearsal…"

"I had to," he maintained coolly, leaning back now and placing his hands behind his head. "I already knew what a wet and horny little pants-wetter I was marrying, you know. I couldn't possibly let her stand there… take one look at me… and piss her pretty dress in front of everyone…"

"I would not!" She wailed, cheeks reddening – but she was laughing all the same. "Only in your dreams, you jerk. And the diaper was just a joke." She tossed her head and flipped forward now to the reception, where appeared the arresting sight of a chunk of cake: now in the fingers of the groom, flattening and smearing its pasty, crumby way across the shocked, hysterically laughing face of his bride. "Besides – you had your fun there, you know. I legit almost choked!"

"And my dirty little woman was loving every second of it," he reminded, and now he was easing forward again, eagerly gesturing toward the kitchen. "Speaking of cake, babe – it's one year. And we've still got the top tier! I already got it out for us – you know, for dessert tonight? And maaaybe a bit of a cake smash?"

She spluttered in mock dismay, but he sprang up anyway and padded toward the fridge. "Hey, little kids get a cake smash for their first birthday, right? Why can't a marriage have one, too?" To which she could only laugh… and sigh… even as her gaze followed him and brightened at the sight of the small white cardboard box in his hand.

"No, but seriously," he resumed, having set the box on the counter to warm and returned to his seat. "Babe, I joke, but I've loved getting to know you better this past year. In all the ways – emotions, and hobbies, and how you like to fold your t-shirts, and, well…" He chuckled and stroked her arm gently as she nuzzled closer in quiet acknowledgment. "But tonight especially, I wanted to have a bit of fun with the sexy bits of you that we've discovered together. You know… that slutty little girl inside who seems to love being humiliated…"

Her eyes dilated. Her breath hitched. And even as she forced a little laugh, her cheeks were taking on a heightened color. "Uh- okay? Like, um… what did you have in mind?" She gave his knee a pleading squeeze. "I- I don't really need it, you know-"

"Hush," he commanded, and Veronica lapsed into silence, her chest rising and falling with increasing speed. "Come with me, for starters," he ordered, and before she knew it, she was rising with him, following his lead as he tugged her firmly toward the bedroom. What… what on earth did he have in mind?

"You know, the weird thing about brides is all that white, you know? How they're supposed to be all pure and unspoiled and shit?" He was stripping off his shirt with practiced ease, his toned abs gleaming in the warm evening glow of their bedside lamp. "Well… you'll always be my bride, babe. Just like I'll always be your groom. But I've been thinking that maybe, just maybe… that whole purity thing just doesn't fit you anymore."

His voice, deepening now with rising excitement and lust, rumbled out as he reached down beneath the bed and slid a large cardboard box into view. "You've said it yourself, babe. Go on – tell me right now. Tell me what you say you really are. You know, what you usually say right before you cum…"

Veronica gulped, her eyes, swirling with mingled excitement and apprehension, swiveling between him and the mysterious box. "I- um, I'm a- a pathetic little- little wh..." Her voice trailed off into a shameful murmur, but her bare-chested partner was having none of it. "Say it," he ordered once more, stepping close, and his hand strayed down to the smooth tautness of his leather belt. "Go on, say the word."

"A little whore," she blurted out, and even as her cheeks fired with shame she was twisting in ill-concealed arousal. "I'm just a dirty little whore. For- for you-" "Yes, you are," he commended, with a warm smile and a stroke to her heated cheek. "So a pure white wedding dress isn't right for you anymore, is it? In fact, I think you'll find that I've got something much, much better suited to a beautiful little whore like you."

Into the box he reached. Out came a garment the likes of which she'd never seen, let alone consider wearing. It was a crop top – or maybe a bra? So low-cut, so perilously short! It would barely cover her entire boobs, much less reach to her navel! And wait… what was that across the front?

"Strip." And she did… biting her lip the whole time. Shaky fingers undid button after button. Bra clasps slipped free. Until at last she stood there before him: his beautiful buxom wife, stark naked, clad in nothing but her blushes and a shy, hungry expression on her face.

"Perfect," he commended, and she ducked obediently as he brought the tiny garment over her head and began tugging it down over her exposed breasts. "What's the opposite of a bride, hmm? Can you look in mirror there and read what it says? I know it's super hard, all reversed and everything…"

Hair tousled, breasts straining within their new and unnaturally tight confines, she blinked… caught her breath. And slowly, shamefully read out the pink letter splashed across her chest.

"Daddy's B-bimbo."

"That's right! But wait – that's not all," he assured her with a smirk. She bit her lip once more, watching as he produced a tiny, garishly pink skirt from the box and tossed it onto the bed. Next came stockings, and a tube of hot pink lipstick, and some pink hair ribbons, and a container of blush, and- and-

Oh, god. What the hell was that?!

"On the bed, little slut. Legs spread," he ordered with a chortle, as the giant pink garment erupted into a monstrous, plasticky flurry of infantile glory. "It's just a diaper. You know all about these, don't you? Can't have my pissy little whore making her new outfit all wet, now, can we?"

"Bu- but-, oh, David-" she began, but already she was dropping to the bed with quivering knees. "I- Are you sure-" "Up," he ordered tersely, and up she rose. Instinctively. Obediently. While the crinkling mass slipped beneath her, and she gulped in rising shame and arousal, and the thick cotton mass tightened around her, pressing ever closer and more insistently around her already dribbling pussy…

So it was that, not ten minutes later, Veronica the capable, sweet young wife had been completely transformed into a thing of slutty, bimboish perfection. There she stood: dirty blonde hair done up in pigtails, the long pink ribbons swaying as she twisted in mortified suspense. Her ample breasts strained within the tiny and ludicrously tight top, her erect nipples visibly shouting her arousal for all to see. Her lips were smeared with pink, her cheeks festooned with two clownish circles of rouge. Her legs were encased in knee-high tights, while around her waist clung the hilariously short skirt: a skirt that did nothing to hide the puffy, pink bulk of the giant diaper between her legs. And even as she stared down, tugging in amazed mortification at its tiny length, the letters blazoned across the front slipped into view…

BABY.

"You're perfect, babe." David broke the silence, and her face as she raised it to meet his was the most delicious mixture of shame, arousal, and gratitude. "See? This is another part of the Veronica I know and love. Veronica, the bimbo. Veronica, the slut. Veronica, the humiliation-craving, pants-wetting-"

"Please," she broke in, and in her hoarse voice was the plaintive, eager begging of an aroused woman. "Just do it! Please, Dave, I'm begging. You're right! Use me. Humiliate me all you want. Let me be your little bimbo, your dumb little baby girl…"

He seized her hand. Out from the bedroom they rushed: him with purposeful strides, her trailing along, her hand caught in his, her thick and crinkling diaper rustling with ever step. And to the kitchen table they went. "Sit there, babe," he commanded with a fierce grin. "Sit on that diapered butt of yours. And open that slutty mouth wide – like the good little bimbo you are."

Oh, she did. Grey eyes watching eagerly as the knife bit into the pristine frosting… as a large slice slid free under David's careful hands… as he drew near and held a chunk up for her to see. "You know, some probably think the best use for an anniversary cake is eating it like adults," he smirked, tracing the tip of the cakey mass delicately around the O of her glistening lips. "But I know my sweet wife. I know what suits her best. And what suits her best is getting her mouth crammed full… her pretty face absolutely filthy… smeared like the messiest bimbo slut that ever was."

And with that…

Well, let's just say that before the night was out, the cake was gone. The young woman's makeup was ruined beyond recognition, her outfit spattered with crumbs and smeared with frosting. And as for the humiliating diaper around her waist?

It got torn off somewhere along the way, sure – the casualty of the couple's frenzied, panting lovemaking. But before that, the sticky, telltale signs of her first creamy climax were already glistening in its cottony interior.

Now that was one heck of an anniversary!

(To be continued!)