She squirmed as the man she knew only as “Daddy” pulled her onto his lap. It was a very familiar position to her at this point, but his firm thighs under her tender bottom never ceased to elicit a reaction from the girl.

“Have you been a good girl?”

She nodded, her cheeks flushing. It didn’t matter what she said, not that she could say much, what with the pacifier strapped in her mouth. He would check. He always checked.

“Let’s see.” He turned her around to face the large tv screen, balancing her on one knee. A moan escaped her pacifier as her weight came to rest on her crotch, her very wet diaper pressing against her. He wrapped one arm around her chest, easily holding her small frame in place, her bare back pressing against his shirt. She could feel the buttons pressing against her spine. He was always so impeccably dressed when he came home from work, with his elegant suits and fancy jackets, all the more in stark contrast to the fact that was wearing only her diaper, pacifier, and a matching set of padded white mittens and booties that kept her helpless.

With his free hand he grabbed the remote and turned the tv on. Her heartbeat quickened in her chest. They’d repeated this process so many times now she was beginning to lose count, but still it made her nervous.

“Were you a good girl while Daddy was at work?” he asked, more to the screen than to her. The footage from the nanny cam in her nursery would tell all.

A couple of clicks on the remote and soon he had navigated to the beginning of the footage. The two of them appeared on screen in her nursery, the pastel pink prison he kept her in when he wasn’t home to keep an eye on her. The only difference between then and now was he was still wearing his suit jacket and tie, and her fresh white diaper had been dry.

“You know the routine,” the past version of him said from the television speakers. “Daddy has to go to work, and you have a very important job to do too, don’t you?”

It wasn’t enough that she remembered having to nod as he picked her up like she weighed nothing and set her on the big pink plastic rocking horse in the center of the room. He made her watch it. Every day.

“Be a good girl for Daddy.” he told her on screen as he clipped the simple restraints to her wrists and ankles before kissing her on the forehead and pushing the toy, setting her in motion. In the present, he started to gently bounce her on his knee.

She couldn’t say which she hated more. Bouncing on his knee was more, intimate, what with his strong hands on her mostly unclothed body, his big, strong, masculine body against her slight, feminine frame. Under different circumstances she would have quite enjoyed such a dynamic, and she loathed how easy it was for him to trick her body into responding. The rocking horse, with its hard plastic saddle between her legs, was a cruel mockery of her former life. She’d been a jockey, once upon a time, a professional horse rider, and the helpless little thing straddling the oversized, pink child’s toy on screen was anything but professional.

On screen, her Daddy had left, the heavy click of the deadbolt on her nursery door signaling that she was now both alone and trapped. And then the true test began.

She wasn’t entirely sure on what sort of metrics he was measuring whether or not she was a “good girl for Daddy.” Stopping rocking was definitely not something a good girl did. Under her diaper, her bottom was still bruised from yesterday’s spanking she received for stopping for only a moment in the hours she was left alone.

She’d ruled out the obvious, back in the early days when she thought she could be defiant. She’d tried to escape at first, even managing to get her hands out of the mittens and take off her diaper and pacifier before banging on the door for hours until he came home. Daddy didn’t need to make her watch the video that day. She’d spent the night in a restrictive straitjacket and strapped down in her crib so tightly she couldn’t move an inch, all while the itching powder he’d put in her diaper drove her mad. It taught her to appreciate her much less restrictive restraints, and since then she’d not tried to take her mittens or diapers off.

That didn’t stop her from taking other strides to be defiant. One day she’d just sat on the horse and glared at the camera the entire day, stupidly thinking she couldn’t be broken. That little stunt had earned her an “attitude adjustment” as Daddy called it, where she’d been tied down spread eagle and tickled for hours, hysterically laughing uncontrollably until he was satisfied that she was the happy baby girl he wanted her to be.

Nowadays she really tried. She couldn’t take the spankings and the punishments; she knew that now. She’d lost track of how many days it had been now, but she did honestly try, rocking away on that rocking horse until Daddy returned home and made her sit on his knee and watch the day’s tape with him to see if she had in fact been a good girl. As he sped up the video, watching her rock in double, then quadruple, then eight times speed, he bounced her faster.

Her breathing quickened and drool escaped her pacifier and dripped down onto her naked breasts.

The bouncing was so insistent, her wet diaper rubbing persistently against her smooth pussy had a very definitive effect on her. He’d taken that from her too, permanently removing all of her body hair. It had been gone when she woke up for the first time after he’d taken her. He’d told her baby girls didn’t have any big girl hair. Now the only barrier between her and his knee was a thin layer of crinkly plastic holding a lot of wet, absorbent padding that molded to her most sensitive flesh and caressed her with every bounce.

“Look how good you’re being,” he whispered in her ear. She could feel his stubble against her neck. So adult. So masculine. His hands holding her on his lap moved up, grabbing her breasts. She moaned into her pacifier.

He shouldn’t be able to make her feel this way. She watched the girl on the screen, her from just mere hours ago, riding her plastic horse, doing her best to be a good girl for Daddy. All she had to do was ride. If she’d ridden better that fateful day, maybe she wouldn’t be on some powerful man’s lap in nothing but a diaper, moaning like a desperate slut into her pacifier.

“You picked a really bad day to lose,” her manager had told her when she got back to the stables.

She’d lost a race. The race. Her horse had it in him to win, but she’d been off her game, still hungover from partying the night before. The man in the sharp suit standing alone in the stables behind her manager was new, and when she asked who he was, her manager had just told her that he was a man that had lost a lot of money because she hadn't rode hard enough. The man she’d learn to call Daddy looked the small jockey up and down, assessing her. Before she could muster up an apology, to try to explain, he’d nodded and said those three words.

“I’ll take her.”

Someone grabbed her from behind before she could react, a funny smelling cloth pressed over her mouth and nose. As her world grew dim, she heard her manager ask the man what he was going to do with her.

“I’m going to teach her to ride.”

Part of her hoped that if she could just ride the rocking horse like he wanted, she’d prove that she’d learned, and that he would let her go. She could get out of diapers and get back on a real horse, running free through the fresh air, not rocking back and forth in a nursery that smelled cloyingly of baby powder barely concealing the humiliating smell coming from her diaper pail.

But deep down she knew that he’d never let her go. Powerful men like her Daddy did not like to lose, be it their money or their possessions. She’d already made the mistake of losing him money; he would not part with his possession so easily.

He put the video back to normal speed just as he reentered the nursery. On screen she didn’t stop rocking, and in the present, he didn’t stop bouncing her. She watched as he grabbed the handle of the rocking horse and finally let her stop as he unclipped her restraints, but still he kept her bouncing on his knee. Even after he’d picked her up and carried her off screen and her Daddy stopped groping her for long enough to turn the tv off, he didn’t stop bouncing her.

This was it. The final moment before judgement was passed. She was sure he’d find something to nitpick about her performance, and in one split second he could have her in a very different position over his knee; face down, her diaper between her thighs and her ass in the air, ready for a spanking.

“Do you think you were a good girl?” he asked, his lips touching her ear lobe.

She wracked her brain as she moaned and squirmed. She’d not stopped, not even when she’d lost control and wet her diaper, she’d kept rocking the whole time. She’d not glared or scowled at the camera; she’d just sucked on her pacifier as she focused on riding her horse. She’d wanted so much to be a good girl for Daddy.

One of his hands reached down and grabbed her crotch, squeezing the wet padding. A deep moan escaped her pacifier, along with a fresh torrent of drool dripping onto her soaked tits.

“I think so too.” He picked her up. She whined as the bouncing finally stopped, but the lack of pressure on her padded pussy was short lived as she spun her around to face him before plopping her right back down on his lap.

Even sitting on his lap, she had to look up at him. She mumbled desperate nonsense into her pacifier gag as she tried to plead with him with her eyes. It took every ounce of self-control she had left to not started humping him, as every carnal instinct she had demanded that she grind her diapered pussy against his crotch.

“You were a good girl today.” He produced a vibrator from the drawer next to his chair. Maybe, before he’d punished all the resistance out of her, she wouldn’t have wanted it. There had been a time where she wouldn’t have been desperate for the man who had kidnapped her, who had humiliated and infantilized her, who had reduced her into a desperate, diapered, pathetic mockery of her former self, to make her cum.

But she wasn’t that girl anymore.

Today she had been a good girl for Daddy.

Today she had learned to ride.

“Good girl,” he told her as he pressed the vibrator against her diaper and turned it on.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fists clenching deep within the padded embrace of her mittens. She wriggled her hips, thrusting against the vibrator.

“There’s my good baby girl.”

She screamed into her pacifier, a muffled elation of pure bliss as she came. She was a good girl for Daddy.