PeculiarChangeling
patreon
The Baby Bet, Chapter 8 - The Flood Gates
🕑 Added 2022-01-14 11:46:19 +0000 UTCGrace debated the best way to handle her…issue.
(Okay, it’s my own head, I don’t need to be coy. I’ve got to pee.)
She squirmed at her desk. This had been part of the plan, of course, but the difference between theory and practice was that in the world of theory, she wouldn’t actually have to do the whole ‘peeing her pants’ thing.
Though she could hold it for a good long while if she needed to, Grace was at the point where it was hard to focus on anything except her aching bladder. She wouldn’t be able to get anything done until she gave up and just…
(Okay, there’s one more thing I can try.)
It was stupid, but so was Pearce. There were worse plans in the world.
Getting up, Grace straightened her shortalls and left her room, knocking on Pearce’s door.
“I just got you water,” he called. “Unless you’re not Grace.”
She opened the door. “No, it’s me.”
“Well then, my point stands. Whaddya want?”
“Just curious if you wanted to give up yet,” Grace suggested, expressing as much flippancy as she could while fighting back the flood gates.
Pearce’s eyes widened in a knowing grin. “Oh, man, you’re about to wet your diaper, aren’t you?”
“No!” Grace lied.
Her knock-kneed stance as she tried to keep her bladder under control betrayed her, and Pearce exuded smug confidence as he asked, “So are you ready to give up yet, piddle pants?”
Grace flushed with embarrassment and anger at the suggestion. “No! Fuck you.”
“Ah, someone’s grumpy. I think you need me to check your diaper,” he teased, pushing away from his computer.
“You know I’m not–”
“Ah-ah,” Pearce tsk’ed, strutting over to her. “I don’t know anything for sure.”
She fumed, and debated pushing away from him, but that wouldn’t improve anything. She’d need to put up with this for a day or two until Pearce burned out, after all; at least she was still dry for the moment.
Standing over her with a smug smirk, Pearce kept eye contact with Grace and reached down, pulling the snap-buttons on her overalls and squeezing the outside of her diaper. “Well, it certainly feels dry,” he said. Leaning forward, he reached past her and shifted to the back of her diaper.
“Hey!” Grace objected.
“No stinkies, either,” he said. “I’m impressed. As much as you cry like a baby, you’ve at least managed to keep your diapers dry for almost two hours. Good job.”
“It’s been four,” Grace corrected.
“Ooh, wow, I’m impressed,” Pearce said, putting his hands to his cheeks in mock astonishment. “You kept your diapers dry for four whole hours? That’s got to be some kind of a baby record!”
“Ugh.” Grace turned, wheeling on her heels so she could find somewhere… else. It didn’t matter where, she just didn’t want to be around Pearce, when she…
(Goddammit.)
She was going to have to do this, one way or another. Pearce wouldn’t let her out that easily.
Grace shut herself back in her room, clenching her jaw in annoyance.
(Okay, just…do it. It’s fine. It’s just pee.)
Her body fought her. Years of practice in ‘not making puddles on the ground’ were difficult to overcome, and as soon as she tried to go, the pressure shrank back, refusing to give her an easy way out.
(It’s my body. I’ll pee if I want to!)
Devising a way to force the issue, Grace left her room, stalking across the hall to the bathroom. She wouldn’t be using it much in the coming days, but the sink had a hot water tap, and she knew her fair share of elementary school sleepover pranks. She turned the sink’s tap to hot, waited for the water to warm, and stuck her hand beneath the stream.
Worked like a charm. The need to pee returned in a heartbeat, and this time her body willingly gave in to the pressure, flooding her diaper.
It didn’t quite feel like she’d expected. Half her brain had anticipated the wet sopping sensation of peeing her pants, feeling the urine slosh down to her socks, refusing to believe that the diaper would do its job. The other half expected it to not really feel like anything, as though the diaper were magic.
The truth was somewhere in the middle. She could feel the warmth trickle down and soak into the thick pulp of her diaper, padding swelling as it drank everything up over a matter of seconds. It didn’t drain away and disappear instantly; she could feel it pooling in her diaper for a moment before it was wicked away, but the experience was still largely painless.
It took her a while to finish. Thirty seconds or so; she’d been holding it for a while. When she was done, she stood up straight and her diaper sagged, tugging down on her onesie and shortalls but mostly held close to her skin. It was heavy enough that she could feel it, though it didn’t affect her stride all that much.
“That was something,” Pearce snickered. “You know you do a thing with your eyebrows when you pee?”
She turned and blanched; he was leaning in the hall across from her. He’d probably watched the whole show.
“Gross!” she objected. “You watched?”
“Lil diaper babies don’t normally care if anyone sees them going pee-pee,” Pearce snickered. “Do you suppose I need to check you again, make sure you’re not gonna leak?”
“No,” she gritted her teeth and stormed down the hall, intent on pushing past him.
He held up a hand. “Rhetorical question, baby bottoms. You really flooded your diapers, I genuinely need to check.”
Grace balled up her fists and looked at the ceiling, groaning. “Fine, just get it over with.”
Pearce half-obeyed, not acting quite as showy this time around. He just gave the front of her diaper a squeeze, testing its weight, moving his hand down between her legs to see how much had soaked through.
(Just say it already. We both know you’re going to say that I–)
“You need a change,” he declared.
“After I peed once?” she balked.
“After you flooded them once,” Pearce countered. “Seriously, how much did you drink? Or–don’t answer, I don’t care, but I’m not gonna risk you leaking, that’s not what a good babysitter would do.”
His strict adherence to both the letter and spirit of the rules irked Grace, but she couldn’t justifiably complain about it, not when that was the whole point. “Fine.”
“Changing mat’s in my room,” Pearce said. “Come on, let’s get this taken care of.”
Grace crossed her arms over her chest and fumed as she followed him. If Pearce insisted on changing her after every petty accident…
(Well, wait, that might burn him out faster. Why am I mad about this?)
She still put on her show of petulance as she waddled after him, but that was only so she wouldn’t reveal the thought she’d just had. She had to wait while Pearce sifted through a pile of boxes and laundry by his bedside to fish out the changing mat, but once he’d unrolled it, she laid down and waited for him to start.
Pearce set the fresh diaper by her side, stacked next to powder, wipes, and a tube of rash cream that still had a layer of tamper-proof plastic around the cap.
He unsnapped the buttons on her shortall flap, did the same for her onesie, and revealed her soggy diaper beneath it all. “I’d make a joke here,” he said, “But honestly, we’ve all had our own bodily fluids spilled on our clothes at one point or another–it usually just comes after a lot more alcohol.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “I’ve never been that drunk.”
“Then what’s your excuse?” he joked, eyes sparkling.
He untaped the diaper and rolled it up, using the tapes to stick the whole thing into a wadded ball. Setting aside Grace’s old diaper, he took two wipes from the pack. Grace braced herself, remembering his trick with the refrigerated wipes from last time, but the expected chill didn’t come–the wipes were just at room temperature.
“Already forgot to put the wipes in the fridge?” she asked. “You’re slacking.”
Pearce hesitated. “It just seemed a little mean,” he admitted.
(Obviously he’s lying to cover up that he spaced out.)
He cleaned up the residue between her legs, set aside the wipes, sprinkled a thin layer of powder. “Looks like there’s no need for rash cream yet,” he said.
“Well, yeah. I was in that for like, five seconds,” Grace said.
“Still, good to check,” he said. “What good babysitter wouldn’t?”
She rolled her eyes.
The new diaper went on, snugly in place, and he snapped her buttons back. “Whelp. All good ‘till you fill it up again.”
“Thanks,” Grace said, pushing up onto her elbows.
“I was going to make dinner in about an hour,” Pearce said. “Chicken nuggets sound good?”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Just chicken nuggets?”
“Well, there’s ketchup, or I got some swanky dipping sauce from the store–” Pearce started.
“No, I mean, no side dish? No vegetables?” Grace asked. “Not even like, some dinner rolls?”
Pearce scratched his head. “Uh. No? I hadn’t planned on it.”
Grace pinched the ridge of her nose between her fingers. “A loose pile of chicken nuggets is not a meal.”
“My niece–”
“Your niece has the palette of a child and would eat nothing but vanilla ice cream if you let her,” Grace snapped. “Rules say you can’t just serve me one thing.”
“Fine! Jeeze! I’ve got some canned veggies, I can heat those up,” Pearce said. “Anyways. I should get back to work.”
“Me too,” Grace said. “And you said food in an hour, right?”
“Give or take,” he said.
“Uh-huh.” She gave him a level look, standing up. “I’ll come knock on your door in fifty five minutes or so to remind you.”
He shrugged. “If you want, I guess.”
She rolled her eyes and waddled out of the room, wondering why she’d expected anything better from Pearce in the first place.
