Say it in front of everyone | Diaper story #4
One
Marcus told her on Thursday, which gave her a full day and a half to be sick about it.
"Dinner at Priya's Saturday," he said, from the doorway of the bedroom, in the tone that meant it wasn't a question. "Eight people. And I've told her."
Josie sat up in bed. "Told her what."
"About you. What you wear."
"Marcus." It came out of her like a leak.
"She was delighted. She's already got a towel out for the bathroom floor, apparently. She's very thorough." He came in and sat on the edge of the bed. "Here's how it's going to go. You wear from six o'clock. Dress, no jeans — something that shows it. You ask me at the table when you need to go, out loud, in front of everyone, and you tell me how bad it is."
"Out loud."
"Out loud. And if anyone asks you a question about it, you answer them properly, not in one-word grunts. And you don't change unless I say. Any of that too much?"
She swallowed. Her face was already hot and it was Thursday.
"...No."
"Good girl."
She was a wreck by Saturday. She tried on four dresses and hated all of them. The one she landed on was a soft grey wrap dress that fell just above the knee — not tight, but not clever either. It did not hide anything. When she stood in front of the mirror in a thick diaper under it, the shape of it was right there, a soft white block against her hips, and the padding made the skirt stand out from her thighs.
"You can see it," she said.
"You can absolutely see it," Marcus agreed, from the bed, unbothered. "You can hear it too. Turn around. — Yeah. Louder than you think."
He was right. Every step was a soft crinkle, muffled by the fabric but obvious, unmistakable once you knew what it was, and the padding pushed the skirt out so it swung against it with every move.
At six he checked the tapes, two fingers under each waistband edge, and then put his hand flat on the front of it and looked at her.
"How bad is it?"
"Three."
"Only a three. Drink something before we go."
She drank a glass of water in the kitchen with her hands not quite steady, and he watched her do it, and then he took her coat off the hook and held it for her, and she got one arm in and stopped.
"Does the coat hide it?"
"From behind. Not when you sit down." He kissed her cheek. "Ready?"
"No."
"Good. Let's go."
Two
Priya's hallway smelled like garlic and she hugged Josie with a glass of wine in one hand and said, right there, in the doorway, before Josie was even out of her coat: "You look lovely. Is that one of the thick ones?"
Josie's face went scarlet in stages.
"Yeah," she said. "It's — yeah."
"Good. There's a towel in the bathroom and a bag in the cabinet under the sink, and if you need anything at all you just say, alright?" She squeezed Josie's arm. "There's tonic in the kitchen, no ice, and I've got a jug of water with your name on it."
She had, in fact, put a jug of water on the table. It was glass, and it was full, and it sat there next to Josie's place setting like a taunt.
There were already five people in the living room. Josie knew three of them well enough to say hello to, and one of them — a woman called Bel — was a friend of Priya's who Josie had met twice and who had the kind of directness that made you feel like you were being x-rayed. Bel looked at her for a second longer than normal when they shook hands. Said nothing.
Marcus put his hand on Josie's lower back and steered her to the sofa, and she sat down, and the crinkle came out of the dress so loudly in the noise of the room that she was sure only she'd heard it.
She was wrong. Bel was on the arm of the same sofa, three feet away. She looked down at Josie's lap, and then at Josie, and one eyebrow went up a fraction, and she said nothing at all, and somehow that was worse than a question.
By the time they sat down at eight, Josie was at a six and her dress was already damp under her thighs from the glass she'd been sweating into the padding for twenty minutes.
She'd been careful. She'd sat straight, crossed her ankles, held her glass with both hands and not let herself fidget. But the pressure was a real, insistent ache now, sitting low and heavy, and the water jug was right there, and Priya topped her up without being asked, and it was going to be a long evening.
Marcus was talking to the man on his left about a cycling route. He'd done it deliberately — turned away from her, absorbed, unavailable.
She held it through the starters. She held it through Priya's second top-up. Somewhere around the point where the plates were being cleared she had her thighs pressed together under the table and her heel up against the chair leg and the pressure had gone from an ache to a demand, and she reached over and touched the back of Marcus's wrist.
He turned. He looked at her. He did not lean in.
"Yes?"
She'd hoped for a lean. He was making her talk across the table to the side of his head.
"Um." Her voice came out small in the noise. "Can I—"
The table didn't go quiet, exactly, but the noise dropped, the way it does when someone's clearly started something. Bel put her fork down. Priya stopped pouring.
"Can you what?" Marcus said.
"Can I go."
"Can you go where."
"Can I go—" She stopped. Took a breath. "Please can I go in my diaper."
She heard Priya say "oh, well done" quietly under her breath, which was mortifying. Bel made a small sound of approval.
"How bad is it?" Marcus said.
"Like a seven." Her voice cracked in the middle of it.
"Go on then."
She stayed in her chair. The whole table was looking at her. She'd been dreading the asking, and had not fully braced for the going — the going in front of eight people, all of whom now knew, none of whom were going to look away.
She let go.
The first second was the resistance, the body going here? now? in a chair? with everyone watching? — and then it broke and the warmth came, hot and sudden, blooming up the front of the padding and out across her hips in a wave she felt with her whole lower half. It kept coming. It was more than she'd expected, a long hot flood that filled the front of the diaper and ran back under her and up, and she couldn't stop it now, and she had to look at her plate and breathe through her mouth while it happened.
She heard it. So did everyone. There is no sound in the world like a full bladder emptying into a quiet diaper, and the room was not quiet anymore but the soft rushing hiss of it came through anyway, and her dress was sitting right against it.
"Fuck," she heard someone say — the man on Marcus's left — in the tone of someone who'd just seen a magic trick.
The warmth kept spreading. It went back under her seat and up her lower back and she felt the front of it go heavy and warm and the padding swell and press against her, and it was so much that she had to put her hand flat on the table.
When it finally stopped she was flushed to the collarbone and breathing like she'd run.
"All the way?" Marcus said.
"Yes." It barely came out.
"Good girl."
Priya poured her more water.
Three
The questions started then, and they were worse than the going.
"Does it feel nice?" Priya asked. "When it's warm like that?"
Josie stared at her plate. "Yeah."
"Yeah what?"
"...Yeah, it feels nice."
"Does it feel nice now?" Bel said.
"It's — warm." Her voice had gone thin. "It's still warm."
"It's still warm," Bel repeated, to the table, and the whole table made a noise of understanding, and Josie wanted to slide under it.
"How much can they hold?" someone asked.
"A lot," Josie said.
"A lot, or is that one nearly full?"
She had to actually check, which meant putting her hand under the table and pressing the front of her dress, and the wet give of it under her palm was so obvious and so warm that her breath caught. "It's — pretty full."
"Are you going to need changing before pudding?"
"I don't know." Her face was on fire. "Ask him."
They all looked at Marcus. He shrugged, easily, and said, "We'll see how she is," and Josie felt something go tight and low in her stomach.
Bel got up to help Priya with the plates and stopped beside Josie's chair on the way.
"Stand up a second," she said.
Josie stood. Bel looked her up and down — the dress, the obvious white block pushing it out at the hips, the slight sag of it at the front where it had gotten heavy — and then reached out and pressed two fingers against the front of it, right there, in front of everyone.
The wet squelch of it was audible. Josie's hips jerked.
"That's a lot," Bel said, to Marcus rather than to her. "You're going to need a change before you leave."
"She'll get one," Marcus said.
"Can you feel it when it's that wet?" Bel asked her, still not moving her hand.
"Yes." Josie could hear her own voice going small.
"Does it feel good?"
"...Yes."
"Look at her," Bel said, and took her hand away, and went to the kitchen, and Josie sat down so hard the padding squelched and had to hold the edge of the table.
She sat in it for another hour.
That was the worst and best part. The warmth went out of it slowly. The padding cooled and got heavy and clammy and the dress stuck to the front of it, and every time she shifted in her chair the wet moved against her and she felt the whole sodden mass of it shift with her, and she was so aware of it that she could barely follow a conversation. She could smell it, faintly, her own smell, whenever she moved. She was sure everyone else could too. Nobody said anything, which meant either they couldn't or they were being kind, and either way she sat there in her own cooling wet with her cheeks pink and her thighs pressed together and a low, insistent heat between her hips that had nothing to do with the diaper.
Twice she caught Marcus watching her from the corner of his eye with an expression that was entirely too pleased with itself.
The second time she mouthed I hate you at him. He mouthed back no you don't.
Four
The messing happened during pudding, and it was not planned.
She'd been holding it since before the starters without really noticing — the bladder had taken all her attention — and somewhere between the plates being set down and the first spoonful, the pressure at the back arrived all at once and deep, and she knew immediately that this was different from gas.
She put her spoon down.
"Marcus."
He turned properly this time, because her voice had a note in it. "What?"
"It's the — the other thing."
The table, which had gotten loud again, quietened in a wave. Bel sat back in her chair with her wine and said, "Oh, this is going to be good," to nobody in particular.
"Now?" Marcus said.
"It's coming now."
"Then go."
"I'm sitting—"
"Then go sitting." He held her eyes. "Everyone's already watched you piss yourself at the table, Josie. This is not the hard part."
Someone laughed, kindly. She put both hands flat on the tablecloth and let go.
It came slow and thick and she felt every part of it — the padding at the back giving and stretching, the warm heavy arrival of it, the way it kept coming in stages so she had to push, and push again, and the second push was the one that made her breath go out of her in a rush. The mess spread up and settled warm and full and enormous against her. The diaper, already heavy and wet at the front, went tight
Marcus told her on Thursday, which gave her a full day and a half to be sick about it.
"Dinner at Priya's Saturday," he said, from the doorway of the bedroom, in the tone that meant it wasn't a question. "Eight people. And I've told her."
Josie sat up in bed. "Told her what."
"About you. What you wear."
"Marcus." It came out of her like a leak.
"She was delighted. She's already got a towel out for the bathroom floor, apparently. She's very thorough." He came in and sat on the edge of the bed. "Here's how it's going to go. You wear from six o'clock. Dress, no jeans — something that shows it. You ask me at the table when you need to go, out loud, in front of everyone, and you tell me how bad it is."
"Out loud."
"Out loud. And if anyone asks you a question about it, you answer them properly, not in one-word grunts. And you don't change unless I say. Any of that too much?"
She swallowed. Her face was already hot and it was Thursday.
"...No."
"Good girl."
She was a wreck by Saturday. She tried on four dresses and hated all of them. The one she landed on was a soft grey wrap dress that fell just above the knee — not tight, but not clever either. It did not hide anything. When she stood in front of the mirror in a thick diaper under it, the shape of it was right there, a soft white block against her hips, and the padding made the skirt stand out from her thighs.
"You can see it," she said.
"You can absolutely see it," Marcus agreed, from the bed, unbothered. "You can hear it too. Turn around. — Yeah. Louder than you think."
He was right. Every step was a soft crinkle, muffled by the fabric but obvious, unmistakable once you knew what it was, and the padding pushed the skirt out so it swung against it with every move.
At six he checked the tapes, two fingers under each waistband edge, and then put his hand flat on the front of it and looked at her.
"How bad is it?"
"Three."
"Only a three. Drink something before we go."
She drank a glass of water in the kitchen with her hands not quite steady, and he watched her do it, and then he took her coat off the hook and held it for her, and she got one arm in and stopped.
"Does the coat hide it?"
"From behind. Not when you sit down." He kissed her cheek. "Ready?"
"No."
"Good. Let's go."
Two
Priya's hallway smelled like garlic and she hugged Josie with a glass of wine in one hand and said, right there, in the doorway, before Josie was even out of her coat: "You look lovely. Is that one of the thick ones?"
Josie's face went scarlet in stages.
"Yeah," she said. "It's — yeah."
"Good. There's a towel in the bathroom and a bag in the cabinet under the sink, and if you need anything at all you just say, alright?" She squeezed Josie's arm. "There's tonic in the kitchen, no ice, and I've got a jug of water with your name on it."
She had, in fact, put a jug of water on the table. It was glass, and it was full, and it sat there next to Josie's place setting like a taunt.
There were already five people in the living room. Josie knew three of them well enough to say hello to, and one of them — a woman called Bel — was a friend of Priya's who Josie had met twice and who had the kind of directness that made you feel like you were being x-rayed. Bel looked at her for a second longer than normal when they shook hands. Said nothing.
Marcus put his hand on Josie's lower back and steered her to the sofa, and she sat down, and the crinkle came out of the dress so loudly in the noise of the room that she was sure only she'd heard it.
She was wrong. Bel was on the arm of the same sofa, three feet away. She looked down at Josie's lap, and then at Josie, and one eyebrow went up a fraction, and she said nothing at all, and somehow that was worse than a question.
By the time they sat down at eight, Josie was at a six and her dress was already damp under her thighs from the glass she'd been sweating into the padding for twenty minutes.
She'd been careful. She'd sat straight, crossed her ankles, held her glass with both hands and not let herself fidget. But the pressure was a real, insistent ache now, sitting low and heavy, and the water jug was right there, and Priya topped her up without being asked, and it was going to be a long evening.
Marcus was talking to the man on his left about a cycling route. He'd done it deliberately — turned away from her, absorbed, unavailable.
She held it through the starters. She held it through Priya's second top-up. Somewhere around the point where the plates were being cleared she had her thighs pressed together under the table and her heel up against the chair leg and the pressure had gone from an ache to a demand, and she reached over and touched the back of Marcus's wrist.
He turned. He looked at her. He did not lean in.
"Yes?"
She'd hoped for a lean. He was making her talk across the table to the side of his head.
"Um." Her voice came out small in the noise. "Can I—"
The table didn't go quiet, exactly, but the noise dropped, the way it does when someone's clearly started something. Bel put her fork down. Priya stopped pouring.
"Can you what?" Marcus said.
"Can I go."
"Can you go where."
"Can I go—" She stopped. Took a breath. "Please can I go in my diaper."
She heard Priya say "oh, well done" quietly under her breath, which was mortifying. Bel made a small sound of approval.
"How bad is it?" Marcus said.
"Like a seven." Her voice cracked in the middle of it.
"Go on then."
She stayed in her chair. The whole table was looking at her. She'd been dreading the asking, and had not fully braced for the going — the going in front of eight people, all of whom now knew, none of whom were going to look away.
She let go.
The first second was the resistance, the body going here? now? in a chair? with everyone watching? — and then it broke and the warmth came, hot and sudden, blooming up the front of the padding and out across her hips in a wave she felt with her whole lower half. It kept coming. It was more than she'd expected, a long hot flood that filled the front of the diaper and ran back under her and up, and she couldn't stop it now, and she had to look at her plate and breathe through her mouth while it happened.
She heard it. So did everyone. There is no sound in the world like a full bladder emptying into a quiet diaper, and the room was not quiet anymore but the soft rushing hiss of it came through anyway, and her dress was sitting right against it.
"Fuck," she heard someone say — the man on Marcus's left — in the tone of someone who'd just seen a magic trick.
The warmth kept spreading. It went back under her seat and up her lower back and she felt the front of it go heavy and warm and the padding swell and press against her, and it was so much that she had to put her hand flat on the table.
When it finally stopped she was flushed to the collarbone and breathing like she'd run.
"All the way?" Marcus said.
"Yes." It barely came out.
"Good girl."
Priya poured her more water.
Three
The questions started then, and they were worse than the going.
"Does it feel nice?" Priya asked. "When it's warm like that?"
Josie stared at her plate. "Yeah."
"Yeah what?"
"...Yeah, it feels nice."
"Does it feel nice now?" Bel said.
"It's — warm." Her voice had gone thin. "It's still warm."
"It's still warm," Bel repeated, to the table, and the whole table made a noise of understanding, and Josie wanted to slide under it.
"How much can they hold?" someone asked.
"A lot," Josie said.
"A lot, or is that one nearly full?"
She had to actually check, which meant putting her hand under the table and pressing the front of her dress, and the wet give of it under her palm was so obvious and so warm that her breath caught. "It's — pretty full."
"Are you going to need changing before pudding?"
"I don't know." Her face was on fire. "Ask him."
They all looked at Marcus. He shrugged, easily, and said, "We'll see how she is," and Josie felt something go tight and low in her stomach.
Bel got up to help Priya with the plates and stopped beside Josie's chair on the way.
"Stand up a second," she said.
Josie stood. Bel looked her up and down — the dress, the obvious white block pushing it out at the hips, the slight sag of it at the front where it had gotten heavy — and then reached out and pressed two fingers against the front of it, right there, in front of everyone.
The wet squelch of it was audible. Josie's hips jerked.
"That's a lot," Bel said, to Marcus rather than to her. "You're going to need a change before you leave."
"She'll get one," Marcus said.
"Can you feel it when it's that wet?" Bel asked her, still not moving her hand.
"Yes." Josie could hear her own voice going small.
"Does it feel good?"
"...Yes."
"Look at her," Bel said, and took her hand away, and went to the kitchen, and Josie sat down so hard the padding squelched and had to hold the edge of the table.
She sat in it for another hour.
That was the worst and best part. The warmth went out of it slowly. The padding cooled and got heavy and clammy and the dress stuck to the front of it, and every time she shifted in her chair the wet moved against her and she felt the whole sodden mass of it shift with her, and she was so aware of it that she could barely follow a conversation. She could smell it, faintly, her own smell, whenever she moved. She was sure everyone else could too. Nobody said anything, which meant either they couldn't or they were being kind, and either way she sat there in her own cooling wet with her cheeks pink and her thighs pressed together and a low, insistent heat between her hips that had nothing to do with the diaper.
Twice she caught Marcus watching her from the corner of his eye with an expression that was entirely too pleased with itself.
The second time she mouthed I hate you at him. He mouthed back no you don't.
Four
The messing happened during pudding, and it was not planned.
She'd been holding it since before the starters without really noticing — the bladder had taken all her attention — and somewhere between the plates being set down and the first spoonful, the pressure at the back arrived all at once and deep, and she knew immediately that this was different from gas.
She put her spoon down.
"Marcus."
He turned properly this time, because her voice had a note in it. "What?"
"It's the — the other thing."
The table, which had gotten loud again, quietened in a wave. Bel sat back in her chair with her wine and said, "Oh, this is going to be good," to nobody in particular.
"Now?" Marcus said.
"It's coming now."
"Then go."
"I'm sitting—"
"Then go sitting." He held her eyes. "Everyone's already watched you piss yourself at the table, Josie. This is not the hard part."
Someone laughed, kindly. She put both hands flat on the tablecloth and let go.
It came slow and thick and she felt every part of it — the padding at the back giving and stretching, the warm heavy arrival of it, the way it kept coming in stages so she had to push, and push again, and the second push was the one that made her breath go out of her in a rush. The mess spread up and settled warm and full and enormous against her. The diaper, already heavy and wet at the front, went tight
26-30, M
