Okay, so it turns out that I mightreallyenjoy this holding thing. It sounded easy enough when Kris handed the diaper over and gave me a gentle nudge in the direction of the camp’s toilet block, which was much closer than going back to my cabin. I mean, the activities only run for about an hour each. An hour of not peeing? Easy.
Except…it’s been a hot day, and I drank a lot of water earlier. More than I usually would, because I knew I was going to be in Kris’s group, and I’ve been planning on a repeat of our first afternoon together. He’d enjoyed it as much as I did, so it made sense to do it all again.
He totally threw a wrench in my plans by insisting on the diaper.
And I know that I could have said no. I could have safe worded if I wanted to. But, for as much as I insist that I don’t do diapers, it’s not because it’s a hard limit thing.
It’s because, as I’ve confessed, I like having accidents. I don’t want to feel protected from them. I want to feel everything. I want to hear thehissof my bladder releasing. I want to feel the rush of warm liquid soaking my clothes and trickling down my legs and into my socks. I want to squirm in the discomfort as it coolson my skin and gets sticky and gross, making my clothes cling uncomfortably. And, because I’m in control of it and braced for it, I want it to be obvious to other people, for them to be able to see my shame and react to it. I want them to comment on it. To make me feel embarrassed about my inability to be a big boy.
I want the heat of the humiliation to ruin me.
So, yeah. No going in a diaper for me. No padded safety net keeping me dry and protected.
Only, as I sink further into Littlespace —feeling more Little than usual, likely because of the padding cushioning my butt and weighing down my crotch in an oddly soothing way— it’s getting more difficult to maintain that control. It also doesn’t help that Kris has been walking around the group, reminding us to drink water while we’re sweating away under the sun’s burning rays. I started this activity with a comfortably full bladder, and now it’s starting to twinge in warning.
It’s less than an hour. I can handle less than an hour.
“Who’s joining me for the next activity after this one?” Kris asks the group enthusiastically, making my eyes widen.
“What next activity?” I demand. I thought he was only running one this afternoon.
A few feet away and completely oblivious to my mounting discomfort, Tess giggles and waves her paintbrush in the air, “It’s a car racing competition. We get to build our own little cars and then race them down the hill.”
Beside her, another cute Little named Shea smiles at me a little shyly. With his blond hair, blue eyes, and twink-ish vibes, I almost feel like we could pass as relatives. He’s all sweet and wary, though, while I’m brash and bratty. He offers an almost timid, “It’s gonnabe fun.”
Tess nods her encouragement and agreement. “Shea’s friends with Theo. You know, the Da who runs the camp? So if he says it’s gonna be fun, you know it’s true.”
Shea’s cheeks heat up, but he nods his agreement. “I like playing with cars, and I think they’ll go fast down the hill. Especially if we put big tires on them.”
In my current headspace, I have to admit that it does sound like a lot of fun, but my bladder is already protesting the additional wait. Then Tess turns her big, earnest eyes on me, “Please come play with me again,” she begs. “It’s fun having friends.”
Kris drops to a crouch at my side just as I’m nodding my agreement. “I’m gonna do a dryness check, Benji. Traffic light?”
Excitement thrums through me, making my heart beat faster, even as my cheeks heat up. “Green.”
His big hand lands on my crotch, over my shorts, and he hums. “Still dry.”
I lift my chin. “Told you so.”
“Hmm,” he hums again, a little smirk of his own tugging at his lips. “We’ll see. There’s still ten minutes to go here, and the next activity doesn’t start for another twenty minutes after that. We’ll have time for a change if you need one.”
He’s not lowering his tone and the embarrassment of everyone hearing him —even if some of them are diapered themselves— makes this whole experience even more thrilling.
Still, I’m determined to stay dry. “I won’t need one.”
***
Halfway through the car activity, I’m practically buzzing with the effort of not wetting my diaper. There’s a conflicting jumbleof emotions rattling around inside me, from the desperation of holding it in, to the determination to win this unspoken competition, to the excitement of knowing that, either way, I’m going to lose control eventually…it’s a lot. And I love it. Fuck, how is this so enjoyable?
If I’d known how much fun holding is, I would have done this ages ago.
But there’s something additionally enjoyable about trying it with Kris, specifically. Maybe because I’ve seen first-hand how into watersports he is, and I know he’s getting just as worked up as I am, even if he hides it better. Or maybe because he’s the first Daddy in a long time to want to do more than one scene with me, and to want to spend a longer time with me, too. Maybe it’s pathetic, but Iwanthim to want to spend more time with me.
“Dryness check,” Kris interrupts my thoughts, placing a hand on my jiggling leg as he squats beside me for, like, the third time today. I’ve got my thighs clenched together as I kneel on the ground, fiddling with my car construction, but my potty dance game is still strong. “Traffic light?”
“Green,” The word comes out breathily, and I feel smug at the little frown forming between his bushy eyebrows as he pats the front of my shorts.
It feels good knowing that, so far, I’ve outwitted him. Well, maybe not outwitted. Out-stubborned him, definitely.
