CHAPTER 9
TABITHA
No, no, no,no.
This is not happening. I amnotgoing to be forced to pee myself.
But even as my brain goes into denial overdrive, the pressure on my bladder increases, and panic digs its claws into my lungs, once more depriving me of air.
He’s actually going to do it. He’s going to force me to pee in a diaper. While I’m sitting on his lap.
“Relax for me, little one,” Daddy murmurs, his voice soft and soothing like he’s talking me through something completely mundane and not convincing me topee myself.
“I don’t wanna use my diaper!” The words rip from me on an anguished wail, but my distress doesn’t seem to move the man keeping me hostage on his lap. If anything, he presses harder on my abdomen, and I realize with growing horror I may not be able to stop the inevitable.
Growing more desperate with each passing second, I squeeze my legs together as best I’m able with the thick cotton between my thighs.
“I know, little one.” He almost sounds sympathetic, but there’s a glee beneath his words that gives him away. “But you’re going to. Because you’re Daddy’s good little girl and you want to make Daddy proud of you. Don’t you, baby?”
No! No, I don’t!
The words lodge in my throat, though I’m not sure if it’s because I’m too scared to lie… or too scared to tell him the humiliating truth. That I do, desperately, want to make him proud of me.
Either way, I can’t force them free. When I open my mouth to protest, all that comes out is a strangled gasp as I try to speak and breathe at the same time.
“Fuck.” His muttered curse is harsh, and for a moment his anger feels like it might smother me.
But then he moves his hand from my bladder to my chest, like he did back at the hotel, and he pushes down on my heart. Dark eyes lock with mine, stern and unyielding.
“Breathe with me, baby. Just like before. In through your nose”—he inhales deeply to demonstrate and I struggle to mimic him as best I can—“and hold it. One. Two. Three. Four. Now out through your mouth.Good girl.”
The talons lodged in my chest loosen at his praise, and with every breath he walks me through. Little by little, I can fill my lungs with more oxygen, until at last I can breathe normally.
“There we go,” he murmurs, rubbing gently at the spot over my heart he’d been pressing on. “My good girl. You did such a good job, following Daddy’s instructions.”
Shame and pride both well in my chest at his words. “I don’t think good girls have panic attacks every ten seconds.”
Anger flashes in his eyes, dark and menacing, a moment before his hand slides up to wrap around my throat. Not hard enough to cut off my air supply, but with enough pressure to make it clear he could if he wanted to. I freeze under his hand,terror gripping me as I stare up into the burning brown of his eyes.
“Daddydecides if you've been a good girl or not. And do good girls argue with their Daddies, Tabitha Grace?”
“N-no, Daddy,” I manage to gasp out.
“No, they do not.” The hand around my throat tightens. “The next time you want to contradict me, I suggest you think twice.”
Or what?The retort burns on my tongue, but I don’t give voice to it, no matter how desperately I want to. At the end of the day, I am actually a good girl, always doing as I’m told, even when I hate myself for it.
“Yes, Daddy,” I answer instead, the words bitter and acrid on my tongue.
I’m rewarded for my obsequiousness with another of those smug freaking smiles and the loosening of his hand. “See? You are my very good girl. Are you going to keep being my good girl and use your diaper, little one?”
I don’t want to. God knows thelastthing I want to do is wet myself at all, but especially in front of him and pretty blonde Kerry who is no doubt lurking about, waiting to witness my humiliation.
But when he presses on my bladder again, I already know I won’t be able to resist him. The panic attack drained what little fight I had in me, and I’m too tired to try and dig up any more.
So I close my eyes, letting my head fall onto his shoulder with a whimper as I will my muscles to relax. It takes longer than I expect it to, perhaps because my subconscious is fighting the battle I don’t have the energy for, but eventually I feel my bladder release and a wet warmth spreading over the cotton covering my mound.
“Such a good Little girl you are,” Daddy murmurs, pressing a kiss to my hair before rising from the seat with me still cradledin his arms. He carries me to a whole other room—I didn’t even know planeshadrooms—which is set up like a child’s nursery.
