This choice: Start polishing off the water bottles • Go Back...Chapter #6Starting With Soaking by: Crocko   Your claws tighten around one of the full bottles and you waste no time in unscrewing the cap, discarding it quickly as you pour the contents of the bottle straight down your throat. There's nothing unusual about the taste or texture - it's water, after all - but the knowledge of what's coming next lends a certain mischievous pleasure to the act of drinking it. Another half-litre of water disappears into your gullet in short order, then another, your eagerness to get to the fun part spurring you on.
It takes you less than five minutes to polish off all six-and-a-half bottles.You collapse back onto the bed once you're sure the last one is empty, dropping as quickly as your over-padded backside will allow, and let out a quiet groan as your hand settles on your slightly distended stomach. You're feeling a little nauseous, but it's nothing serious - or, at least, nothing as serious as what's coming up for you soon. You spend the next half-hour lying there impatiently, giving your tummy an occasional squeeze and poking your midriff experimentally, trying to gauge how full your bladder is without triggering the waterworks prematurely. Every glance down at your extra-thick, extra-comfy, annoyingly clean padding makes you a little more frustrated, but you calm yourself by thinking about how it'll look in another half-hour.
Sure enough, after over thirty minutes of anticipation, a familiar tingle in your nether regions jars you to attention. You know from experience that this is all the warning you're going to get of what's coming as you struggle to kneel up, wincing as your bloated bladder contracts under the pressure of your movements. You just about have time to open your legs a little and rest atop your padding as an all-too-familiar hissing reaches your ears and you feel every muscle in your groin give way, unable to hold back the torrent you sent down.
Your incredibly thick padding grows thicker still as it dutifully absorbs what you drank both recently and last night, crinkling in a satisfying manner and pushing up against the bed-covers below you. It takes a few seconds, but the tell-tale yellow stain of a soaked diaper shows up on your ludicrously well-padded crotch eventually, growing wider and deeper in colour as you continue to fuel it. Your legs widen further and you let out a quiet groan of satisfaction as you sink into your own warm, soaking undergarment, continuing to use it to its fullest as you relax and sink your claws gratefully into your stained, comfy crotch.
It takes over a minute of continuous relief before you finally feel your lower muscles tighten. A quick poke of your bladder confirms that it isn't quite empty yet, but you're kind of glad it stopped leaking - your diaper, despite its size, is yellow from tape to tape, and the leg gains barely cling to your thighs against the litres of liquid sitting inside your padding. You'd probably leak if you went any further, and that's something you don't want to have to clean up. You pull your legs up and sit down in your diaper, delighting as you slowly sink into its comfy, cosy lining. If moving around was tough before, it's surely impossible at this point - your padding would sink almost to your calves, and your legs would be pushed so far apart that walking would be exhausting. No problem, though - you're not going anywhere, and you're fine with that.
After a minute of gently squeezing your diaper up against yourself and shifting around in your seated position, your eyes drift over to the now-empty bedside table. Empty, that is, except for the X-LAX you forewent half an hour ago. You're not sure how your already-struggling padding would cope with a real load, but there's only one way to find out, right? Either that, or you could just keep soaking and throw caution about your bed-sheets to the wind. | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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