Friendship and Fantasies: Part 6
By Sage Ann
Laura squirmed on the floor, her body a battlefield of opposing forces. The pressure in her bladder had become a physical ache, sharp and insistent, while the muscles holding everything in place had begun to tremble with the effort of maintaining control. She rocked back and forth, the motion providing momentary relief, then none at all. The cartoon on the television had become a blur of color and sound, meaningless against the singular focus of her discomfort. She couldn't hold on much longer—didn't want to hold on—and yet her body refused to surrender its last vestige of adult dignity.
Behind her, in the arched entrance to the living room, Mike stood watching. He'd finished the dishes minutes ago but had paused, transfixed by the sight of his wife—his capable, composed wife—squirming on the floor like a toddler fighting a losing battle with her bladder. He remained silent, not wanting to interrupt the moment with his presence. There was something profoundly intimate about witnessing Laura's struggle, more intimate perhaps than any sexual encounter they'd shared. This was Laura at her most vulnerable, her most unguarded.
The pressure reached its inevitable crescendo. Laura gasped as her overwrought muscles finally surrendered, releasing a flood of warmth into the waiting diaper. The initial sensation was one of pure physical relief—the blessed emptying of an overfull bladder, the release of tension that had built to painful levels. But as the warmth spread across her most sensitive areas, something unexpected happened.
Pleasure. Not the simple relief of physical discomfort, but actual pleasure—sharp, intense, and unmistakably sexual—radiated outward from where the wetness touched her skin. Laura's eyes widened in shock as the sensation intensified, building with each passing second as more of the diaper grew damp. It was as if every nerve ending in her genital region had suddenly awakened, sending pulses of ecstasy through her lower body.
A involuntary shudder passed through her, her thighs clenching against the unexpected onslaught of sensation. This couldn't be normal. Wetting oneself wasn't supposed to feel good—let alone this good, this overwhelming. Yet the pleasure continued to build, spreading throughout her pelvis in waves that made her breath catch and her head spin.
The contradiction was dizzying. The act—sitting on the floor in a soaked diaper like an infant—should have been humiliating. The sensation—this throbbing, insistent pleasure—belonged to an entirely different context. The disconnect between what she was doing and what she was feeling created a sort of cognitive vertigo, her mind struggling to reconcile opposing realities.
Laura's hand moved unconsciously to the front of her diaper, pressing against the warm wetness, intensifying the sensation. A small sound escaped her—something between a gasp and a moan—as another wave of pleasure washed over her.
"Looks like someone needed that diaper after all."
Mike's voice startled her. Laura's hand jerked away from her diaper as if burned, her face flushing hot with embarrassment. How long had he been watching? How much had he seen? Her eyes met his, expecting to find amusement or satisfaction. Instead, she saw something deeper—a tender wonder, as if he were witnessing something precious and unexpected.
He crossed the room and knelt beside her, his hand gently touching the front of her diaper. "Very wet," he confirmed, his voice soft with approval. "My little princess had quite an accident, didn't she?"
The words, spoken with such affection, sent another pulse of pleasure through Laura's already overwrought system. What was happening to her? Why was this infantilizing treatment arousing her so intensely? The questions swirled in her mind, unanswered and increasingly unimportant as the physical sensations dominated her awareness.
"Let's get you changed," Mike said, scooping her into his arms once more.
Being carried while wet added a new dimension to the experience. The weight of the soaked diaper against her, the slight squish with each of Mike's steps, the persistent throbbing between her legs—all combined to keep Laura in a state of confused arousal as Mike carried her up the stairs and into the bathroom.
The guest bathroom had been transformed. A large, padded changing mat covered the counter beside the sink, and the usual toiletries had been replaced with baby powder, lotion, and wipes. But it was the bathtub that caught Laura's attention—filled with a few inches of warm water and a scattering of colorful bath toys.
"Bath time first," Mike announced, setting her down on the bathmat. "Arms up."
Laura complied, allowing Mike to pull her T-shirt over her head, leaving her naked except for the sodden diaper. She expected to feel exposed, vulnerable, but instead felt only the continuing waves of pleasure and a growing acceptance of her role.
Mike removed the wet diaper with practiced movements, wrapping it efficiently and dropping it into a waiting bin. Then he helped Laura into the bath, his hands steady and sure as she stepped over the edge of the tub and sank into the warm water.
The bathwater embraced her like an old friend, soothing her skin where the diaper had begun to irritate. Laura looked at the scattered bath toys—a yellow rubber duck, a small plastic boat, a set of stacking cups—and felt a smile tug at her lips. This was absurd, objectively ridiculous, and yet there was something undeniably comforting about the simple pleasure of a warm bath prepared by someone who cared for you.
Mike knelt beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves before reaching for a washcloth and a bottle of body wash that smelled of lavender and vanilla. "Let's get you all clean," he said, his voice gentle but matter-of-fact.
He washed her with careful thoroughness, the washcloth moving across her shoulders, down her arms, across her chest. When he reached her breasts, his touch remained clinical rather than sexual, though Laura's body responded with renewed arousal regardless. The disconnect between the non-sexual context and her body's insistent response created a curious tension, a sweet ache that had nowhere to go.
Mike washed between her legs with the same careful attention, the washcloth gliding over her most sensitive areas. Laura bit her lip, fighting the urge to press against his hand, to seek the release her body craved. This wasn't about sex, she reminded herself. This was about care, about trust, about giving Mike the gift of her complete vulnerability.
When she was clean, Mike helped her stand and wrapped her in a large, fluffy towel. He dried her with the same attentive care he'd shown while washing her, patting her skin dry rather than rubbing, his movements gentle and unhurried.
"Now let's get you dressed in something more comfortable," he said, leading her to the guest bedroom.
The guest room, like the bathroom, had been transformed. A large crib stood against one wall—adult-sized, its white metal frame sturdy enough to hold her weight. The rest of the furniture remained normal, but the crib dominated the space, a clear statement of intent and preparation.
On the bed lay an outfit that made Laura blink in surprise. An adult-sized onesie in pale yellow, decorated with small embroidered ducklings. Beside it lay another thick diaper, a baby bottle filled with what looked like milk, and a pacifier on a ribbon.
"I thought you might like something cozier than just a T-shirt," Mike explained, guiding her to the edge of the bed.
Laura sat, the towel wrapped around her shoulders, as Mike knelt before her with the fresh diaper. This time, knowing what would follow, she felt a flutter of anticipation as he positioned the diaper beneath her. The material was cool against her still-warm skin, the powder fragrant as Mike sprinkled it liberally across her lower body. He rubbed lotion into her skin first, his fingers gentle against the places where the previous diaper had left slight redness.
"This will help prevent any rash," he murmured, his voice practical yet tender. "We want to keep our baby girl comfortable."
Our baby girl. The phrase sent a shiver through Laura that had nothing to do with being damp and everything to do with the growing pleasure she found in surrendering to this role. As Mike secured the tapes of the fresh diaper, she felt herself settling more fully into the headspace—not fighting it, not analyzing it, simply experiencing it.
The onesie came next, soft cotton with snaps at the shoulders and between the legs. Mike guided her arms through the sleeves, then pulled it over her head. The garment was both ridiculous and comforting—a giant baby outfit that nonetheless felt like being wrapped in a gentle hug. Mike fastened the snaps between her legs, securing the onesie over her diaper with a patting motion that seemed half playful, half possessive.
"There," he said, sitting back to admire his work. "My pretty baby all dressed and ready for naptime."
He helped her to her feet, and Laura caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror—a grown woman in a yellow duckling onesie, her hair still damp from the bath, her expression a mixture of embarrassment and something else, something softer and more yielding than she was accustomed to seeing on her own face.
"But first," Mike said, retrieving the bottle from the bed, "a little something to help you sleep."
He sat in the rocking chair beside the crib and beckoned Laura to him. She approached hesitantly, unsure of what he expected. Mike reached for her hand and gently tugged her onto his lap. She went willingly, settling against him, her diapered bottom pressing against his thighs. The position was intimate but not sexual, her head tucked beneath his chin, her body curled against his chest.
Mike brought the bottle to her lips, and Laura opened without hesitation. The nipple was soft silicone, larger than an infant's bottle but designed with the same basic function. The milk was warm and slightly sweet—perhaps vanilla-flavored. Laura sucked experimentally, finding the action soothing in a way she hadn't anticipated. The rhythmic motion, the warm liquid, the strong arms holding her—all combined to create a sense of profound security.
As she nursed from the bottle, Laura felt herself growing sleepy. Whether from the emotional intensity of the day so far, the warm bath, or simply the relaxation of being held so securely, her eyelids grew heavy. The persistent arousal from earlier receded to a gentle hum, present but no longer urgent. In its place came a floating sense of contentment, a dreamlike acquiescence to the moment.
Mike rocked slightly as she drank, one hand holding the bottle, the other stroking her hair. The motion was hypnotic, lulling Laura further toward sleep. By the time the bottle was empty, her eyes were closing despite her efforts to keep them open.
"Sleepy girl," Mike whispered, his lips brushing her temple. "Time for your nap."
He lifted her again—how many times had he carried her today? The sensation of weightlessness had become familiar, comforting—and placed her gently in the crib. The mattress was firm but comfortable, covered with soft sheets printed with stars and moons. Mike tucked a light blanket around her, then placed the stuffed elephant from earlier beside her and a pacifier within reach.
"Sweet dreams, princess," he murmured, stroking her cheek once before straightening.
Laura blinked up at him, sleep already tugging at the edges of her consciousness. The last thing she saw before drifting off was Mike's face, tender and wondering, as if he couldn't quite believe the gift he'd been given.
She slept deeply, dreamlessly, waking some time later to the pressure of a full bladder once again. The room was dim with afternoon light filtering through partially closed blinds. For a moment, Laura was disoriented—the unfamiliar bed, the constraints of the crib sides, the strange clothing.
Then memory returned, bringing with it awareness of her situation and the insistent need to relieve herself. The bathroom was just across the hall, but the crib sides were raised, caging her in. She could call for Mike, ask him to help her out so she could use the toilet properly. That would be the adult thing to do.
But something had shifted during her sleep, some barrier had lowered. Without giving herself time to reconsider, Laura relaxed and allowed her bladder to release, flooding the fresh diaper with warmth. The effect was immediate and intense—pleasure crashed over her in waves, far stronger than before, radiating from her center in pulses that made her gasp aloud. It was as if every nerve ending between her legs had been electrified, sending sparks of sensation throughout her lower body.
Laura's face flushed hot with the intensity of it, her back arching slightly against the mattress. This was beyond arousal, beyond anything she'd experienced before. The pleasure was so acute it bordered on pain, demanding release.
Half-conscious of her actions, desperate for relief from the mounting tension, Laura rolled onto her stomach. The wet diaper pressed against her most sensitive parts, and she instinctively sought more pressure, more friction. The stuffed elephant lay beside her, and without questioning the impulse, she grabbed it and positioned it between her legs.
The shame that should have accompanied the act was absent, washed away by the tide of sensation. Laura pressed against the toy, the wet diaper creating a slick barrier between it and her desperate flesh. She rocked against it, movements growing more urgent as the pleasure built toward an inevitable peak.
When release finally came, it was shattering in its intensity. Laura buried her face in the pillow to muffle her cry as waves of ecstasy pulsed through her, each one stronger than the last. Her body shuddered with the force of it, muscles tensing then releasing in a pattern as old as humanity.
As the aftershocks subsided, Laura rolled onto her back, breathing heavily, her mind spinning with the implications of what had just happened. She had just experienced the most intense orgasm of her life while wearing a wet diaper, grinding against a stuffed toy, in an adult-sized crib. The absurdity of it should have been mortifying.
Instead, as her breathing slowed and her thoughts cleared, a silly smile spread across her face. This was definitely something they would have to do again.
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