"How's it going in here?" you ask from the doorway.
She had snuck off to the playroom a few minutes ago to mess her diaper. Well, in her words to "play alone for a little bit", but you know what she really meant.
"Mmmh, fine," she mutters without facing you. She's on her knees moving her farm animal figurines around on the low play table. She's concentrating hard, but giving the occasional tell tale squirm.
Her short sleeve romper is form fitting against her diaper. There's a slight droop in the back and the diaper is making her backside incredibly round and poofed out. There's no smell yet, so you think it's probably just pee so far.
You can only imagine the pressure in her gut and feeling of need building in her. Is she holding it, fighting the cramps, waiting until the last possible moment until failure? Or, has she surrendered all control and will let anything out without a second thought?
You stay in the threshold and watch her play for a few moments. It's adorable the way she whispers to herself and makes the animals trot around. Right as she goes to move her plastic cow inside the barn she stops and grips the edge of the low table. Her eyes widen and water slightly. She leans forward and arches her back inwards which pushes her bottom out. Puffs of concerted exhale come from her nose. She's trying not to make any noise but a few squeaky grunts escape her scrunched up mouth.
You feel yourself start to get excited at the scene unfolding in front of you. The vulnerability, intimacy, and subversiveness sends arousal shooting through your veins.
"You ok?" You know exactly what she's doing.
With a little whine she turns her head over one shoulder and puts on a pouty lip.
"Babies who choose to poop in their pants don't get privacy, sweetie."
She whines again, but it gets cut off by more grunts. There's no going back. Staring at the taught yellow fabric you can see the seat of her diaper shifting and expanding. It seems to be a solid mess. There's a protruding shape against the fabric, rather than a spread out sag. The shorts of the romper measure a few inches below the leg cuffs of her diaper. You would love to roll them up to inspect the inner leak guards and see the damage. Later.
With a final push and wiggle of her bottom the show is over. Her eyes blink up at you with an impressive guileless quality. You have no idea how she manages to do that despite being a fully grown and physically mature adult.
Before returning to her farm she shoots you a bashful smile, "All done," then she turns away, "now, it's time for all the cows to go to bed...come along little calf." She's already immersed back in her farm world like nothing happens.
You can't ignore the chemicals in your brain now. All the arousal bells are ringing and you think you might explode if you don't do something soon.
Despite your nearly primal feelings inside, you leave the room. You'll let her sit in it a bit, you know she likes it. That diaper could probably take another good wetting too and her lower half is covered in a good layer of rash cream. There's no rush.
To pass the time you might watch her on the baby monitor and touch yourself under your clothes. She knows you can see her. She also knows you like it when she sits down and tries to get any sort of friction going between her full diaper and the floor. Neither of you will get all the way there, just far enough that your pupils are blown up and you're breathing heavily, desperate for each other's touch.
When neither of you can take it much longer you'll "check" on her again and both of you will pretend you weren't up to anything at all. Then, the real fun begins.
