I Don't Believe My Eyes

[PeculiarChangeling]

I squirmed in my diaper as we waited in the fast food line.

At least, I assumed that I did.

I could feel it sagging around my hips, a little damp from when I thought I used it earlier. Looking down, I could see the faded paw prints, see the obvious evidence of my accident, with no shorts or other clothes to cover it up.

Since nobody else was reacting to the grown adult wearing a soggy diaper while standing in line at the food court, I was pretty sure that I was wearing pants. Or, who knows, maybe I had on a skirt. Something to cover up my diaper - assuming I was wearing a diaper at all.

Daddy squeezed my hand and then let go, reaching back to covertly squeeze the back of my whatever-I-was-wearing. Checking my diaper. I looked up at him - he was almost a foot taller than me, and I had to look up sharply to meet his eyes.

He was wrinkling his nose a little bit. I worried that my diaper was messy after all, and I just couldn’t feel it - but then he smirked and shook his head. It was a trick, a joke on his part.

I swallowed, stepping forward in line. These little outings were exercises in humiliation. I never knew how I was going to be embarrassed, but I always knew it was coming. At some point, the penny would drop, and Daddy would let me see what I was really wearing. Or maybe he wouldn’t, and I’d be left clueless why everyone around me was snickering or pinching their nose in disgust.

Or, very occasionally, Daddy would let me use the potty, take me home, and nothing would happen. It was rare, but he did it once in a while, just so I got to keep that glimmer of hope alive.

Daddy ‘adopted’ me two years ago, and I hadn’t been able to trust my senses ever since.

Don’t ask me how his ability worked - Magic, or science, or something in between. I don’t think he can use it on anyone except me. If he could use it on everyone, he would probably be president or king of the world or something.

Instead, he just owned me.

He could control what I see, what I feel, what I hear. Sometimes, I’d think I was wearing pants, but I was really in a diaper and had been all along. Sometimes, I’d think I was wearing a diaper, and then when I started to pee, the illusion would drop and I’d suddenly be wetting myself in a full movie theater, staining my jeans and making an awful mess.

And I never knew what’s real.

You never really think about how perception alters your reality until someone else takes that perception away from you. Doors locked for me, but not for anyone else. I could be helplessly bound and tied up and unable to move, when there was not a single thing holding me down. At a flick of his wrist, Daddy could make me feel like I’m being given the hardest spanking of my life while I was alone, fully clothed.

My breath caught as we stepped forward in line and I realized, suddenly, that I desperately needed to use the potty. I hadn’t felt the need until then, but it was suddenly overwhelming, with painful cramps forcing my body to act. Daddy put his hand on my backside again and I felt his fingers on the seat of my diaper as I helplessly filled it with mush, my accident bulging out in the back of my diaper. It felt like I filled up the diaper to impossible proportions, making it sag heavily around my waist, and I fought to keep my expression neutral as I smelled what I’d done.

Nobody else seemed to notice, for now, as the line moved forward and I awkwardly waddled up. You didn’t really have an accident, I told myself. You’ve got pants on that you can’t see. Nobody else can smell what I did - what I didn’t do.

As we got to the front of the line, the pretty girl working the cash register put her hand over her nose and looked at me in disgust. I did a double take, and she wasn’t looking at me at all, instead smiling at Daddy. “What can I get you?”

“A Royale with cheese for me, and a twelve piece nuggets for this little stinker,” Daddy said, ruffling my hair. He probably actually said that - It’s an ambiguous enough pet name that it might not be referring to the smelly mess in my potential diaper.

We got our food, and went to have a seat at one of the food court tables. I winced as I sat down in my diaper, feeling it squelch around my waist.

Daddy smirked at me. I heard his voice, but his lips didn’t move. It was an imagined sentence, for my ears only. “Would you like a diaper change after we eat?”

I nodded, sheepishly. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll make you a deal then. I can change you into a clean diaper and your favorite shirt, but nothing else. Or, I can leave you exactly as you are. Then, we’ll finish our shopping and go home.”

I swallowed. If I really was wearing what I thought I was wearing, then anything would be preferable - Even my ‘favorite shirt’, a baby blue T that read ‘Daddy’s Little Dump Truck’ with a cartoon picture of the titular vehicle on the front. For all I knew, though, I was wearing jeans and clean boxers and nothing out of the ordinary at all, and I’d be changing from something mundane into something humiliating.

“I, um…” I said, squirming as I weighed my options.

“You have to choose one,” Daddy said. “Otherwise, I’ll put you in Time Out when we get home.”

That was his nuclear option. In Time Out, he took away even the barest hint of reality. All that existed was the corner he’d make me sit in, usually while wearing an impossibly filthy diaper, and almost always while feeling like I was in the middle of a particularly stingy spanking. I hated it, even more than I hated the constant humiliation Daddy put me through.

“I’ll-” I started to say.

Before I could finish, I realized someone was standing behind me. A woman in her late 20s, with a cute button nose and a fast food restaurant uniform. “Excuse me?”

Daddy addressed her. “Can I help you?”

“I need to ask y’all to leave,” she said. “The… well, the smell’s bothering the other customers.”

As she said it, the illusion dropped.

I was still in a messy diaper. Not quite so packed full as I’d thought, but still squelching between my thighs. Daddy had at least let me wear shorts, but they were too baggy and hung down around my hips, so that the waistband of my diaper was poking out visibly above them, almost three inches of plastic white padding visible.

And, just to rub salt in the wound, I was wearing my ‘favorite’ shirt.

The wrinkled noses and grossed out looks being cast my way were all real, and all unmistakeable. I flushed bright pink.

“I’m sorry,” Daddy said. “My pumpkin here can’t help it, and I get so used to it that I almost don’t notice. We’ll go right away.”

“Well, you’re welcome to come back, sugar,” the fast food manager said, “But be sure to take care of him right away next time.”

“Will do, ma’am.”

I wanted to curl up and die from embarrassment as he stood up, took my hand, and pulled me to my feet as well. “We can come back and finish our shopping tomorrow,” he said to me, speaking loudly as he said, “Come on, let’s go get your diaper changed.”

Another outing, I realized. Normally I at least got a few days reprieve between our various humiliations.

My face burning, I waddled behind Daddy as we walked out to the mall’s parking lot. I knew what was coming next, but there was no stopping it. He loved taking any chance he could to change my diaper in the car.

“Since you didn’t decide,” he added, “It’ll be time out once we get home.”

“But-” I started. “I got interrupted!”

I felt a sudden sharp pain on my butt and winced. “You had time to decide, and you didn’t,” Daddy chided.

“That’s not fair!”

Daddy stopped in the parking lot, turning to face me. “Of course it isn’t fair. This isn’t a democracy. I own you, and if you don’t stop complaining this very moment, then I might decide that I need to remind you of that fact.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, immediately.

“You’re sorry…?” he asked, waiting for me to finish the sentence.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I said. “I forgot that I don’t get to decide anything anymore.”

“That’s better.” Daddy pulled me the rest of the way to his hatchback, raising the back and pointing to the changing mat he had set up inside. “Lay down, and we’ll get you changed.”

I knew better than to disobey, and I hopped up on the changing pad.

As always, Daddy took his time, slowly pulling down my shorts and miming a reaction to how full my diaper was. He made comments about the smell, loud enough that people walking by in the parking lot would inevitably hear. He went slowly with wipes, getting me properly clean in the most inefficient way possible, and set the wadded up, used diaper near my head so I would have to smell it while he put a fresh diaper on me.

I just crossed my arms and shut my eyes, praying for this to end so we could go home. At least there, I would be humiliated in private.

“Bottoms up,” Daddy said. I wasn’t going to get my shorts back for the drive home, it seemed, because he hadn’t put them back on me.

Sitting up, I felt a squelch. My diaper was already full, bulging at the elastic and threatening to fall off. It smelled putrid, and weighed me down when I tried to get to my feet.

“To remind you that you’re just a helpless little poopy-pants baby,” Daddy explained, “Don’t worry about it leaking.”

Waddling around the car, I went to my carseat. It was just a regular seat, but Daddy made me see a carseat instead, which he buckled me into, pushing me down into my diaper as he did.

We drove home. I squirmed, uncomfortably, every time we hit a bump in the road. Even knowing with certainty that the mush in my diaper was only detectable to me, it still smelled awful and reminded me of how helpless I was.

Once we got home, Daddy of course made me carry in all our groceries, one bag at a time. I had to waddle from the garage to the house, feeling my diaper squelch between my legs, still uncertain if we really had a privacy fence or not - right now it looked like we did, but for all I knew, there was no fence at all, and the neighbors could see me waddling back and forth in what I hoped was a clean diaper.

Daddy made me do the rest of my chores, but I knew what was coming. He’d promised me a time out, and he always kept his promises. So, as I squelched around the house, doing the dishes, cleaning the bathroom that I wasn’t allowed to use, doing laundry, all I could think about was my impending punishment.

When I was done, I finally went up to speak with him. “I’m done with my chores, Da-”

My vision changed. I was sitting in a corner, on the floor, my knees pulled up to my chest. My diaper was still immensely full. There was a pacifier in my mouth that I couldn’t spit out.

I could move, but only a little, wiggling around in place.

This was Time Out.

“Think about why you’re in here,” Daddy said. “I’ll let you out once I think you’ve learned your lesson.”

I was in here because I’d failed to answer a question fast enough. That was the obvious answer.

But… it wasn’t true.

I was in Time Out because Daddy wanted to punish me. Because Daddy wanted to control me. Because, whatever he wanted to happen would happen, and I couldn’t stop him, any more than I could stand up and leave time out.

For the first six months that he’d owned me, I had hoped he would get bored of me and let me go, but now I didn’t think that was likely anymore.

He just liked humiliating me.

I was in time out for longer than normal. There was no way to tell the time, but it seemed to drag on forever. Nothing but me and my thoughts and my stinky diaper.

When the illusion faded, it was morning. I was exhausted, and my legs had fallen asleep. I was still in a diaper, but it was no longer ridiculously full - now, it was only full from an overnight usage, a bit soggy, a bit heavy. I hadn’t actually messed in it at all.

I frowned. This wasn’t how I came out of Time Out. Daddy always made an ordeal of it, usually capping off my punishment with a spanking or some other humiliation.

Waiting for sensation to return to my legs, I got to my feet, waddling around the living room. Daddy wasn’t downstairs.

What’s going on?

I crept upstairs, trying to be as silent as possible. None of the doors in the house were locked. I could open the bathroom door and go inside, nothing stopped me.

Careful to stay quiet, I poked my head in the master bedroom.

Daddy was asleep.

My heart leapt. If he had slept too long, was it possible that his powers had expired? That they’d worn off, leaving me with my real senses, at least for a little while?

If that was the case…

I could leave.

I could be free.

Creeping over to the dresser, I swiped Daddy’s wallet off the top and retrieved a pair of pants and a too-large shirt. It’d have to do.

I was fine going commando. Getting out of the bedroom as fast as possible, I took off the diaper, just dropping it on the floor and leaving it, pulling on Daddy’s baggy clothing. It was all way too big for me, and the bottom of the pants caught on my heels as I opened the front door and ran.

I didn’t look back. I didn’t stop running for a mile, at which point I had to stop and wheeze and catch my breath.

Realizing that I didn’t want any connection to him, I took out Daddy’s wallet and threw everything down a gutter except for the cash. There was a bus stop a few blocks away, so I got on, riding it all the way to the greyhound at the end of town.

I was… free. I could go anywhere I wanted. I bought a pair of flip flops from a kiosk and a one way ticket to a city on the far side of the country.

As the bus loaded up, I took a seat at the far back, watching for Daddy out the window. Praying he wouldn’t come and find me before we left.

There was no sign of him, and as the bus started to move, I relaxed in the seat, breathing out a sigh of relief.

And then I frowned, hearing a crinkle. Looking down, I put a hand to my crotch.

I was wearing a diaper.

 

 

I hope you enjoyed this one! It was a fun concept to play around with. 

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