It’s December, but days before the 25th. Dr. Samuels enters my loft where I await lying on my shag rug, well secured as always. I am happy to see him. Miss Louise left for work more than two hours ago, leaving me well watered. I need to pee!
In being diapered I have pressed and forced some flow past my locked labia. But the effort is laborious and it feels as though my bladder fills faster than I can contract my diaphragm and dribble into the absorbent white cloth. And in addition to the aggravation of constant fullness, lying in the smelly wetness adds to the discomfort. Plus as always, with my loose bowels, pressing to force fluid from my bladder brings another source of soil to the garment as well.
“Please, Dr. Samuels, I need the basin.”
He smiles graciously, stoops and pulls at the
