Shooting Star: Honeymoon (Patreon)

A kind of one-off short story commissioned by an anonymous Patron, set in the same world as Shooting Star, but not connected to that story at all, other than through the star itself.

"Oh, come on," Courtney groaned, though, of course, she should have expected it. Perhaps, if she hadn't been so drunk already, she would have remembered that the line for the women's restroom was always long at these places, especially as the night went on.

It didn't help that it was so beautiful out that night. The bar was right on the beach, which was incredible, basically a little hut with the bar itself, and a few picnic tables out front for anyone who couldn't grab one of the barstools, or didn't want to dance in the sand around it. It was the perfect way to spend the evenings on her honeymoon... Other than it sharing a public restroom with the rest of the beach. 

Courtney had thought that was convenient, when she'd seen it at first, had even been inside earlier that day, after going for a swim, and been impressed by how nice it was. She hadn't thought, then, about how few stalls there were, really, how backed up it was likely to get once there were people partying at the bar... And this was probably the worst time, too, since it was early enough that there were still a few families filtering back in from the beach, wanting to use the toilet before the car ride back to their hotel.

It also wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't waited so long to stumble her way over there, but she'd been having so much fun she didn't want to tear herself away; perhaps she'd been more aware, in the back of her mind, too, that this was going to happen, and wanted to put it off. Then again, if she hadn't, then she might have gotten into the line when it was shorter, or, at the very least, when her bladder felt less like it was about to burst.

"This is such bulls..." she began to whine, pressing her legs together, cognizant enough to stop herself before she swore, remembering that she wasn't inside an actual bar as she spotted a little girl in the other line. You knew it was busy when there was a line for the men's room as well, even if it wasn't nearly as bad as the one she was in. She clamped a hand to her mouth, wanting to yell over her apologies to the girl's father, only to hear the girl speak instead.

She was terrible at judging kids' ages, although it was obvious she was very young, bouncing in place, not unlike Courtney, sniffling, squirming... And then stopping, her eyes widening. "Daddy!" she wailed. "I-I wet!"

The man sighed, but smiled down at her patiently. "It's all right," he told her, giving her a hug. "That's what the Pull-Ups are for. If we hadn't had to wait so long, you would have made it, huh?"

The girl nodded. "U-Uh-huh," she nodded, starting to suck her thumb.

"What do you think, sweetie?" her father asked. "Do you want to get changed here, or do you want to go back and do it there?"

Courtney couldn't help thinking about how nice and convenient that sounded, compared to this awful line. "Too bad I'm not in a Pull-Up, too. Then I wouldn't hafta worry about making it. I wish I only had to think about getting my Daddy to change me when I had an accident instead of having to get to the bathroom on time," she mumbled, barely aware that she was speaking out loud at all... And certainly unaware of the shooting star passing overhead at just that moment. 

"Eww!" she heard a squeal from behind her, turning to see what had happened, seeing the girl there wrinkling her nose in her direction. She turned again, in the other direction, confused, before finally noticing the wetness dribbling down her legs.

"Oh, no!" she squeaked, turning bright red. She must have waited too long, she assumed, or she'd gotten carried away with her thoughts, or something... This never happened! And yet, regardless, she was here, wetting herself, mortified.

As soon as she could make her legs work again, she ran off back to the bar, feeling humiliated and sorry for herself. "We need to go," she told her new husband, Lyle, tugging at his hand, trying to pull him away from his stool. "Come oooon!"

"What's wrong?" he asked, spinning in his seat to look at her. She'd hoped it was dark enough that he wouldn't notice... But he did, taken aback for a second. "Okay, Court," he said with a sigh. 

"I'm sorry!" she pouted, following him back to the car pathetically. "I-I didn't mean to!"

"It's all right," he assured her. "I should have cut you off a drink or two ago."

Courtney whined, thinking back to the conversation she'd overheard. "Nuh-uh! It was only 'cause of the line! I would have made it!"

Her cheeks darkened as Lyle glanced back at her, doubt clear in her eyes. "Sure, Court," he replied. "Let's just go back and get you cleaned up." That did sound nice, she had to admit, even if she didn't want to stop having fun. 

She did her best to put it behind her, to forget about it, as they continued their vacation, but it quickly became clear that something was different. Lyle was such a nerd sometimes, and he was super excited about some museum near there, so she agreed to go with him, and pretended to be interested as well as they walked through, and he stopped to read every plaque and sign.

She didn't notice anything until it was too late, until there was a sudden warmth in her panties. She let out a tiny gasp, squirming in place, stomach churning as she peered down. Thankfully, it wasn't much, barely made a wet spot on her jeans... But it was there, and, of course, when Lyle turned back to see why she had stopped following him, he saw it instantly.

"Courtney!" he exclaimed, making her shrink back, feeling like she was being scolded. "Did you seriously just pee your pants to get out of seeing the rest of this museum?"

She blushed, shaking her head, that never having even occurred to her, even if it was a nice side effect. "No!" she insisted. "I-I think I'm still hung over from last night or something..."

He sighed, taking her back to the car, and to their hotel, so she could get cleaned up. Once they were there, however, and Courtney had taken a fresh pair of undies from the drawer, something stopped her. She couldn't say what, exactly... Despite the humiliation of the whole ordeal, having Lyle help her clean up last night had been soothing, somehow, comforting, in a way that doing it herself simply wasn't.

She knew she shouldn't, that he was already annoyed with her, but she couldn't stop herself. "L-Lyle?" she asked, staring up at him, batting her eyes. "C-Could you give me a hand again?"

He looked up from his phone, rolled his eyes. "Really, Court?" Her cheeks darkened, even as she bashfully nodded her head. "Fine... Come here." He took her to the bathroom, unzipping her jeans, pulling them off of her. "We aren't going to the bar tonight," he told her.

"Lyle!" she gasped, stomping her foot. 

"No, Courtney," he shook his head, Courtney shocked at how stern he sounded, how unlike his normal tone. "We have reservations at that fancy restaurant tomorrow night, and I don't want to risk this happening there."

"B-But..." she sulked. "I-I can be careful! I won't drink as much, I promise! Th-This has never happened before, so if I just..."

"No, Courtney," he repeated, even more harshly. 

She supposed, given her reaction, she could hardly blame him when, after she wet herself again while they were just in the room, feet away from the bathroom, not realizing she even had to go until he rolled his eyes and snapped, "Courtney!" at her, he assumed that she'd done it on purpose to spite him.

"This is incredibly childish, Courtney," he said.

"I'm not doing it on purpose!" she whined, mad he would think she'd do that... Though, considering she also couldn't resist asking him to help her clean up again, she could see where he'd get that idea.

Even if she hadn't felt any other residual effects, other than the lingering embarrassment, she was still chalking it all up to a hangover, until it continued the next day. If anything, the accidents were getting worse, the wet patches that made it through her panties and onto her pants, or shorts, or whatever she was wearing, growing larger and more pronounced each time, her bladder releasing more of its contents before she became aware of what was happening.

Despite knowing that the plane tickets back were in her bag, a fact she double-checked just in case, it did worry her when Lyle went off without her that afternoon. Was he fed up with her? Did he want a divorce, not even a full week after the wedding?! 

Instead, he returned with a shopping bag, pulling something out of it and plopping it down on her bed. The sight of the object made Courtney's stomach twist into knots, unable to believe it. "P-Pull-Ups?!" she groaned. "Daddy, I don't need Pull-Ups!" She was so stunned, she barely registered what she had called him as she stomped her foot, shaking her head.

"I know how much you spent on that dress you bought for tonight," he told her. "And I know that you don't want it ruined if you have another accident."

"N-No, I don't," she admitted, staring down at the package. "B-But..."

"Don't be difficult, Courtney," he sighed. "We're already going to have to go find a laundromat to wash all the clothes you've peed in before we pack everything back up."

"Fine!" she huffed. It didn't help that he was proven right, her Pull-Up winding up soaked by the end of dinner. That didn't mean she had to be happy about it when he insisted she start wearing them all of the time, including to the laundromat. She felt so silly, knowing she was in training panties under her shorts, loading her clothes into the washer, hoping nobody saw the wet spots on them.

Unfortunately, even if they missed those, they definitely saw the fresh one that appeared on her shorts as she sat, waiting for the washing machine to finish. She was mortified, being led by the hand up to the attendant, feeling their eyes on her as Lyle asked if they had a bathroom they could use, only to be directed to the drugstore next door, forcing her to shuffle along behind him over there.

"Wait," she hissed when they went inside. "The bathrooms are over there!"

"We need to buy something first," he told her, tugging at her hand, continuing to lead her in the opposite direction.

"Didn't you bring a spare?" she whined, shocked that this could get any more embarrassing than it already was, yet preemptively blushing in anticipation of having to stand in line at the counter while Lyle bought her a fresh pack of Pull-Ups.

"I did," Lyle said, "even though you promised me this wasn't going to happen. But I think we need something else."

"No, no, no," she shook her head, heart thumping loudly in her chest as he took her to the adult diaper aisle. "Daddy, no, not this!" Training panties were bad enough! She couldn't wear a full-blown diaper! She wouldn't!

"Yes," he replied simply. "Here, these are supposed to be discrete... Maybe they won't be so bad."

But they were, so much thicker and more humiliating than her Pull-Ups, not least of all because, despite how much she wanted to do it herself, she just couldn't do it, had to ask Lyle to take her into the men's room and clean her up, tape her into the diaper. To add insult to injury, he didn't give her shorts back, saying it would be silly to put them on over her dry diaper when they were wet, tossing them into their washer when they returned to it. She had to sit in her diaper and shirt, sulking and waiting for her clothes to be washed, and then dried, before she was able to hide her new padding.

Lyle did at least take some pity on her after that, letting them go back to the bar that night. Courtney had to dress a bit more conservatively, not wanting her diaper to show, but there was something freeing about knowing it was there, having it on as she saw the line to the bathroom growing.

Unfortunately, that was the night that it happened. There had been a lingering fear, one that she'd assumed was so far-fetched that it would never happen, but that seemed more and more possible every time she realized she'd wet herself again. Just like with that, she had no notice of it, beyond a vague thought that she might need to do it sometime soon as she danced in the moonlight, taking a sip from her bottle of beer...

And then she was frozen in place, head swimming in shame as she felt her diaper starting to swell, to fill with soft, warm mush. It was a very meek little girl who waddled back to her husband at the bar, tugging at his hand. "Daddy, I need a change," she sniffed. 

"Come on, you can't have soaked through your diaper already," he shook his head. "Do we need to get you thicker ones?"

"No, Daddy," she whined, pulling on his hand a little harder. "I-I..." She couldn't bring herself to confess to it, to say it out loud, but she saw his nose twitch after another moment, putting two and two together.

He started to stand, then paused. "You know what?" he said. "We're out here in the fresh air... I think you'll be fine for a little longer. Run along and play, and I'll take you home and change you when I'm ready."

"Daddy!" she squealed as he turned her around, sending her back towards the dance area with a pat on her diaper, her cheeks darkening as the mass in her diaper squishing under his hand.

"Or you can change yourself," he shrugged.

But she couldn't do that, could she? Certainly not now, after she'd done this to herself... That was the one downside to this freedom, she supposed, or at least to having someone there to take care of her afterwards... It meant she was at his mercy, that if he wasn't ready to change her, she was stuck in her poopy diapers.

Surely that wouldn't be a problem after they got home, she thought. Once they got back to their normal routine, all of this would stop... But, if anything, it got worse, her accidents - of both kinds - getting more frequent. It wasn't long before her discrete diapers were replaced with a thicker variety, and then extra-thick overnight diapers, all the time. 

She should be grateful, she told herself, that Lyle stuck with plain white diapers, no matter how hugely bulky they were. They were still difficult to hide under her clothes, especially when they went out partying, but they were the only ones that would stand up to her accidents, and at least they were too babyish, beyond the simple fact of what they were, and the fact of how much she knew she needed them now... 

Still... As humiliating as they were, she couldn't deny that they were, definitely, much easier to deal with than the line for the bathroom could be. And having Daddy there to help her with them wasn't too bad, either.