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Note from QH: Just a heads up that I had to censor a number of words in this story to appease the Patreon gods. 

Once, she had asked if he would consider buying her one of those female chastity belts she had seen online. They were like stainless steel underpants–a metal belt connected to a metal crotch panel that prevented any access to a lady’s private bits. Though, obviously, it still had a slot in it so one could piss while wearing it. There’d be a padlock to ensure she was sealed up nice and tight until she was unlocked. Plenty of open space on the backside if someone wanted to use the backdoor.

He said no. And, for good measure, he gave her a lengthy spanking that rendered her ass bright red and prevented her from sitting comfortably the next day.

Admittedly, he did like the idea of female chastity. But he also felt it was too easy. She shouldn’t go without an org*sm just because she was wearing some convoluted pair of panties. She should go without an org*sm just because he said she should. Her pussy should be within her own reach at all times. At any point, if she really wanted, she could just reach between her legs and touch herself. But doing so would risk punishment, as he told her that she wasn’t allowed.

She was getting hungrier and hungrier for cock. For pleasure. And everytime he was tempted to relent and let her have it, he decided against it. Why should he? And ruin all his hard work? To start over again? To slowly watch her lose her mind again as she’s forced to go without pleasure for extended periods of time?

Someday, he figured, he’d give in. And when that day came, it’d be for him–not her. In the meantime, he was more than content with just waiting. Watching. Letting her lust grow exponentially everyday.

He was never short of pleasure. She saw to his needs every night. After work, after dinner, after the dishes were washed and put away, she’d crawl from the kitchen to the living room–her panties already moist in anticipation. He’d be seated in his favorite chair–the big leather one–waiting for her.

She’d crawl between his open legs and unzip his pants. She’d slowly pull his cock from his pants–it would always be hard from anticipation. And he’d look down at her face and see her mouth watering. Always. It didn’t matter how many times she had done this before, she still looked at it like it was a prize-winning apple pie. Maybe that was the pent-up lust in her–everyday that she was denied a climax of her own, she only craved his cock that much harder.

She’d always ask first, like a good girl: “May I?”

Sometimes he’d tease her. He’d say: “Hm, not yet. Just hold it in your hands a little longer.” She would, staring at it like it was a piece of candy behind glass.

Eventually he’d tell her to go for it: “Alright, go ahead.”

She’d kiss his shaft. Suck on it. Slobber all over it. There had been a time when she was graceful and methodical about it, but those days were long past. She had devolved into a sloppy-eater. It actually felt better that way, he thought. He appreciated the unpredictability of her chaos.

There were times when he allowed her to finish him with her mouth–in which case she was expected to swallow every drop. Other times, he’d tell her where he wanted to c*m and she’d need to do her best to make that happen. Maybe he wanted to do it on her face. On her breasts. Into her panties.

And then, sometimes, she’d have to sit on his lap, guiding his cock into her tight little asshole. And she’d be asked to bounce up and down until he filled her backside up.

Her needy little clit would cause her such despair on most of those evenings. She’d do her best to hide it–though she never did that good of a job with it. Sometimes, when it got to be too much, she’d whine and beg for him to please her–or at least to allow her to please herself. Those were his favorite nights. He’d say no, and she’d practically implode in frustration.

Sometimes, she’d even cry. Literal tears would stream down her face and she’d sob like a baby. Nothing would make him blow his load quicker than her struggling to please him while having a full-on temper tantrum.

“You’ll have to use your adult words,” he’d tease. “I can’t make out a word of what you’re saying.”

He is not a cruel man. Yes, he takes delight in making her writhe like this. Yes, his own pleasure is very much connected to the hopelessness she feels towards her own.

But this was not his idea. She was the one who had approached him once and said: “Whatever I say, whatever I do, ignore my pussy.”

- - -

There used to have to be reasons for his friends to come over. The big football game. A fight on pay-per-view. A birthday party. Celebrating a promotion.

But it had gotten easier to get his friends to come over just because he asked them to.

He’d pick out a dress for her to wear. She was pretty sure that every time his friends came over, the dress he picked out was just a little bit shorter than the one she wore the last time.

Then, he’d pick out a diaper for her to wear. He had considered just making her wear diapers all of the time, but he was afraid that–after a time–it’d become too ‘normal.’ He liked saving diapers for special occasions. He liked to spring them on her when she wasn’t expecting them.

She’d lie down on the bed, and he’d put her in a diaper like she was an infant. Lifting her legs in the air. Shaking a thick layer of baby powder over her hairless midsection. She loved being diapered. The feeling of him manhandling her body, or pulling the thick diaper taught between her legs, was often the closest she came to being physically stimulated.

And so she’d spend those mornings, before his friends arrived, in the kitchen. She’d make sure the fridge was well-stocked with beer. She’d get some snacks prepared. She’d usually be working on having a meal and dessert ready. All the while, her short dress would ride up her backside to expose her plump diaper–a prelude for what the day would be like when The Boys arrived. She’d be reminded, over and over again, that no matter how many times she pulled down the back of her dress, or how careful she was with her every movement, that it was inevitable for her diaper to be exposed.

The bathroom was off limits when she was in a diaper. Though, even when she wasn’t wearing diapers, she was still responsible for asking permission to use the toilet–even having to state what she intended on doing when she was using it. While in diapers, she was simply expected to use them. Whenever. Wherever. And she’d stay in that diaper until he decided it was time to change her. She wasn’t even to let him know that she had used them. If he wanted to know, he’d check for himself. Though, sometimes, he didn’t have to check to know.

Too, he’d sometimes just tell her to use the diaper. “Go potty,” he’d say, and she was expected to stop what she was doing, squat, and push anything she could into the diaper. She often feared that he’d ask her to ‘go potty,’ and she’d have nothing at all to release–yet that never seemed to actually happen. She always had something in her when he asked.

The diapers made her horny. Sure, everything made her horny. But especially the diapers. If asked why, she’d likely say “I don’t know,” but that wasn’t entirely true. It was that there were so many reasons she liked the diapers, that she didn’t think there was enough time in the day to answer that question.

She liked the feeling of the thickness between her legs. She liked the humiliating way they crinkled and rustled as she moved about. She liked the feeling of air getting trapped in the back of her diaper, only to be pushed up her back as she sat down. She liked the way a diaper felt like how she imagined a chastity belt would–it sealed off her intimate areas completely, taking the temptations further off of the table. She liked the way that diapers prevented her from walking normally, giving her a slight waddle. She liked when a diaper got hot and she’d sweat inside of it–feeling the thick padding stick to her skin.

There were more reasons–those would just be the first few she thought of.

When the time came, and the doorbell chime rang through the house, she’d waddle her way to the front door and welcome their guests. They’d smile and greet her. Some would hug her. The especially bold ones would let their hands slide down her back a little as they embraced her, checking to see what she was wearing under her dress. They’d all stare at the bottom of her dress as they crossed the threshold and entered the home.

It was always a surprise to see that he had so many friends. Some she’d see often enough that she’d recognize, but there would always be new faces. Men who she didn’t recognize would show up one day and then she’d never see again. She often wondered who they were or how he knew them, but she never asked questions like that. It wasn’t important. They were guests, and it was her duty to keep them all happy and satisfied.

For the first hour or so, the men would just talk in the den. She’d make her way around the room, taking their drink requests before hustling back to the kitchen to accommodate them. It would usually take two or three trips to get all the needed drinks. Each time, she’d find herself pulling at the hem of her dress–well aware of the fact that if she had to pull it down, it meant that the men had already gotten a good glimpse of what was underneath it.

They would just talk for a while. Nothing lurid or scandalous. Despite their curious eyes, they kept the conversation on the more mundane side. Finances. Sports. Recent purchases. Home improvement projects. She’d sometimes listen to bits and pieces of the conversations. Not because she found these topics to be interesting, but because she found this whole ritual fascinating. Amusing, even. Everyone in the room knew why they were actually there. And yet that they had to put on this charade first–keep up the appearance that they were civilized men.

She sometimes wished they’d come barging through the door without that transparent sense of decorum. Instead, they’d gather around her and demand to see what was under her dress. They might even take it upon themselves to just tear her clothing off from her body moments after their arrival. Instead of talking about football teams, they’d talk about how badly they wanted to take turns fucking her. Instead of talking about rotary saws, they’d talk about her skill at sucking cocks.

Then again, that could’ve just been her ever-increasing lust talking.

There’d eventually come a point–it was never clear to her when he made such a decision–where he’d call her over to him.

“Come, Baby. Come here and sit on my lap.”

And she would.

Once, he made her crawl to his lap–but just once. She suspected that he didn’t care for that. It gave too much away to The Boys too soon. He was a maestro when it came to pacing. He wanted to keep them in suspense just as much as her.

Instead, she’d walk through the den–past the curious and hungry eyes of the friends he’s invited over on that day. As nervous as she could be, she also savored these moments herself. She’d take her time, letting her ass bounce a little harder behind her with each step. Let them look. Let them try and imagine what it looked like when I wasn’t wearing a dress.

When she had reached his chair, he’d pat his lap and she’d carefully lower herself atop it. She would be perched near his knees. Not facing him–but facing out towards his friends. They’d all stare back at her, smiling. Laughing. Practically licking their lips. It was often too much to bear, and she’d have to close her eyes, or look down. She liked the way that they looked at her, of course. It could just be overwhelming.

His arm would wrap around her, dipping down between her legs. He’d grasp the bottom of the dress and slowly hoist it up towards her waist. Little by little, the thick diaper would be exposed to the room. In the times when she could keep her eyes open, she’d see their faces grow increasingly delighted.

He’d say something like: “Naturally, with a big baby like this, I have to keep her in diapers.”

They’d have questions–usually the ones she hadn’t seen before.

“Yes,” one would ask. “But does she use her diapers?”

“It’d be a waste if she didn’t,” he’d answer.

“Does she do…everything in them?”

This sort of question would come up almost every time, and he’d always be amused by it. “She’ll do what she has to do.”

Those were his favorite sorts of questions to answer, though. They always allowed for a clean segue to a little parlor trick of his. “Would you like to see?”

Yes, they always wanted to see. They weren’t even sure what he’d show them–but they wanted to see it.

“Go on,” he’d say to her. “Piddle in your diaper for my friends.” Just the tone of his voice when he’d make this request would melt her. Cooed to her like she was an infant, but with the perfect amount of condescension to remind her that she was still an adult.

She’d always be able to perform when asked. Sometimes she’d close her eyes again. Sometimes she’d grunt or squeak a little if she had to push a little harder to get the waterworks in motion. Sometimes she didn’t have to push that hard at all–but she’d still make the pathetic little sounds anyway because she knew everyone liked to hear them.

She usually felt like the last to know when it was happening though. By the time she realized she was wetting, her diaper was already growing heavy and warm. But the rest of the room could watch the color of the diaper change. It wouldn’t ever turn a bright yellow, but it would get darker. The texture of the plastic backing would change. If you were looking hard enough–and rest assured, everyone was–you’d see it happening.

“See?” he’d say. “A pissy little baby.”

Maybe then he’d bounce her on his knees a little, jostling the squishy padding of the diaper around. Sometimes he’d just squeeze the diaper with his fingers. He’d make a show of it, hoping to show everyone how fun it was to touch and feel her soggy diaper.

“Come over here,” he’d say to them. “Feel for yourself.”

They would. One at a time, they’d come up to her–sitting atop him like he was a throne and she was a princess–and they’d reach towards her diaper. Some men would be timid and polite about it, just pressing the very tips of their diapers into the moist padding before scurrying away. Some were much more bold. They touch her diaper. Massage her diaper. They’d lean in close to try and take a good sniff of her pissy diaper.

“Tell her what you think,” he’d say to them. “She’d love to hear it.”

And they would. They’d lick their lips as they felt at her diaper, so excited to put their sinful thoughts into words. Some men seemed more eloquent in their comments, though others seemed to just rattle off the first thing that came to mind.

“Such a beautiful little girl.”

“Naughty little babies who piss themselves ought to be pulled over a man’s knees and spanked.”

“Keeping your Daddy’s lap nice and warm, huh?”

“Why don’t you come sit on my lap for a little bit.”

“I’ve got a bottle for you to suck on, Baby.”

“Someone really had to pee-pee, didn’t they?”

Really, it didn’t matter what they said. It was always humiliating. It was always hot. These men–these strangers–poking and prodding her wet diaper while they made their little comments. Each one made her feel just a little bit smaller. A little more pathetic.

“Do you want to see how needy she gets?” he’d ask his friends.

They’d nod excitedly.

He’d reach around her yet again, grasping the front of her diaper this time. He’d squeeze it and push it against her skin. He’d rub the front of the diaper, knowing that the soaked padding was pressed against her throbbing pussy. It never took much effort to get her moaning loudly. It brought her so much shame, being brought to such pleasure in front of these men, but she couldn’t control herself when he’d start. She’d buck and wriggle in his lap as she made all sorts of noises.

And the things she’d say when she was in this state. It didn’t matter if people were around or not–she certainly wasn’t considering her audience when her horniness reached these heights.

“Pleeeeeaase let me c*m for you.”

“Please let me make my c*mmies in my dirty diaper!”

“I’m just a stupid little baby who wants to make her stickies in her diaper, Daddy, Please, please, please.”

And then, just as she started to feel like this might be the time he’d let her c*m, he’d stop. No gradual tapering off–he’d just abruptly stop what he was doing and sit back in his chair again. She’d continue roiling and reeling in his lap for another minute–a bundle of electric nerves craving a finale that’d never come.

Then, he’d say something like: “Now then, sweetheart. Could you fetch us some snacks?”

- - -

It was another night and another gathering of friends. A smaller, and more intimate, get-together this time around. Just a young couple–Martin and Lizzy. She recognized Martin as someone who had been to their home once or twice before. She was quite certain he had touched her wet diaper at some point. Probably made some sort of crass comment about it too.

For a brief moment, she wondered if Lizzy was at all like her–a sex-starved toy to be played with in front of guests. She quickly learned that, no, Lizzy was not like her at all. Lizzy was a confident and intelligent woman who seemed to look down her nose at the sheepish girl in the short dress.

She wasn’t wearing a diaper on this occasion. But she wasn’t wearing panties either. She was sure that it meant something, she just wasn’t sure what.

For a while, it seemed much like every other time they had guests. She’d fetch food and drinks for everyone–all the while pulling at the bottom of her short dress in an effort to hide her bare bottom. They’d talk about adult things without making any sort of attempt at involving her in the conversation. Their eyes would follow her as she moved about though. Even Lizzy’s. Especially Lizzy’s.

“I have a treat for you tonight,” he said to Martin and Lizzy at last. “Something I’ve picked up recently and have been dying to try out.”

She suspected that this evening would not be without a catch, though she still hadn’t the slightest idea of what his recent acquisition would be.

And then he fetched it from the closet, bringing the object into the center of the den and placing it on the ground in between everyone. It was a toddler’s potty chair. Quite literally made for actual children–though she had no doubt that she could, and likely would, fit atop it.

Their guests clapped and cheered with excitement.

And she, so overcome with embarrassment at the thought of having to use it–in front of strangers–had to ask: “Do we really have to do this tonight?”

His answer was a single, but swift, swat to the bottom. It rang through the room, brightening her face as much as it brightened her ass.

“Did you have any other questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Why don’t you take a seat on your new potty,” he said. “Be sure to lift your pretty little dress up so that it doesn’t get dirty.”

She nodded and did as he suggested–slowly and carefully lowering herself onto the tiny potty’s seat, while holding her dress up as high as she could. There was her pretty little hairless pussy, on display for the guests to see for just a moment.

“I want you to use the potty for us,” he said. “Show us what a good girl you are.”

“B-but…”

He glared at her, a disarming glance that stopped her in her tracks. “You can do it.”

Normally, she could. Almost every other time he had ever asked her, in fact. But she already knew that tonight was different. Was it because she wasn’t in a diaper? Was it because Lizzy was there–and she had never humiliated herself in front of another woman before? Or, was it just that she was completely empty, for once?

The reason almost seemed irrelevant because the end-result was still the same. She tried for a bit. She groaned and pushed. Squirmed a little. But nothing. Not a drop.

“Are you just going to leave her there all night?” Lizzy asked.

“It’s tempting,” he said. “I was hoping that she’d fill her little potty for us. But the hopeless little baby couldn’t even do that right.”

They were all snickering and giggling at her. She felt tears welling in her eyes.

“Stand up,” he said to her. “Come here.”

“I-if you give me just a little more time,” she said, “I think I could probably…”

“Come here now.”

She did as he asked. She was already pressing her luck by making him repeat himself once. She didn’t want to see how he’d react to having to repeat himself another time after.

“I bought that for you,” he said to her, “and you won’t even use it?”

“It’s not that,” she said. “I…I just couldn’t.”

He sighed and shook his head, disappointed with her answer. Then, he grasped her by the wrist and dragged her back to his favorite chair–the big leather one–and sat down, pulling her down with him so that she was pulled over his knees.

She knew what was coming next. Even Martin and Lizzie–who had never seen anything quite like this before–knew what was coming next.

He pushed her dress up her backside, exposing her smooth round ass again. There was no warning provided, he just went right into it. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! Over and over again, his open hand struck her bottom, each one stinging a little more than the one before it. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! The pain had grown to be such that with each spank, a pathetic little whelp was forced from her lips.

WHAP! “Ow!”

WHAP! “Oh!”

WHAP! “Ungh!”

He stopped, slowly and gently rubbing his hand back and forth across her raw bottom. Physically, it provided little relief from the stinging pain she felt. Mentally, it was helping. It helped to put things in perspective. It helped to remind her that she liked having her ass spanked. She liked feeling humiliated and insignificant in front of her friends. She liked feeling like…

“Ohhhhhh…” she said, the sound bursting from her mouth as she felt his fingers pressing into her moist pussy.

She looked up again, seeing the smiling faces of Martin and Lizzy staring back. They were loving this. And she loved having them watch too.

“If you can’t use potty,” he said, his fingers slowly fucking her, “perhaps you’re not ready for one just yet.”

“She’s just a baby,” said Martin.

“That’s why you make her wear diapers, yes?” asked Lizzy.

“That’s right,” he said. “She’s just a stupid little baby. She can’t really do much of anything right except use her diapers and get humiliated.”

“Ohhh,” she moaned. “Ohhhh. Unnghhhhh.”

“Come here,” he said to Lizzy. “Would you like to have a go?”

Lizzy laughed. “A go? You want me to…?”

“Put your fingers into her,” he said. “She likes it.”

For a moment, she didn’t think Lizzy would do it. She thought Lizzy would respectfully decline the offer and continue sitting there on the sofa with a smug look on her face. But no. No sooner than he had made the offer, she was on her seat and approached them. And there, while she remained bent over his lap, her ass hanging off his legs–fully exposed–she carefully pressed two fingers directly into her throbbing wet pussy.

“Ohh fuuuuuuuck,” she moaned. Then, possessed by pleasure and the hope that this might be when she was finally allowed a climax, she said: “More please.”

Lizzy was more than happy to oblige, letting her fingers slip in and out of her with increasing speed and intensity. Each thrust summoning messy moans and grunts from her.

“See?” he said.

“As fun as this is,” Lizzy said, “I was told I’d see her use her diaper. Or the potty.”

“Well I’d hate to send you home disappointed,” he said. “I think I know what might do the trick.”

“By all means,” Lizzy said, withdrawing her fingers from her and taking a step back from the chair, “show us.”

“Nothing gets her bowels moving like a good hard fuck in her ass.”

“Mmm,” Lizzy moaned, returning to the sofa to sit next to Martin again. “I’d love to see that.”

He eased her from his lap and stood up, repositioning her over the bulky arm of the leather chair. He moved her like she was a rag doll, and he posed her how he wanted without experiencing even a hint of resistance. He opened his pants and pulled his mighty cock out. She wished she could’ve seen the reaction on Lizzy and Martin’s faces when they saw it.

Lizzy had been quite impressed, while Martin was left feeling a little envious.

She craved his cock at all times, this moment notwithstanding. She truly wanted it in her pussy, where Lizzy’s fingers had been just moments ago, but she’d take what she could get. She didn’t even care that they still had an audience. Fine. Just give it to me.

He made her suck on his cock for just a moment, getting it wet and slobbery. Then, he positioned himself behind her and aimed for her backdoor. He had done this enough that it was a piece of cake. WIth just the right angle, and the right amount of force, he pushed himself into her, causing her to squeal like a horny little piglet.

“Watch,” he said, as he thrust himself into her bottom repeatedly. “We’ll open her right up.”

She couldn’t help herself–the last remnants of her dignity and decorum were in the dust now. She grunted and howled as he fucked her. No, it wasn’t quite the proper dicking she needed in her pussy, but there were still nerves there. There was still the burning humiliation she felt through her body that lit her up like a Christmas tree.

His brazenness was never lost on her. She couldn’t imagine having the gall to just get up and start fucking her partner’s ass in front of her friends. That sort of confidence probably spoke volumes for how he wrapped her around his finger so easily.

At last, he came inside of her. He announced it to the room. “Just have to…load her little asshole up now…”

She moaned and shook as she felt him climax deep within her. And, just as he said–and just as past experience had suggested–she could already feel her bowels churning.

She almost said something to him. Something about how she thought that, maybe, whatever came next should happen out of sight from their guests. But she knew better than to suggest anything like that. If he was willing to let Lizzy stick her fingers into her pussy, and if he was willing to c*m into her ass right there in the den, he’d certainly be expecting to show them what happens next.

“You stay there,” he said to her. “I’m going to get you a diaper.”

She bit her tongue, eyes again welling with tears. She was left bent over the arm of the leather chair, trying to avoid the gaze of Martin and Lizzy while she felt his special delivery slowly leak out from her bottom.

“On the ground,” he said to her when he returned, a thick white diaper in one hand and a bottle of baby powder in the other. “Let’s get you into a diaper.”

“Oh my,” Lizzy said. “That’s a big diaper.”

He just chuckled as diapered her there on the floor. He seemed delighted to show off how proficient he had become at it. The way she lifted her legs into the air and slid the open padding beneath her. The way he could efficiently coat her still-moist pussy with a fine layer of baby powder. The way he could tightly secure her in the diaper as he taped it shut.

He helped her to her feet again.

“Now then,” he said. “If you couldn’t use your new potty, can you at least use your diaper for us?”

“B-but…”

“I trust that you won’t have any problems with that. Lest you’d like another spanking.”

“No sir.”

He stepped back, leaving her to it.

She was a little frustrated to find that she suddenly had an urge to use her diaper. There was, of course, a good chance that his cock had done exactly what he wanted it to have done in her ass–stimulating the urge to mess herself. But, too, there was just something about a diaper that made her want to use it. She had never failed to use a diaper at his command before, and this would be no exception.

It was surprisingly easy to ignore the guests for a moment. Perhaps she figured that, after seeing the previous events of the evening, there was little point in being shy now.

Her knees bent a little as she squatted, her feet separating a bit. She grunted some as she pushed–though, as per usual, she didn’t have to push nearly as hard as she thought she had to. Her bottom rumbled and spat noisily, heralding the arrival of her mess. It didn’t feel like the biggest mess she had ever made in a diaper before, but it was probably big enough. She could feel the load instantly settling in the back of the diaper, tugging it into a sag between her legs. There was no doubting what she had done.

“Now then,” he said. “Turn around and show them the back of your diaper. Show them what you’ve done.”

She did as he had asked, slowly rotating so that Martin and Lizzy had full view of the back of her full diaper.

“Kind of remarkable,” Martin said. “Just a moment ago it was pristine. Now look at it.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Lizzy, giggling to herself. “But, wow, she stinks.”

“I could always change her,” he said.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You just put that diaper on her. I’m not opposed to letting her stay in that one for a while.”

“Me neither,” Martin said, nodding.

“Very well,” he said. He turned to her: “Why don’t you go sit on the floor over there in the corner. I’ll let you know when we need you again.”

“But…” She stopped herself immediately, knowing that there’d be no point in complaining. He knew exactly what he was asking. She’d have to go and sit in her smelly diaper–sitting right in the filth she had just pumped into it. And she’d just sit there in it, marinating and continuing to stink up the room for however long he wanted.

She did it, of course.

They were talking again, quickly returning to more ‘adult’ subjects. New restaurants and recently tasted wines. The documentary on rice harvesting they watched the other day.

And she was left in the corner, sitting in her disgusting and stinking diaper. She was horny again. She was always horny, but when she had nothing to do but reflect on the evening, she found herself nearing that wildly insatiable type of horniness. That lusting sort of desperation that broke her like nothing else could.

She wanted to touch herself so badly. To thrust her hands into her dirty diaper and play with her oh-so-needy clit. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t–not if she didn’t want to incur his wrath. But she wanted to so badly.

Tears were in her eyes again, and just starting to roll down her cheek. Soon, she’d be crying. A tantrum, no doubt. An uncontrollable sob as she pathetically lamented her inability to finally get off for herself. The scene would be infinitely more amusing to the others in the room, she was sure, given the state of the diaper she sat in while she sobbed.

The truth, of course, was the same as it had always been. She wanted to want. She wanted to feel that uncontrollable surge of desperation and humiliation as she waited for the climax that would never come.

Sitting there in the corner, that night, might have been the best night of her life.

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