Page 9 of What Bad Girls Deserve
“But I—” I bit my lip, the pressure in my bladder becoming increasingly uncomfortable. “What if I really need to go before he gets here?”
The men exchanged another of their looks.
“Then you use what you’re wearing,” Mateo said simply. “That’s what it’s for.”
Before I could protest further, they left, closing the door behind them with a soft click that somehow sounded more final than a slam would have.
I was alone in my new owner’s bedroom.
My new daddy’s bedroom.
No. Just, no: not my owner, let alone my daddy.
My new daddy… he put me in a collar. He put me in a diaper.
Collared, diapered, and bound to his bed. A tiny sob escaped my chest.
I tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but the diaper made it impossible. Its bulk forced my thighs apart, reminding me with every movement of my complete helplessness. I couldn’t even cross my legs properly to ease the growing pressure in my bladder.
For a while, I focused on studying my surroundings, searching for anything that might help me escape or at least understand my situation better. Everything looked expensive, but minimal—no clutter, no personal photos, nothing to reveal the man who had purchased me. Just sleek furniture, abstract art, and what looked suspiciously like discreet anchor points built into various surfaces. The kind that could secure restraints.
My bladder throbbed painfully as time passed. I squeezed my muscles tight, determined not to give in. Using a diaper was a line I refused to cross. It would make this nightmare too real, toocomplete. As long as I maintained this one small act of defiance, I could tell myself I hadn’t truly surrendered.
But my body had other ideas. As another wave of pressure built, I involuntarily leaked a small amount of pee. I gasped, clenching every muscle in desperation.
“No, no, no,” I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. “I’m not doing this.”
I tried to focus on anything else—the pattern in the ceiling, the distant sounds of the city below, the lingering taste of Jax in my mouth. But my bladder screamed for relief, and another small leak escaped despite my efforts.
The warm wetness spread slightly in the thick padding between my legs. To my horror, the sensation wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The release of pressure brought momentary relief, and the diaper absorbed the moisture instantly, keeping me dry against my skin.
“This isn’t happening,” I muttered, trying to hold back tears. “This is just a fucked-up nightmare.”
But it was happening. I was here, in this strange man’s penthouse, wearing a diaper that I was slowly wetting despite my best efforts. I had been purchased like property, my former boyfriend hadn’t even hesitated to sell me, and worst of all, my traitorous body had responded to every humiliation with shameful arousal.
Another leak escaped, larger this time. I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut.
Just then, I heard the bedroom door open. My eyes flew open to see Jax—my ‘daddy’—standing in the doorway, watching mewith those penetrating gray eyes. He’d removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie, but otherwise looked exactly as he had at Walker’s apartment. Powerful. Dangerous. In control.
He smiled, clearly recognizing my predicament. “Is my little girl wetting her diaper?”
The childish language made me cringe with humiliation. I pressed my thighs together as much as the bulky diaper would allow, desperate to hide what was happening.
“I’m not,” I lied, even as another leak escaped. My cheeks burned with shame, and I couldn’t meet his eyes.
Jax approached the bed with unhurried confidence, each step deliberate as a predator stalking its prey. He stopped directly in front of me, close enough that I could smell his expensive cologne.
“Look at Daddy when you lie to him,” he commanded, his voice deceptively soft.
I forced myself to raise my eyes, hating how easily I obeyed him.
“I’m not…” I began again, but the words died in my throat as my bladder finally surrendered completely. The warm rush of release flooded the diaper, and there was no hiding it now. The soft material swelled between my thighs, and the distinct hissing sound filled the quiet room.
“There we go,” Jax said, his expression softening into something almost tender. “Good girl, letting go for Daddy.”
I wanted to die. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. Instead, I sat there on the edge of his massive bed, restrained and helpless, as my bladder emptied itself into the diaper he’d ordered his men to put on me.
“I didn’t mean to,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “I tried to hold it.”
