A Thirst for More - Chapter Eight (Silver+ Exclusive)

Well, that was all two weeks ago.

My eyes are gritty with sleep as I struggle upward into consciousness, stretching slowly under the tousled covers of my little bed. The light coming in from behind the closed curtains is barely more than a grey whisper, despite the recent time change. Must be another dark and rainy morning – another dreary day to add to this chilly week. Winter's coming. And, well, if this is what a New England fall is like, I'm not sure I want to hang around for the winter.

It's as I roll over fitfully in my bed, shifting the bulk of my plaster-enclosed ankle carefully under the blankets, that the awareness begins to dawn on me with the dim slowness of the dawn outside. There's a familiar feeling around my waist, of course – a rustle and crinkle that I'm by now quite accustomed to. But there's more. A thickness. A cool dampness...

I'm wet, I realize. And even as I struggle upright in bed, I find that I simply can't remember my pants being wet when I fell asleep.

Ehh, must have let go late last night and just don't remember, I tell myself instinctively. Of course. There's naturally no possibility I could have actually just let go in- in my sleep. No, of course not. That would just be silly. I would have noticed.

Right?

But even I can't deny that as I sigh and grudgingly let the morning tide of urine flood out into the already-wet diaper between my legs, it somehow feels that there's not nearly as much there. Huh. Well, whatever – it's time to take this dirty thing off and put on a fresh one. Even though some weird part of me finds the warmth kind of... nice...

I stand up and hobble over to fetch the new padding from my dresser, and then begin removing the heavy garment around my waist. But as I do so, I feel something else, too: an odd prickling sensation from my groin, almost like a sunburn. Weird. It's still kind of dark, though, and I just want to get the thing off. So I dutifully flop down and tape the fresh one around me before reaching for my laptop and flipping open its glowing screen to check my emails. Probably just an itch. I'll figure it out later.

***

Or maybe not.

"Sounds like a rash to me," Mrs. Fenoli tells me over breakfast, which she has graciously brought it up here for me... as usual. The oddly intensifying heat and itch around my intimate areas has set me squirming this past hour in a way I can't conceal, not even under the covers. "Aww, but of coase! Yah haven't been usin' any powdah or wipes, hun, have yah?"

I shake my head, mouth full of toast, and she chuckle-sighs. "Oh, deah! Well, no daily showah's gonna keep away a rash on its own, yah know – least, it shuah didn't foah my girls when they was in dipahs." She smiles and shrugs apologetically. "Then we'll just have yah come on down fah an extra showah aftah breakfast, okay? An' I'll make shuah to have some lotion and powdah fah yah, an' some wipes by yah bed too..."

Of course I thank her. And of course I hobble my ungainly way down those stairs in my t-shirt and new skirt and padded rear. And I take that shower. And once I've emerged, I gratefully apply the pink lotion my landlord has brought to the fiery skin of my groin and rear. I even use the powder she has given me, simultaneously embarrassed at its infantile connotations and delighted at the beautifully feminine scent it has. Wow, I guess I really am going to be smelling a bit more... girly...

Not that I have much time to pay attention to that or to the odd tightness rising in my freshly padded crotch. We've got to head to campus to pick up and sign some paperwork about my continued absence, and Mrs. Fenoli's going to be ready to go soon.

Oh, crap. I don't suppose I've got pants to fit over this cast yet, do I? And why on earth did I just put on a diaper if we're headed out?!

***

Yep – that's how I end up making my first visit to campus in not only a feminine skirt, but in a freaking diaper.

It's evening now and I'm safely back home, but I blush even recalling it. Not that I know that anyone noticed, of course. For once I'm grateful for the chilly weather that justified wearing such a long  and bulky coat. I mean, honestly I don't see how anyone could have noticed anything out of the ordinary – especially since we were only there for, like, a half-hour. But still, it's quite an odd sensation to hobble into a public building on crutches, feeling all the while not only the seductive swish of a skirt against your otherwise bare thighs, but a thick bulk and rustle between your legs with every careful step you take...

But, yeah. We made it there and back, and the paperwork was all in order, and we didn't run into anyone I knew. Which was both great and kind of a disappointment, if I'm going to be honest. I miss the folks there. I miss the campus and its ugly buildings from the 1960s. And I wish I could be there just as I used to be: without the crutches, without the clunky cast, and without this silly bulky diaper that is fast becoming part of my everyday outfit...

I'm thinking about the diapers now as I eye the now-empty pitcher of water on the dresser, then slide open the drawer with a sigh and pull out a fresh bit of padding for the night. This whole thing has become so strange, and yet so oddly normal. Even now I find myself blushing: embarrassed as much by the idea of wearing such a babyish garment as I am by the unaccountable stiffening of my member under the ticklish, velvety touch of the powder I'm dusting down over my lotioned groin. Is it the powder? Is it the lotion? Or the diaper itself, and how it feels so nice when it's- it's wet?

In a sudden fit of decisiveness, I make a resolution as I slip my padded butt under the sheets for the night. Whatever might be causing my excitement, I'm not going to dwell on it too much. But I'll do my best to spend as little time as possible in a wet one – both to help my skin and to minimize- you know... any chance that it will make me... hard. And really, I ask myself as I flip off the light with a quiet click, so what if I fall asleep with a mostly-full bladder? It'll just have to wait.

***

I'm walking. Just walking quietly in the sunlight, the warmth glowing on my face. I'm... different somehow, and yet more me than I've ever been before. There's a blue flowered gown wrapped gently around me, and delightfully snug stockings around my lower legs. I can't help but smile as I feel the cool silken rustle of my skirt against my bare knees. And as I make my way to the green stretch of grass down there by the pond, I feel free, and unaccountably, intensely happy.

The grass is velvety soft as I slip down upon it, and I'm awash in a warm flood of incredible sensations: my lovely stockings, firm and trim and tidy around my legs; my gown softly hugging my chest and caressing my thighs; the two pretty plaits of hair that hang down over my shoulders with a wonderfully comforting weight; and beneath it all, a glorious softness between my legs...

I sigh and press gently downward into that softness. Oh, yes. Lovely, so lovely. Tingles are racing over me, radiating through me like sunshine, enveloping my entire being in such lovely sensations. I'm alight with happiness and desire and love, feeling more beautiful and feminine and at ease than I've ever felt before. And as I press downward again, feeling a pressure rising and growing into a shuddering wave of pleasure, I seem to catch a whiff of a long-forgotten scent on the spring breeze...

***

With waking comes shame, and darkness, and resentful regret. For what I find is not the spring, or floral dresses, or sunshine. I find myself alone, in my dark little bed in my dark little room, my ankle still imprisoned in its clunky cast. And swelling between my legs is a diaper: soaked through, and sticky with the shameful result of my sleepy thrustings into its swollen bulk.

What... what is even happening to me?