I’m in Time Out. Mommy said so.
I don’t want to talk about why. It doesn’t matter, so shut up.
I’m not allowed to move. I’m sitting in the corner on my Naughty Stool, and if I turn around or stand up, my Time Out starts over. Even if there was only a minute left, Mommy’s strict about this - It starts over the moment I cheat.
Mommy didn’t say how long. Usually it’s twenty minutes if I’ve been naughty, or forty minutes and a spanking if I’ve been really naughty. No spanking today, so it’ll probably be twenty minutes.
The stool is kind of hard, but my diaper’s soft and acts sort of like a cushion. It’s so low to the ground that I feel like my knees are almost gonna bump my chin, but that’s on purpose. It’s my Naughty Stool. If it were bigger, Mommy says I’d mistake it for a ‘grown up’ chair.
I can’t hear Mommy. She must have left. The baby monitor is the only thing I can see in my peripheral vision. It’s got a camera. There’s a green light on it when she’s watching, a red light when it’s just recording. It keeps blinking on and off, so I know she’s checking in on me.
There’s no talking and especially no complaining in Time Out, either.
Dunno how long it’s been already. I should probably be counting the time in my head, so I know when twenty minutes is close to being up, but I think that would just make the time pass even slower. It’s already an eternity. I’m just staring at a dumb wall.
It’s got to at least have been fifteen minutes by now. Maybe she’ll come get me any moment now. It’ll be soon, though, definitely.
I think I hear her coming down the hall. There’s a white noise machine on, so it’s kind of hard to tell. I’m basically cut off from the rest of the world. All I’ve got is the corner, and the blinky light so I know Mommy is watching.
No, it was just my imagination. Well, it won’t be long now.
I kinda gotta use the potty. I know if I use my diapers in Time Out, Mommy will call that proof that I’m helpless, and then I’ll be stuck in diapers for a week. And, I mean, I enjoy them, but a week is just too long - Being little all the time gets distracting, and plus I have to ask Mommy for a change all the time, which is just awful when she has friends over and I’ve got a stinky diaper.
So, I’ll hold it. She’ll be here soon.
It has to have been twenty minutes, right? Maybe it’s going to be forty minutes after all. I didn’t get a spanking, but Mommy changes things up sometimes. Maybe the spanking will come after. Maybe there won’t be one!
I don’t like having to wait another twenty minutes, but I can’t complain. Or, at least - if I did complain, I would have to start the time all over again, and then it’d be an hour, and I don’t know if I can hold it for a whole hour.
I regret having all that juice with breakfast. I didn’t know Mommy would decide I needed to be in time out.
The room that Time Out is in is the worst. It’s basically just a big walk in closet, so there’s no windows, and Mommy doesn’t need to come in here for anything. We basically just use it for Time Outs and storing some old boxes. I tried to tell Mommy to let me have Time Out in the guest bedroom, since it at least has a couple windows and some fresh air, but nope. ‘That’s a room for grown ups’, she said.
I’m so bored. My legs are getting kind of stiff, sitting here. I cross my arms over my knees and rest my chin on them, which helps a little, but not much.
I really gotta pee. It must be at least forty minutes by now.
Come on, Mommy. Hurry up!
I try to squeeze my legs together. Crossing them is a risk, since it’s dangerously close to ‘getting up’, but I can squeeze the crotch of my diaper with my hand and press my legs together as much as my diaper will allow.
The pressure is awful, and I can’t do anything to distract from it. I wiggle in my seat. The stool creaks a little, which is the only sound in the room, except for my quiet whimpering.
Normally it would rise and then fall over time, building here and there, but that’s because I’d be doing other stuff to take my attention away. As it is, I can only think about how much I have to pee, and it feels like I’m gonna explode if I hold it up much longer.
I have to hold it until Mommy comes to get me. I have to. I can’t-
I can feel my diaper getting warm as I flood the crotch, suddenly and unexpectedly. A real accident, one that I was totally unable to stop.
It makes me squirm again, but this time for a different reason. I’m not allowed to touch myself in time out, though, either, so that’s off the table.
Mommy’s gonna make such a big deal out of it when she comes to get me soon. I had a real accident, I couldn’t help but soak my diapers, making them all squishy and soggy and-
Oh. I figured it out.
Mommy was trying to make me have an accident in Time Out. That’s what this is for! She put me in time out just to make this happen.
Any minute now, she’ll come get me, and tease me, and then maybe…
I squirm again, trying to take my thoughts away from that. I don’t want to frustrate myself waiting.
But, there’s not much else to think about. All I can see in my field of view is the corner, my legs, and if I look down at all, my yellowed diaper. All I can feel is the warm, squelchy padding and the hard stool that’s starting to make my butt ache. I can smell the faint tinge of urine, and hear the slight crinkle and squelch of my diaper when I shift my weight. That’s it.
I had an accident. Mommy made me helpless, and I had an accident. Not a pretend one, not wetting my diaper on purpose. And I’d only been sitting there for forty minutes, max.
Pressing my lips together, I shift my weight, intensely aware of how the warm, heavy padding is concentrated around the front of my diaper. The way that I flooded it caused certain parts of the padding to take most of the work, swelling heavily around me.
My eyes dart to the baby monitor, but I don’t dare turn my head, not when I’ve already been in time out for an eternity. Doubling this would be ridiculous.
Every phantom noise makes me think Mommy is coming. She still doesn’t.
My diaper’s starting to get cold. Now that I’ve already had an accident, it’s not like she can tease me more. Besides, once I break the seal, the urge to pee again happens often and I end up dribbling into my soggy diapers. So, I end up releasing little trickles into my padding, adding more sodden weight to that gets wicked away by the thick, absorbent material.
At least it stays warm. The feeling of the pee trickling down the front of the diaper, briefly pooling before soaking in, is about the only sensation I can pay attention to.
If I didn’t know Mommy was still watching, I would be worried. Well, I am worried, but now I’m just worried because I’ve started to feel a little rumbling, and if I have a stinky accident in Time Out then I’m pretty sure Mommy will just throw all my Big Boy underwear away completely.
It’s a silly concern, though. Even if it was really unfortunate timing, I’d have to be left alone for hours and hours before I lost control that way.
How long have I been in time out?
Mommy is watching.
Mommy has always been watching.
I whimper. It’s not fussing, and it’s not complaining, and it’s not speaking. It doesn’t count.
I’m getting kind of thirsty, but that doesn’t stop me from trickling even more into my diapers. The padding around the front is completely swollen at this point, unable to take any more fluids. I can feel it dribble down every time I have an accident, where I’m putting my weight on the diaper, where it struggles to soak in. It’s taking longer and longer every time.
My bowels grumble. I put a hand on my stomach, mewling quietly as I feel a little cramp. If I were playing with Mommy, this would be the point where I’d let her know, and then I’d scrunch up my face and fill my diaper, feeling the warm mush and seeing her wrinkle her nose and tell me how much of a baby I am.
Then we’d probably move on to the bed, or maybe unroll the portable changing pad we use. We’ve got all sorts of ways to make our bedroom feel like a temporary nursery. She could put me in the portable playpen, or even raise the plastic fence around our bed so it’d feel like a crib while she held me down and-
I shake my head, taking my thoughts away from that. I still don’t know how long it’s going to be before my Time Out is over, and at this point I’m pretty sure that it’s been more than forty minutes.
Maybe it’s going to be an hour? Or has it already been an hour? Longer?
I groan. My tummy is starting to get uncomfortable.
Mommy, please. Come get me. I don’t want to be in Time Out anymore.
She’s coming soon, right?
She has to be coming soon.
I feel something wet on the back of my legs, and look down. I’m leaking. How did I soak through a whole diaper in one time out?
I cramp up again.
I’m clutching my belly, fighting back against the cramps. My sitting position doesn’t help. As low as the stool is, I’m practically squatting, and my body thinks this means we should be taking advantage of that position, and my diaper, to relieve the growing pressure.
If Mommy finds me in a leaky, stinky diaper…
I’m not allowed to touch myself. I’m not allowed to touch myself, dammit!
Balling my hands into fists, I struggle.
Whimpering, I can’t fight it any more. I take the risk and let myself lift up off the stool, just the tiniest bit, as the solid mush that was inside me starts to force its way out, creating a soft lump in my leaky diaper that quickly expands, taking up space inside my leaky diaper that’s smushed outward quickly. I don’t normally hold it this long, so the mass surprises me, and when I gingerly sink my weight back down into the evidence of my accident, I can’t help but moan slightly between pressed-together lips.
In the enclosed space, the corner quickly begins to smell. It’s not horrid - the diaper contains it pretty well - but it’s pervasive. There’s no airflow to take it away, and no other smells to combat it.
Mommy isn’t coming.
It’s a test.
I figured it out, for real this time.
Mommy is pushing me to break the rules. She wants to see how long I’ll last in the corner before I break and give up.
I might be helpless, I might have had so many accidents in Time Out that my diaper is utterly ruined, stinky and leaking and bulging in ways it shouldn’t, but I’m not a naughty baby. Most of the time, at least.
I cross my arms, though I still wriggle in my seat. I want desperately to be free from time out, but it’s still intensely hot to be stuck in my own mess, the one I had completely without control.
Mommy will see, I’m not-
“Baby? You can come out of time out now.”
I blink. I’m so surprised, I almost fall out of my chair, turning to see Mommy standing in the doorway.
She’s pinching her nose. She’s wearing her old ratty jeans and a T shirt with holes in it, for some reason. There’s splatters of paint on her clothes, too, and she looks like she’s been working hard at something. “Oh my gosh, you stink. You really do need your diapers, don’t you? Well, that’s fine. Come on, let’s get you changed.”
I struggle to my feet. My legs have fallen asleep, I realize, and my knees wobble as I waddle, heavy diaper weighing me down, to follow her.
To my surprise, we go past the master bedroom. She’s leading me to the guest bedroom, for some… reason…
On the door, in pastel colors, there’s a big sticker on the guest bedroom door that says what it’s been converted to.
“Oh my gosh,” I whisper, as I realize what she’s been doing. Why she had to keep me alone, distracted for so long. “Mommy, you-”
“I did,” she confirms, and then she pushes open the door to my brand new baby Nursery.
This one was a bit of an experiment to write! First person, present tense, and I basically wanted to see how much I could stretch out a scene without any actions and still keep it compelling and fun. I’m pleased with how it turned out!
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