CHAPTER11
Briana
I heard Vassily’s footsteps return. I bit my lip so I wouldn’t plead with Papa Georg… I didn’t know what would come out of my mouth if I started to beg, but it would probably have included everything… please, no diaper, Papa… please, close the door, Papa… please let me go to the potty…
Please just let me go. But…
A wrenching sob shook my upper body and seemed to make my entire lower body spasm with need. For the first time, with that squirming clench, I became aware of how sore my ass felt from Papa Georg’s belt.
But…
More pee escaped, and I cried out in shame and distress as I felt it, and just barely contracted the muscles there enough to keep it from gushing. The men behind me guffawed.
Papa Georg spoke sharply in Russian.
Please just let me go… but come with me.
I heard footsteps going away. I heard the door of the tiny bedroom close behind me.
I couldn’t help myself. “Papa?” I whimpered. “Please?”
He didn’t respond with words, but I felt the too-familiar, clinging enclosure of an adult diaper on my bottom cheeks, my back, my thighs. My bad girl prison daddies had only put me in diapers once. It had been enough to teach me my lesson, and adjust my attitude toward my training. The very idea that I could be put into diapers sent a thrill of shame shooting through my veins—and, just as bad, a current of wanton arousal shooting out from my clit through my nervous system.
I heard the Velcro tabs being opened and felt the tugging.
“Hold on one more second, sweetheart,” Papa Georg said.
But I couldn’t: my new papa’s very words made it impossible to hold another microsecond… another nanosecond. I cried out with the terrible, wonderful feeling of release, feeling my pussy clench at the same time as my pee started to flow out of me. The mortifying feeling of it being wicked away but still leaving me slightly warm and slightly damp in the diaper brought a whimper of forbidden need to my lips.
“It’s alright,” said Papa Georg as he fastened the tabs to tighten my diaper around my waist. “I got it there just in time.”
The soothing quality of his voice didn’t take me aback, really, because I had heard the same tone from my other daddies. Here, though, when he had behaved so ambiguously before, despite clearly having those daddy skills and personality traits, to have him turn into a kind papa rather than a scary, strict one, undid me. I started to weep desperately into the mattress.
Despite the comfort Papa Georg had just given I felt certain he would leave me there and open the door so the other henchmen could see the little whore in her diaper. Even as the terrible pleasure of peeing at last gave way to the blushing naughtiness of relieving myself in a diaper, I told myself that this man must merely have decided to play with me.
It didn’t seem to matter at all, in that moment, that in every way that counted he had shown me he meant exactly what he had said: to take care of me. I heaved a huge sob, my wrists rattling in the handcuffs, and I gave into feeling sorry for myself—having, I couldn’t help thinking, every right to feel that way.
“Shh,” Papa Georg murmured. His hand came down gently on my back and started to rub my tense muscles, kneading softly so that I had to whimper with the tiny pleasure of the sensation.
This didn’t fit with my idea that he would just leave, but my brain didn’t seem able to put facts together into solid ideas. The desolate feeling that he would leave me remained; his soothing hand only brought another flood of tears.
“Push up a little on your arms,” Papa Georg said. “You have to stay in the handcuffs, but I have a bottle of water for you.”
It felt pathetic, but I couldn’t help it: my chest filled with affection—really I wanted to call it love to myself, but I refused to allow my brain to form that word. The affection came out in a little sob as I obeyed him and got onto my elbows. The handcuffs made the position very awkward, but that didn’t matter when I turned my face toward Papa Georg.
He sat on the edge of the cot and held the bottle so a little of the water could trickle into my mouth. Some of it spilled, of course, but he managed to make sure most of it got, very gradually, inside, where it felt like… well, love. Even if I refused to call my hours-old feelings for this man that, I seemed able to see this tiny kindness in a criminal hellscape that way.
“Thank you,” I heard myself say between sips. “Thank you, Papa.”
His hand moved from my back to my bottom, to hold me gently there atop the bulky material of the diaper. I felt pretty certain he had done it unconsciously. That slight pressure on my backside, though, where he had whipped me with his belt, and displayed me to the hallway, and finally diapered me…
I moaned very softly. My hips jerked, and I had to stop drinking. Papa Georg, seemingly alert to every detail, tipped the bottle up in time, so that the water didn’t spill. My face had gone very hot, and I felt sure he could see the crimson in my upturned cheeks.
His hand on my diaper, which had merely rested there before, gave a gentle squeeze. My moan became a little gasp. My daddies had gotten me very used to being kept needy, in order to increase my responsiveness to their touch. Here in the warlord’s bunker, though, with Papa Georg’s hand on my ass, I felt more desperate for an orgasm than I thought I had ever been before.
It had something to do with Papa Georg, I decided—but probably also something to do with the danger, and even the fear: my Advanced Guidance daddies had made it clear that one of the most important reasons girls from bad girl prison had proven ideal Sexual Relief Devices for the military lay in our response to high-risk situations. It didn’t make any rational sense, but a link between our sexual arousal and our fear arousal reactions made us perfect concubines for men like my Lumberjack daddies.
And even more perfect for Papa Georg, here in Papa Nicolai’s bunker, if he decided to take advantage of my wanton need for him… all of him… right now.
“Please?” I whimpered. I thought I could feel it, even in the gentle squeezing movement of his fingers on the diaper, which communicated a terrible teasing pressure to my bottom and all the way to my pussy. I could sense how badly Papa Georg wanted to fuck me, and I arched my back and raised my bottom in answer.