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Chapter 24 – The Consequences of Accidents
'Oh why didn't I go just before they dressed me? Why?' Pacing wasn't working very well anymore. Every step made her feel like she could feel her bursting bladder bounce up and down inside her. Sitting down wasn't much easier, as every time she did the pressure in her tummy reached a crescendo and she felt as though she was about to explode.
She tried crossing her legs while standing up - that helped a little…
Charlotte stood to one side of the playpen. Her new Raggedy Ann and Andy dress hid from the world her latest cruel humiliation at the hands of Mr Campbell and his servants. After faking a toilet 'accident' to cover up for the fact she had become aroused during her sleep, Mr Campbell had ordered her to spend a day in the nursery. A day in the nursery had entailed being put in a secure diaper that had been solidly chained around her waist. The maid had added insult to injury by adding her own little twist to the torment; she had gagged Charlotte with an oversized pacifier.
Stuck in the playpen she had tried her hardest to ignore the growing need to go to the bathroom, but the constant reminder of the cloth nappy chafing between her legs and the crinkling plastic panties kept bringing her thoughts back to her bodily functions.
It was now impossible to ignore the burning in her bladder. She'd tried sitting, standing up, and pacing back and forth – none seemed to be abating the near explosive pressure in her crotch. Charlotte was feeling desperate now. Any minute she would have to face up to the inevitable, any minute, she couldn't hold on much longer she knew.
The door to the nursery opened and Madeline walked in with a tray containing some sandwiches and drinks. She closed the door behind her and began walking around the play pen toward the bay window and the rocking chair.
Charlotte started screaming from behind her pacifier, the words were indecipherable to all except Charlotte herself 'Please Madeline, please let me out, I'll do anything, please!"
The maid put the lunch tray down and considered the screaming girl in the play pen. Tears flowing down her cheeks she was standing pigeon toed with her knees pointing in toward each other and her hand thrust into her crotch.
"What's wrong with baby Charlotte?" The maid used her highly condescending voice as she took a baby bottle from the lunch tray, and stood leaning over the playpen's railing.
Charlotte was at breaking point, she couldn't hold on much longer, the relentless throbbing in her bladder was painful. She was crying softly behind her gag as the maid looked down on her. Charlotte squeezed her thighs tightly together and closed her eyes shut tightly focussing every ounce of will and effort she possessed to prevent the inevitable.
In shock she jumped as something warm squirted into her face. Her eyes flew open to see the maid smirking evilly as she squirted juice from the baby bottle at Charlotte.
"Does little Charlotte want some drinkies?" Charlotte threw her hands up to protect her face from the warm juice.
'NO! NO I CAN'T!' The juice hitting her face had the same effect as if she had been forced to watch a waterfall or listen to the breaking waves of the ocean. The juice switched on an irresistible urge to give into the inescapable screams from her bladder. 'NO! DON'T DO IT. BE STRONG… PLEASE!' The maid squirted more splashes at Charlotte as she felt the first small trickle emit from inside her.
"Would you like some more pineapple juice baby Charlotte?" More squirts into Charlotte's face.
Charlotte redoubled her efforts to clench her thighs together, trying to ignore the juice splashing into her face. She thrust her hands back into her crotch and crossed her legs, but it wasn't enough. The hours of building pressure finally took their toll. The first trickle now turned into a spurt as the warm liquid seeped out of her and into the diaper, the spurt transformed into a gush as she thoroughly wet herself.
Charlotte cried out loud from behind the pacifier, the maid looked on with malevolent fascination as the young girl finally succumbed to her undeniable need to relieve herself.
Charlotte felt more humiliated and debased than at any other time in her life. The warm liquid cascaded from her into the cloth diaper, she was now completely unable to stop the gushing pee. A few drips where now seeping out of the cloth diaper and down her thighs only to be caught in the plastic panties.
"Oh, poor widdle Charlotte – have you wet yourself?"
She didn't even register the maid taunting words. She was locked away her own whirling world of despair. She'd wet herself, urinated inside her diaper, she'd peed her pants, it was the epitome of degradation for the young girl.
Somewhere in the dark of her despair, Charlie tried to shift the blame to Madeline and Mr Campbell, Charlotte knew better though – she'd brought this on herself, and she'd let herself wet her panties. She was such a bad little girl, Mr Campbell would be so cross with her when he found out. Charlie's complaints were drowned out in Charlotte's wail of self-castigation.
"Would you like some lunch Charlotte?" The maid asked quietly.
Standing in the playpen in her soggy diaper Charlotte looked up slowly barely understanding the maid's words. Tears were drying on her cheeks, her eyes dark pools of sorrow. The maid repeated her question again, a little slower this time. Charlotte nodded.
The maid walked around to the gate of the playpen and unlocked it. From against the wall she produced a small set of wooden stairs which she dropped into the playpen so that Charlotte could climb out. She slowly made her way to the stairs and ascended them, each step reminded her of her shame as the wet diaper chafed between her thighs. A few drops that had escaped the diaper rolled around inside the plastic panties taunting her even further.
The maid led Charlotte to the bay window and before sitting her down, unlocked the pacifier, allowing her to communicate with the world again.
"Can I please change first Madeline?"
"No, you'll have your lunch first and then you can change."
----
She was out of the diaper now. Her relief had been palpable as the chain locking the plastic pants and diaper around her waist had been unlocked and the sodden cloth had been unpinned and pulled away from her.
Madeline had returned her to her suite and allowed her to shower. She stood beneath the hot pulsing water of the showerhead for an eternity, letting the searing water clean her body and soothe her tortured soul.
Within her mind she stood in the centre of a whirlwind. Events were out of her control, and had been since the day she had arrived here. She had thought she could control them, had thought she could manufacture a way to escape, had thought she could influence or prevent the punishments that had been meted out to her.
She had been wrong.
In the brutal winds of the whirlwind she caught glimpses of the various forces that threatened to engulf her soul. The maid inflicting her unfathomable vengeance on her, Bosker's quiet reserve and unshaken loyalty to his master, her plot to escape, the stern Mistress Heinz and her relentless lessons, and finally the enigmatic Mr Campbell.
She had been so naïve. She couldn't even remember how long she had been in the apartment. How many days? Was it three or four, or even five? It felt like it had been a month – but she knew logically that it wasn't. She tried to count back to figure out just how long she had been here. As a reference she thought back through the various encounters she had faced – when had the painful pony ride happened? Had that been one or two days after she arrived? The drunken evening with Mr Campbell had been last night – but what had happened the evening before? She couldn't remember. Everything had been a whirlwind.
She couldn't get her thoughts straight enough to even work out something so simple as how long she had been here.
Why was she here? At first she had thought that Mr Campbell was some type of pervert, a psychopath or something equally nefarious. Now she wasn't sure – he'd had ample opportunity to take advantage of her, and yet he hadn't. Why? Did her long dead mother somehow fit into all of this somehow?
And how did this all explain Madeline's continuing persecution of her? What did her mother have to do with why Madeline hated her so much?
Did Mr Campbell truly have her interests at heart? Was what he was doing really designed to help her somehow? Did he truly believe that this program of humiliation would turn her into something better than who she was? Why?
These questions cascaded through her as the whirlwind in her head roared and the shower's water rushed soothingly over her.
Who really was she though?
Who was this girl that got wet when she was spanked?
Who was she when she dreamed about being dominated by the shadowy man who stalked her dreams – the bizarre mental combination of Kyle and Mr Campbell?
Who was this girl who secretly hoped in the middle of a spanking that the pounding blows would go on forever and send her into a frantic spasm of pain and pleasure?
Why did she feel relieved – no; happy – no; they weren't the right words. Why did she feel CONTENT in her degradation when she had wet herself just before? Why had she sat on the bay window in her wet nappy eating her lunch feeling dejected, humiliated and degraded, while at the same time a warm feeling of arousal had spread through her stomach and thighs?
Why had the butterflies begun fluttering their wings in the depths of her belly when she had been so irrefutably debased?
Who was she now? She wasn't the Charlie she remembered, Charlie would have been kicking and screaming today – she would have thumped the maid any number of times. She hadn't though.
She wasn't the paragon of feminine virtue that Mr Campbell wanted her to be either. That idealistic little girl wouldn't have ended up in the diaper today. She would have woken up fresh and bouncy this morning with no hint of nocturnal arousal. She wouldn't have had to face the ongoing humiliation of the panty checks, or the frequent spankings. She would play with her dolls, do her homework on time, and avidly obey Mr Campbell and the servants. She wouldn't ever have needed to be punished.
Instead she was something else. A series of words came to her.
Prostitute.
Whore.
Slut.
She knew what the words meant. When the boys at school that she hung around gathered conspiratorially around a magazine she had joined them. Someone had pinched one of their Dad's Swank magazines. The pictures had fascinated and at the same time revolted her. She had gazed upon naked women kissing other women, taking huge penises with ear to ear grins and smearing semen on their faces. She had heard the words that her male friends used to describe them.
"Check out that slut man, she loves it – look at that fucking grin!"
"What a whore, both holes at once."
Charlie had stood around in the circle as each new page had been turned to reveal new images of sexual depravity. Naked harlots sucking cocks, peroxided blondes playing with huge vibrators or an average looking red head taking it up the ass from a well hung stud.
Those women were just another type of prostitute, she had thought – they sold their bodies, or images of their bodies for money. Charlie had thought that behaviour disgusting. How could they do that? Did they enjoy it? How could they enjoy having their cum-drenched faces plastered in magazines sold around the world?
They were perverse…
And so was she.
The realisation scared her. Just like the slutty models in the magazine she was enjoying what was happening to her. That scared her. It wasn't normal.
She wasn't normal.
There was something wrong with her.
Would she too end up in the centrefold of a magazine like that: legs spread, huge dildo in one hand, the other spreading her labia apart for the camera while she got wet thinking about just how degrading this image would be? Would she become the pinup girl in some smutty magazine that teenage boys would get hard looking at, thinking about what a filthy slut she was?
The thought scared her witless.
There was something deeply wrong with her. She needed help.
She had to get help from someone before she turned into one of those women. But from whom could she get help?
In a state of ever increasing despair she made the only choice she possibly could.
----
"Mr Campbell, I need to talk to you please."
She was sitting on her sheepskin in his study. They had finished dinner in relative silence. Mr Campbell had cursorily asked about her day over dinner and Charlotte had answered equally briefly. After that he had requested her company for the evening.
Now in the study, he looked up from the book he was reading. He looked at the young girl, now back in her Raggedy Ann and Andy dress, complete with bonnet.
"What about Charlotte?"
"I… umm, well umm, I…" She tried to put her thoughts into words, but they wouldn't come to her in the right way, those that did rise to her consciousness were… soul destroying.
"Well that is that I… No, look umm." Her bottom lip started to quiver as she thought about revealing her innermost secret to him. The thought of admitting to him that she was a depraved pervert shocked her – but she had no choice. But then again she hadn't had a single real choice since the day she'd come here.
All at once, the moment overwhelmed her and she burst into tears.
Mr Campbell sat shocked for a few moments. She had been sitting there quietly, and he had thought her content, yet now she was crying wildly. He did the only thing he could think of. He left his chair quickly to sit next to the crying girl and put his arm around her to console her.
"Charlotte, Charlotte… There, there. What's wrong honey? Come on, please don't cry. What's wrong? Please tell me, I don't like seeing you like this."
She looked up at him, compassion filled his eyes; he wasn't lying. He truly didn't want to see her crying. Suddenly it all came out: "Please help me – I'm turning into some type of pervert. You asked me how my day was today? It was dreadful – I had to wear a diaper." She sniffed back tears and wiped her eyes. Only partially coherent, she continued.
"But you know that already because you decided I had to. But I didn't go to the toilet in the morning because I didn't know what the Nursery was – I mean I kind of did but I didn't know about the diaper." She was blathering now, but he let her continue. He was listening actively, sorting through the disjointed thoughts of the upset girl as she blurted them out.
"I tried not to, I really did, but I wet myself."
He interrupted her briefly, speaking gently: "Charlotte, I know about that, Madeline told me. You shouldn't be worried about that. That was the point of the exercise. You had to learn not to wet yourself again and what better way than by reminding you just what it's like to be a baby and have no control over your body."
"No Mr Campbell – that's not the point. The point is that I didn't wet myself, well I did in the diaper – I mean this morning." She looked at him now, tears still staining her cheeks, but she'd opened the floodgate to her secrets now, it had to all come out.
"I had a dream, I got taken to a tower and was chained up" – by someone who looks like you – "and a man was about to start hurting me, with a whip. But then I woke up and when I did I found out that I'd got excited." - I got wet thinking about the pain - "So I covered it up by pouring water on my pyjamas so that you wouldn't find out and make me wear the punishment panties again." He sat there quietly listening as Charlotte spilled her deepest secrets from her conscience.
"But then you made me wear the diaper and I wet myself and then when I was eating lunch, I got wet again. Not in the peeing way, but the other way. And when you made me wear the clamps and the panties, when I got back to my room I was wet. I was checking myself because I thought I'd been hurt down there and…" she burst into a fresh round of tears. Mr Campbell sat there, his arm still around her.
"Charlotte, come on – it's not that bad."
"But IT IS!" She cried out.
"I'm a freak! There's something wrong with me – can't you see it. This shouldn't be happening. I don't know what's wrong with me. I need help. I have to talk to someone or do something."
Mr Campbell hugged her anew and whispered to her as she cried to herself: "We'll get you help honey. We'll get you some help – I know just who to talk to." He gently rocked her as she softly cried to herself.
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