The Wrong Kind of Change
The electrical circuits of the ceiling fan hummed overhead, filling the void of the tire shop with a dull, continuous buzz. For Jane, this noise was her only friend as she sat atop one of the three metal stools leaning lining a window that separated the front desk from the neighboring repair garage. Of all the days for her to have a tire blowout, it had to be while she was driving home from an office playdate with Rebecca. And of course, Rebecca insisted on sending her off in the most humiliating attire possible.
With Sarah at work and Rebecca in a therapy session with a client by this point, Jane had no choice but to call for a tow truck to rescue her. Tragically, she’d stashed her adult clothes in her private office, meaning she was left with only a short mini-shirt to hide her very visible and droopy diaper as she hopped into the passenger seat of the mechanic’s truck. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she was also donning a short-sleeved onesie that had the words “Mommy’s Girl” written boldly across the chest. It was as if humiliation was being thrust upon her from every conceivable angle.
One blushy truck ride later, Jane found herself held up inside the office of a repair shop while a dozen workers giggled at her from the other side of the window. Checking her phone, it had nearly been an hour since she’d first arrived and she was starting to get antsy; partially because of the long wait time and partially because she was holding in a full bladder. Given how heavily used her diaper already was, the risk of a leak would be too high if she wet again.
Mercifully, it wasn’t much longer before the same mechanic who picked her up entered his office to let her know her Honda Odyssey was as good as new. “Alrighty, miss. The new tire’s on and working like a charm. Will you be paying cash or credit?” he asked, avoiding eye contact entirely.
“Uh, credit,” muttered Jane, blushing as she dug through her strawberry purse for her wallet.
CLATTER!
In Jane’s hastiness, her knuckles clumsily bumped against the travel pacifier she always kept on hand, causing it to spill from her purse and drop to the floor. She yelped before rushing to retrieve it, inadvertently triggering her strained bladder as she squatted down low. Hunched over with her knees tucked into her chest, she proceeded to fill her already squelchy padding. A line of yellow liquid soon dribbled out from the side of her padding before trickling to the tile floor below. Knowing this interaction would never end until her debts were paid off, she reached up midway through pissing and offered her credit card to the mechanic, “And uh…c-could I get a receipt, please?”
💜 Artwork By CodiBaby 💜/💕 Story By CrissieBaby 💕