Inspection
The red and blue lights flashed in Camiâs rearview mirror, a jarring contrast to the late afternoon sun. She groaned, gripping the steering wheel tighter. Of all the damn days. She hadnât done anything wrong, she never did, but that didnât matter. Not anymore. Not since the world had decided that women like her, women who still tried to be adults, were the odd ones out.
She pulled over, the car rolling to a stop with a quiet hum. Before she could even reach for her license, the officer was already at her window, his silhouette looming in the glass. She rolled it down, forcing a polite smile.
âAfternoon, officer,â she said, voice steady despite the irritation bubbling beneath.
The officer didnât return the smile. His eyes flicked over her, her white t-shirt, the way her legs were pressed against the leather seat, the faint outline of her pull-ups beneath her skirt. His expression shifted, just slightly, into something amused. Condescending.
âLicense and registration, miss,â he said, but his tone was already dripping with that infuriating, knowing edge.
Cami exhaled sharply through her nose. She reached for her glove compartment, but before she could open it, the officerâs hand shot out, stopping her. âHold on there. Letâs make sure youâre properly taken care of first.â
Her stomach twisted. She hated this. Hated the way the world had turned, hated the way men like him looked at her now, like she was some kind of curiosity, a relic from a time that no longer existed. Most women her age had long since given up driving, given up thinking, content to let their daddies or the state handle everything for them. But not Cami. She still had her license. Still had her pride.
âOfficer, Iâm fine,â she snapped, but her voice wavered just a little. She could feel his gaze lingering on her legs, on the way her skirt rode up just enough to hint at the thick fabric beneath.
âMmm. Thatâs not for you to decide, is it?â He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into that mocking, daddy-like tone that made her skin crawl. âLift your skirt. Letâs see for ourselves.â
Her face burned. She wanted to refuse, wanted to scream that this was ridiculous, that she was a grown woman, damn it. But the law was the law. And the law said that any woman could be inspected at any time, for her own safety, of course.
With a sharp, resentful motion, she hiked up her skirt, exposing the snug pull-ups hugging her hips. They were dry. Of course they were. She wasnât some helpless little girl who couldnât control her bladder.
The officer let out a low chuckle. âWell, well. Look at you. Still potty trained, huh?â His fingers twitched, and before she could protest, his hand was on her thigh, sliding upward. She stiffened, but his grip was firm, his touch deliberate as he pressed his palm against the front of her pull-ups, checking for wetness.
âOfficer...!â she hissed, but he just smirked.
âRelax. Just doing my job.â His fingers curled slightly, the fabric crinkling under his grip. âThough I do wonderâŠâ His voice was a purr now, the kind that made her stomach clench. âHow long do you think you can keep this up? Driving around, pretending youâre still in charge?â
She swallowed hard, her pulse hammering in her throat. She wanted to slap his hand away, to tell him to go to hell. But the truth was, she was outnumbered. Outmatched. The world had moved on without her.
Then, without warning, he pulled something from his belt, a small, sleek canister. Before she could react, he held the nozzle towards her face and sprayed.
The fine mist hit Camiâs face like a cool, invisible hand. She blinked, her vision swimming for a moment as the scent, sweet, almost cloying, filled her nose. Her thoughts, sharp and defiant just seconds ago, began to blur at the edges, like a radio tuning out of a station. The officerâs voice, once grating, now sounded⊠nice. Warm.
âThatâs a good girl,â he murmured, his tone shifting into something softer, more daddy-like. âJust let it work, sweetheart.â
Camiâs lips parted, but the words she wanted to say, the protests, the anger, wouldnât come. Instead, a slow, heavy warmth spread through her, pooling low in her belly. She shifted in her seat, her thighs pressing together as a strange, tingling pressure built between her legs. She whimpered, her fingers twisting in the hem of her skirt.
The officer chuckled, watching her with amusement. âThere we go. Thatâs my good little driver.â
And then, oh. A rush of warmth flooded her, sudden and undeniable. Her pull-ups darkened instantly, the fabric swelling against her as she wet herself without a single thought to stop it. The sensation was delicious, warm, comforting, like sinking into a bath. She let out a soft, embarrassed giggle, her face flushing as she realized what sheâd done. But the shame was distant, muffled, like it belonged to someone else.
âUh-oh,â the officer teased, his grin widening. âLooks like someone needed that change after all.â He reached for her seatbelt, clicking it open with a sharp snick. âCome on, sweetheart. Letâs get you somewhere more comfortable.â
Cami didnât resist as he helped her out of the car. The world felt soft around the edges, her movements slow and unsteady. The officer, Daddy, a little voice in her head corrected, wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her. She leaned into him, her giggles bubbling up as she took small, wobbly steps toward his patrol car.
âD-Daddy?â she slurred, the word tasting strange and right on her tongue.
âThatâs me, baby girl,â he said, opening the back door. He guided her inside, then reached for the seatbelt, buckling her in with practiced ease. The leather seat was cool against her damp pull-ups, but she barely noticed. All she could focus on was the way Daddy was looking at her, like she was something precious. Something his.
âW-where we goinâ?â she asked, her voice small and sing-song.
Daddy shut the door and leaned in through the open window, his voice gentle. âHome, sweetheart. To your new nursery. Iâve got a nice, thick diaper waiting for you there. And maybe a bottle, if youâre a good girl.â
Camiâs giggles filled the car, high and breathless. She kicked her feet, the wet crinkle of her pull-ups loud in the quiet. The old Cami, the one whoâd been angry, defiant was gone. All that was left was this: a sweet little girl.
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