Once Upon a Slime Part 16: Princess
This is your element. Banal social functions like this exist for you.
You don't have to worry about opening the door with your hands, it simply opens for you. You allow yourself to exude beauty and grace, walking purposefully.
You make the usual greetings to the various lords, ladies, knights, celebrities and high-level government workers. You shake hands, kiss cheeks, and have your hands kissed a few hundred times before you finally are seated at your table.
It's the best table in the venue, which doesn't mean much, as it's still down on the floor with all your subordinates. But such is the life of royalty. You're not here to rule, you're here to elevate the entire event and give the attendees the false sense that they too are important like you.
You chat with the Duchess to your left about various banalities, The Lady to your right about the difficulty in finding good staff, and the Baron across from the table about the details of the yacht that he's having built. You would normally be snide or derisive, but tonight you're pleasant and agreeable. You keep reminding yourself that any rude or mean behavior would have you sucking your thumb.
You're doing very well. Occasionally you reach a word that you don't remember, and are able to substitute it for another. You only say 'thingy' a couple times, and nobody seems to notice or remark on it.
Your Mommy is going to be so embarrassed and mad when you come home victorious in your wager!
The lights dim and a celebrity of some sort takes the stage to give an introductory speech. Of course, he thanks you for being there first and asks for everyone to applaud for your presence. You smile wave shyly; all part of the act. You're playing the part of the bashful and humble princess everyone loves, and you excel at it.
The speech continues, and it's full of really complicated words that make it all confusing. But as long as you laugh when everyone else does, nobody knows that your vocabulary has shrunken.
You feel something shift, a movement in the slime between your legs as the plug holding in all the bath water retracts and dissolves into liquid slime. You're now entirely responsible for holding in your bath-time enema.
You squirm and clench your cheeks. The Duchess looks at you briefly, and you smile to signal that you're enjoying the speech, although you're no longer listening. Your every thought is bent on keeping your enema in.
Waiters place food at your table and water in your glass. You reach for a fork, but you can't seem to grip it. You brilliantly cover for you lack of hands by giving the food a derisive sneer. You aren't eating because the food is gross...totally not because you need Mommy to cut it up and feed it to you!
Your stomach gurgles and you know you aren't going to make it through the night. You raise a finger and a servant is immediately by your side.
"I'm afraid I have another engagement tonight. Could you please have my car brought around immediately?" You ask.
"Yes, Your Highness." He says, and speed-walks away.
It'll be a couple minutes. You can hold it that long. You have to. You're starting to sweat and the mental strain is incredible.
The room goes totally silent. Heads are bowed. You do the same. It's a moment of silence for...something...you weren't listening.
You feel yourself losing the battle. You're praying to every deity you can think of for this fucking eternal 'moment' of silence to end. You simply can't make poopies now!
You decide to let just a little bit out...to relieve the pressure just a bit...
Your squint and concentrate on relaxing just a little.
Pressurized liquid shoots from you in a loud sloppy wet fart. You can actually hear the liquid squirting and splashing into your dipee as your risky gamble turns into a total loss of control.
The relief is immense as the cramping fullness fades. You open your eyes and look around the room, as if you too are looking for where that disgusting noise came from. People a few tables away are looking around as well, but all the people in your immediate viscinity are staring at you. They know you've just had a very loud accident. When you look at them, they quickly look away.
You're trembling with humiliation.
The duchess places a hand on yours. "Don't fret. I'm sure we've all had accidents at one point or another."
You can barely hear her. You can only hear your own heartbeat and the and the roar of your own blood in your ears. You're trying to maintain normal breathing, but you know you're on the verge of crying.
Your dipee is now rewarding you, rubbing you and penetrating you softly. You do your best to remain still as you squirm, feeling your hot wet messy slop flow around your body as you move.
"Your car is ready, Ma'am."
The waiter holds out an arm to help you from your chair.
"Y-yes. Thank you." You say, in a daze of shame.
You stand and use sheer willpower to keep your legs from wobbling. Oh fuck, why was your dipee so think right now?! You can feel the massive weight of it sagging and swaying like a pendulum between your legs as you stand. You force your knees together and there's an audible wet squelch.
You remember with horror how your diaper had swollen multiple times in the tub before spraying water into you. At it's largest size in the tub it just might still be hidden by the your dress...but If you just pottied several times that volume of poopies into your dipee....Everyone would be able to see it.
You're walking quickly, tugging hard at the front and back of your dress to force the hemline down as low as possible. Was that a gasp behind you or did you imagine it? Was the table you just passed laughing at the speech or you?
You're concentration is utterly shattered as you barely suppress your panic. You're waddling like a toddler despite your best efforts.
Then, a moment happens...one that you know will haunt your nightmares for the rest of your life.
You try to control your gait and force your legs together, squishing the dipee between your thighs as much as possible. However, the calculated maneuver goes wrong. Your foot falls at an awkward angle, and your heel slips to the side.
You shriek as you fall forward. and the world slows as everything that could have gone wrong...suddenly goes wrong.
You fall face first and feel the hem on the back of your dress brush against your back as you collide with the floor.
Your clutch, impacting with the hard floor, snaps open, and your pacifier is sent tumbling across the floor in front of you.
You gasp and lunge, crawling after it. You grasp it in a fist and stand. There are suppressed giggles, gasps, and whispers across the whole room, and when the servant helps you stand, every eye is on you. Some people farther away might just have seen you trip, but at least a few hundred people have seen...everything!
You rush to the door. You have to escape! You try to grasp at the handle but your hands won't interact with it properly.
"Open it Open it Open it!" you cry. You realize how childish you sound and then the tears become a constant stream. Everyone is watching you have a fit, complete with diaper and pacifier.
You're escorted through the same throng of reporters you had walked through an hour ago. This time though, instead of being photographed as a haughty royal princess, you're crying, waddling, clutching your paci, and desperately pulling at your dress to hide your shameful messy dipee. You'd never wished harder to be invisible.
You climb into the back seat of the car, unavoidably showing every photographer and news outlet the entirety of your swollen dipee. The flash of cameras becomes a nearly constant light source. You collapse, sobbing into the back seat and the door is closed behind you.
You raise the divider between yourself and the driver, then remove the heels from your aching feet. You scream and sob. You wish Mommy was here to pet you and stroke your cheek. Or Daddy, or Aggie...literally anyone that wouldn't laugh at you!
You plunge your paci into your mouth as you cry helplessly. In this moment you don't care if you need an adult to take it out for you. You need it's comforting shape and flavor. You cry yourself to sleep, curled into a ball in the backseat of the SUV. Even in your dreams you're trying to hide your diaper as people point and laugh.
The crunch of gravel stirs you from your sleep. You're almost home! You hear some words between the driver and another man, and then the car door opens. Daddy is standing there with a big soft blanket. You dive from the car and hug him tightly as he wraps the blanket around you.
"You alright? Want to go back to Mommy?"
You nod fervently. You had been so stupid. How had you ever thought you could do this?!
He leaves your paci in your mouth, but secures the blanket around you to obscure the bottom half of your face. Then, with one arm comfortingly around your shoulders he leads you into the manor.
You spend that night in Mommy's bed, as she comforts and shushes you. she softly runs her fingers through your hair and strokes your cheek as you suck your pacifier. Every time a tear appears, she wipes it away. Everything is so warm...so soft...and so comforting. Not at all like the cold disingenuous royal life you'd sampled tonight.
The next morning Mommy lets you look at her phone as she scrolls social media. Most of it is really boring or hard to understand. Sometimes an image of you trying to hide your diaper moves across the screen. Out there the entire world is laughing, talking, and mocking. Late night comedy hosts are making jabs at you, and all the people you once thought of as friends are carefully deciding the best way to distance themselves from you.
But here...here you're safe. Mommy might have put this thing on you, but at least she, Daddy, and Aggie seem to actually care for you.
Mommy picks up your phone and reviews the thousands of notifications. You don't even want to look. The outside world is a nightmare.
"Hmm...Well...the good news is that people aren't as upset as they could be...Your father is being comforting. He thinks this is salvageable." She summarizes.
Salvageable?! There's no recovery from THIS!!
"Your PR team has reached out. They want to spin it as a political statement. They've already set up a few dozen interviews, a few public appearances, three or four speeches, and some public donations to various causes related to various infant-based causes."
"I don't wanna!" You say, and huddle closer to Mommy. How could you do all that if you couldn't even make it through an awards dinner?
"Well you could just say that you're going to lay low for a bit...maybe try again in a year?" She offers.
You pout. You don't even want to think about that. Maybe in the future You'll want to return, but right now all you want is to be safe and warm with Mommy.
"Or you could just quit." She says.
She shows you a drafted message to your PR team and your parents:
Last night was a failed attempt to live both my lives at once. Following the embarrassment that caused, I'll be removing myself from public life. To be clear, I am choosing to live my life as a baby. Take this as an abdication if you wish, but know that if I ever sit the throne, I'll be feeling it through the padding of a diaper. My staff have been serving as my mommies and daddies for some time, and will continue to do so. This decision is final. Any attempt to talk me out of this or leverage me into public view and the following videos will be sent to the press.
Attached to the message are several videos of you breastfeeding, being burped, drinking your bottle, grinding against your messy diaper, and saying shameful things into the mirror.
Mommy strokes your cheek, "You can't use touchscreens with your gloves, but if you agree with this message, just touch the 'send' button with your nose if you want and you'll be my baby forever."
You gulp and
touch the 'send' button with your nose.
say "I just want to hide...for now. I'll be a princess again in a year."
"I'm not a baby. I can fix this. Schedule the interviews."
Voting ended onJul 26
