The mall’s Christmas village glowed under soft amber lights long after closing hours, the gates locked tight for tonight’s private adults-only “Naughty List” event. The air was thick with cinnamon and pine, and the only people left in line were grown-ups in frills, leather, or footed pajamas.
Emily—formerly known as Emmett—stood there in the most humiliating outfit Miranda had chosen: a baby-pink satin dress with extravagantly puffed sleeves and a ruffled bodice that cinched tight at the waist before flaring into a short, frilly skirt. The glossy fabric shimmered under the lights, and the skirt was so brief it barely skimmed the tops of her thighs, offering no cover at all for the thick, white disposable diaper beneath. The padding bulged obviously, forcing her thighs apart into an awkward waddle.
Miranda had made it very clear in the car: four big bottles of juice, no bathroom, and a bright, cheerful reminder in that syrupy voice she used when she was being extra cruel:
“No potty until after you sit on Santa’s lap and read your list. Be a good little girl and hold it, okay? We don’t want another accident in public again, do we?”
Emily’s thighs kept scissoring together, knees knocking, hands pressed between her legs as she tried to dance in place without being obvious. The pressure was unbearable. Her bladder felt like it was about to explode.
The elf—a six-foot domme in a candy-cane corset—smirked and waved her forward. “Next! Come on up, princess!”
Santa waited on his throne, all jolly red velvet and snowy white beard, belly laughing as Emily toddled up the steps.
“Ho ho ho! Well, who do we have here?” he boomed, voice warm and cheerful. “Come sit on Santa’s lap, sweetheart, and tell me if you’ve been naughty or nice!”
Emily climbed up, the satin skirt fluffing everywhere, diaper crinkling like a crunched-up shopping bag. The second her padded bottom settled, his big gloved hands locked around her waist and pulled her snug against him. That was when she felt it: the thick, hard ridge of his cock pressing up under the velvet. Santa’s jolly smile never wavered, but his eyes went dark and sharp, like he was waiting for her to make the right moves.
“H-hi… Santa…” Emily squeaked in a quivering voice, trying to break the awkwardness.
He gave an exaggerated, delighted chuckle for the audience, bouncing her once so the diaper crinkled loudly.
“Oh! Such good manners!” His hand slid to her hips, pressing her harder against his erection. “Now tell Santa: have you been a naughty little girl this year?”
Emily glanced to his wife Miranda, who narrowed her eyes and nodded back at him. Emily swallowed, cheeks burning, and managed a tiny nod.
“Y-yes, Santa… vewy naughty…”
The crowd laughed softly. Santa’s eyes flashed.
“Ohhh, I know you have, sweetheart,” he said, loud enough for everyone, then lowered his voice again to that filthy growl. “But guess what? Santa’s been naughty too.”
He leaned closer, lips brushing her ear.
“Santa’s been having a jolly ‘ole time… with your wife.”
Emily’s whole body went rigid. A broken whimper escaped.
“Last night, while you were locked in your crib with your mittens pinned and your paci popped in, I had your wife spread wide on the big grown-up bed you’re never allowed in anymore. I fucked her so hard she screamed my name into the pillow that you used to drool on. She came over and over. Soaked the sheets way worse than your little bedwetting accidents ever did. Then she rolled over, looked me in the eye, and begged me to come here tonight so we could finish turning her pathetic little sissy husband into a crying, leaking mess together!”
Emily’s stomach dropped straight through the floor. The man currently holding her on his lap, the man whose thick cock she could feel throbbing under her diaper, had spent last night balls-deep in Miranda.
She tried to wriggle away, a panicked little squeak escaping her throat, but his arms tightened like steel bands.
“Nuh-uh. Stay right here and be a good little sissy girl,” Santa boomed cheerfully for the crowd, then leaned in so only she could hear the steel underneath. “You’re not going anywhere until you read every single wobbly word of that baby scribble your Mommy made you write with your wrong hand. Out loud. Let everyone hear exactly what a silly, diapered sissy wants for Christmas.”
He shoved the glittery pink paper into her hands and forced her arms up so the whole room could see the shaky, left-handed scrawl and the messy hearts doodled in the corners.
Emily swallowed hard, cheeks burning, and tried to save whatever tiny scrap of dignity she had left. She opened her mouth and forced out the deepest, most adult voice she could manage:
“D-dear S-s-s-santa, I’ve been a very naughty sissy this year and I—”
Santa cut her off with a loud, disapproving tut-tut-tut, wagging one gloved finger in her face like she was a toddler who just said a swear word.
“No no no, princess. That won’t do at all.” He gave her a hard bounce that made the thick diaper rub against her cage and her bladder scream. “We don’t use big-boy voices here. Try again, baby girl. High and lispy, just like Mommy taught you, or Santa will spank that bottom right here in front of everyone.”
Emily’s thighs clamped together, knees knocking. She could feel the pressure building so fast it made her eyes water. She tried one more time, whispering, “Please, I—”
Another sharp tut. Another cruel bounce. A warning spurt leaked out; she felt the warmth bloom against her skin.
“Last chance, sweetheart,” he sing-songed, loud enough for the front row to hear. “Talk like the dumb little baby you are, or I’ll make you stand up and show everyone how close you are to flooding that diaper.”
Tears spilled over. Emily gave up.
Her voice cracked into the high, quivering, lispy mess Miranda had drilled into her for weeks:
“D-deaw Santa…” she hiccup-sobbed. “I-I’ve b-been a vewy n-naughty sissy dis yeaw an’… an’ I want…”
Her legs scissored frantically, thighs rubbing together, trying anything to hold it back. Santa started the slow, deliberate bouncing again, each movement grinding the thick padding against her caged clitty and pressing on her aching bladder.
“Go on, potty-pants,” he cooed. “Tell Santa before you have a big accident.”
Another hot spurt escaped, longer this time. Emily squeaked, high and panicked, and the words tumbled out in a desperate, lisping rush:
“I w-w-want p-pwetty pastel dwesses dat shine when I move… a b-big sissy dowwy to cuddwe when Mommy wocks me in my cwib… a w-wocking diwdo paci so I stop tawking back…”
Her whole body was shaking now. She was openly potty-dancing on his lap, knees bouncing, bottom lip wobbling, tears dripping onto the paper.
Santa just laughed and bounced her harder.
Another spurt and, finally, the dam broke.
A loud, shameful hiss filled the air as Emily completely lost control, flooding the diaper in one long, helpless torrent. The padding swelled hot and heavy, sagging between her thighs, leaking warm trickles down her bare legs while the entire room heard every second of it.
Santa clapped like she had just done a cute trick.
“Aww, there it is!” he boomed, jolly as ever. “Baby couldn’t even finish one little sentence without making a great big pee-pee in her princess diaper! Who’s the most pathetic potty-pants in the whole mall? You are! Yes you are!”
He booped the tip of her runny nose with one white-gloved finger, then leaned in so his beard scratched her tear-soaked cheek.
“Keep reading, pissy girl,” he growled, low and lethal. “Every single baby word. And don’t you dare stop grinding.”
Emily was sobbing too hard to breathe properly, but the words still spilled out in a cracked, lisping wail:
“T-twaining bwas fow my puffy nipples… w-wumba panties to go ovah my diapurrs… an’ an even tiny-err cage pwease Santa… da kind dat pinches all day so I nevew fowget I’m nuffin but a…”
Santa’s free hand slipped under the frilled shirt and found her swollen little breasts. He trapped one aching, hormone-puffed nipple between thumb and forefinger and twisted slowly, cruelly, with increasing pressure.
Emily shrieked a high, broken sound and her hips jerked forward on their own, mashing the sloppy padding harder against his thigh.
“Look at that,” he laughed to the crowd, twisting the other nipple now, rolling both until she was shaking. “Sissy’s titties are almost as leaky as her diaper!”
He switched to the other nipple, tugging and squeezing, sending sparks straight to her cage. The diaper was a hot, squelching mess; every grind rubbed the soaked padding over her trapped clitty in slick, relentless strokes.
Her voice dissolved into pathetic whimpers:
“P-pwease gif me a whole case of diapees wif baybee pwints… an’ wocking pwastic pants to keep me fwum getting out of dem… an’ an’ pwease Santa make me stay wike dis fowevew, a dumb wittle sissy who can’t even sit on your wap without wetting an’ makin’ stickies—”
The last word broke into a mortified wail because Emily felt it happen: her caged clitty spasmed hard, again and again, spurting useless ropes of cum into the already drenched diaper. The ruined orgasm rippled through her while she was still grinding, still being groped, still lisping her Christmas list like a broken doll.
Santa threw his head back and roared with laughter.
“Oh ho ho! Did someone just cream her pissy diaper on Santa’s lap? In front of everyone?” He gave her nipple one last vicious twist that made her sob. “What a dirty little dolly!”
He lifted a hand and beckoned with two fingers.
“Miranda! Come check your husband. I think she made a big sticky in her already-soaked diaper.”
Miranda sauntered over, phone up and recording, wicked smirk sharp as knives. Her smile was half amused, half disappointed, like she was looking at a puppy that had just piddled on the carpet again.
She stopped right in front of Emily, eyes flicking from the blotchy, tear-streaked face down to the sagging, yellowed bulge beneath the pink satin skirt.
“Again?” she sighed, shaking her head with mock sorrow. “You couldn’t even last five minutes on Santa’s lap without cumming your diaper like a desperate little sissy?”
Santa flipped the skirt of the satin dress up so that Miranda could slip two manicured fingers into the elastic of the diaper. Emily felt them push past the warm, swollen padding and slide right along her caged clitty.
Miranda’s eyebrows shot up. She let out a soft, pitying laugh.
“Oh honey… you really did it! All those sticky cummies floating in your pee-pee padding.” She swirled her fingers once more, just to make Emily whimper, then pulled them out glistening. “What a pathetic little mess.”
Only then, with the whole room watching, did Miranda grab the front of the diaper with both hands and yank the tapes open in one sharp RRRRIP!
The heavy, sodden padding flopped down between Emily’s spread thighs with a wet slap, exposing everything: the tiny pink cage still dripping, the yellowed inner lining streaked with thick white ropes.
Miranda left the ruined diaper open like a curtain so every phone in the room got a perfect shot.
“Look at that, everyone,” she announced, voice dripping with fond disappointment. “My big strong husband, reduced to a leaky, cum-stained sissy!”
She scooped up another glob of the mixed mess and smeared it slowly across Emily’s trembling lower lip.
“Say thank you to Santa, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Thank him for helping Mommy show the whole room exactly what a worthless little potty-pants you really are!”
Emily garbled out some broken babbles and garbles, face flushed crimson.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Miranda cooed, her voice dripping with syrupy sweetness loud enough for the entire crowd to savor every word. “Let’s go home.”
She glanced down at the sodden, sagging padding still dangling from Emily’s hips, the swollen inner gel a deep, shameful yellow, streaked with thick ropes of ruined sissy cum, and her wicked smile sharpened into something almost fond.
“Oh no, baby girl. We’re not wasting a perfectly good diaper.”
Miranda seized the dripping front panel and yanked it back up between Emily’s trembling thighs with a loud, wet, squelching slap. The hot, sloshy mess pressed instantly against Emily’s caged clitty and tender skin, forcing a high, broken whimper from her throat as she squirmed helplessly.
Miranda smoothed the soaked padding into place with slow, deliberate pats, savoring every flinch. Then, accepting a roll of tape from one of the grinning elves, she sealed the same ruined diaper back around Emily’s waist.
“There we go!!” she purred, delivering a sharp, resounding smack to the bulging, discolored seat. The impact forced a fresh, hiccuping sob from Emily. “You made this big sticky mess all by yourself, so you get to marinate in it all the way home! Maybe next year my little potty-pants will learn to hold her pee-pee and cummies a tiny bit longer.”
Santa chuckled deeply and gave Emily’s freshly re-taped bottom one final playful bounce before lifting her down. The re-sealed diaper squished warmly with every tiny movement, the sticky heat clinging relentlessly to her skin like a second, shameful layer.
Miranda clipped the short, jingling leash to the delicate heart-shaped ring on Emily’s collar and gave it a gentle, commanding tug.
“Come on… let’s go home, potty-pants.”
She turned to the crowd with a dazzling, triumphant smile. “Santa’s going to make sure every single wish on that precious little list comes true this year.”
Then she leaned in close, lips brushing Emily’s tear-damp ear, voice dropping to a velvet whisper meant only for her humiliated sissy.
“Starting tonight, baby girl… when he comes over to tuck you into your crib, after he’s finished fucking Mommy senseless again!!”
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