Santa's Secrets

Contains: Wetting, Extreme Cuteness, Romance

December. The month of Christmas, the month of Solstice, the month of holiday cheer.

And the month of Finals.

Snow blustered in windy circles as I trudged down campus. I wanted to be out having fun–relaxing, taking the time off, maybe indulging a bit in a little kinky fun while my roommate was gone for the weekend–but I had papers to write.

I’d compromised. I wouldn’t blow off work entirely, but I’d at least put something puffy and absorbent on, and if I hit my study goals, I’d give myself a little time to have fun in the diaper. It made the day a bit more exciting, and helped incentivize me to focus.

Being cooped up in my dorm would have been too painful, so I’d passed on that. The library was only a few blocks away–and despite the snow, it wasn’t too cold, just wintry. With a couple layers on, I almost found it comfortable.

Outside the library, something unusual struck me. A girl–I thought she was a student, though I couldn’t be certain–had on bright red and fluffy white robes, with a floppy red hat atop it all, standing behind a table. She was chubby enough to fill out the Santa role perfectly, with red cheeks and a smile that could infect anyone with mirth from twenty paces. In front of her table, tentatively secured with overstretched duct tape, was a posterboard sign advertising hot chocolate for two dollars.

I stopped and looked it over. She had thermoses ready to go, paper cups inside plastic packaging that had a small rock set inside it so they wouldn’t all blow away, and for only two dollars it barely felt like it cost anything.

“Spare a couple bucks for charity?” The Santa girl asked. She’d dressed for the weather–leg warmers over insulated leggings, and her hat came down over her ears.

“I’d spare a dollar for hot chocolate anyways,” I replied, smiling. “What’s the charity?”

“I’m raising money for the Dearby Animal Shelter,” she said. “If I can sell forty cups, that’ll cover a puppy’s adoption fees.”

I glanced past her, through the library’s glass entry doors. “Do you know if they allow drinks in there?”

“As long as you stay in the seating area at the front,” Santa said, gesturing with a cheerful smile. “I asked a couple days ago to make sure.”

Digging in my coat, I produced my wallet. “Are you going to be out here all morning?”

“All day!” she replied. “If it doesn’t get too cold, at least–I’ve got a sandwich and all the hot cocoa I can drink, so I’m gonna be out here till it gets dark.”

Maybe it was just already on my brain because of the diaper crinkling between my thighs, but I joked, “Well, be sure to squeeze in a bathroom break in, here or there.”

She giggled and–blushed? I expected a reply like, ‘Oh, of course’, but she demurred and said nothing. Was she not planning on taking bathroom breaks? How, unless…?

(I’m reading too much into this,) I thought. (She’s flushed because it’s cold.)

Drawing out a ten dollar bill, I said, “Keep the change, I’m happy to help out some puppies.”

She beamed, pouring me a cup of cocoa. I expected the kind made from generic-brand powder, but the slurry she poured into the cup was rich and thick and smooth. She passed the cup to me, and I took a sip.

“Holy shit,” I muttered.

She raised her eyebrows, in the middle of placing my ten bucks into a metal box. “What?”

“That’s delicious,” I said. “Two dollars is a steal.”

Santa smiled. “If you wanted to say that to everyone walking by, it’d probably help sales.”

I paused, smirking, and slung my backpack off my shoulder. “I have an idea.”

She tilted her head. “What’s that?”

Producing a fat-tipped blue highlighter, I moved to her hand-written sign and added in my own handwriting, “Five stars, Delicious, Homemade, Two Dollars is a steal - A Satisfied Customer”.

She stepped forward to read my note, and her eyes sparkled. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” I said. Hefting my backpack, I added, “Good luck–I’ve really got to get to studying, but I hope you sell plenty of cocoas.”

“If you want a refill, please come get one,” she replied.

I raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I will absolutely come take you up on that, so be sure to cut me off before I drink your whole supply.”

We both giggled, and I walked into the library, my day a fair bit brighter than it’d been twenty minutes before. I settled into one of the tables, took out my laptop, and got to work. Chocolate nectar sweet on my lips, and Santa’s giggle echoing in my ears, I was ready to take on the world.

Or, at least, ready to write essays.

My focus lasted a solid ninety minutes. My diaper helped–when I felt the need to pee, I didn’t need to interrupt my work, I could just let go and keep going, though the sensation of warmth spreading between my legs did make me squirm with delight. Nobody could tell beneath my clothes, it was my secret.

And my gaze kept drifting to Santa. We could see each other through the library’s glass doors–she was sipping cocoa, chatting with customers.

And she didn’t take any breaks.

It’d only been ninety minutes, though–that wasn’t an unreasonable amount of time to hold it, not in the slightest. I had to be imagining things. I had to.

As I finished up the easy essay on my list, my cocoa cup ran dry, and I chose to reward myself with a refill.

Stepping out, I pulled my arms close, holding up my cup. “About that refill,” I said.

She smiled, lifting her thermos. “Of course! How’s the studying going?”

“Thousand word essay is done,” I said. “Next one’s the real beast, though–I’ve got to write five thousand words on the history of potatoes.”

“Ooh, exciting,” she snickered.

“I plan on titillating readers with the thrilling tale of starch,” I snarked back. “I’m not taking too much if I come back for one more cup later, am I? I’d hate for you to run out.”

“Oh, please,” she replied, gesturing with a foot to the big canister thermoses at the base of the table. “I’ve got more cocoa than I have cups. If running out were an issue, I’d be the real problem–I’ve had about five cups already.”

“Ooh, they say you’re not supposed to sample your own products,” I said.

She laughed, her tummy jiggling–don’t think it, don’t think it–like a bowlful of jelly. “Oh, I’m not sampling, I’m a full-blown addict,” she explained. “How do you think I got the recipe just right?”

My cup refilled and my soul refueled, I said, “I should get back to it. Thanks for the refill.”

“Of course,” Santa replied. “Thanks for helping the puppies.”

“And seriously–” I added. “If you don’t cut me off, I will be back for more.”

What passed next was two more hours of good, solid focus. I didn’t just drink cocoa–I also detoured to the water fountain so I wouldn’t die of a sugar headache–but the hot, creamy elixir kept me sustained.

Now that she’d pointed it out, though, I also noticed her own fluid consumption. She was drinking a cup or two an hour, while I sipped mine and made it last. I couldn’t begrudge her–it was cold outside, the cocoa was warm, there was nothing wrong with it–but I had to wonder where it was all going. I’d had to pee twice since arriving, but she seemed to have a bladder like a steel trap.

(Or…)

I couldn’t see even the tiniest hint of puff around her butt, but it was concealed by long crimson robes and layers of insulated clothing. If she had on a diaper, it’d be as invisible as my own.

I’d brown-bagged my own lunch, same as her, and this time, I timed my break around her own schedule. When I saw her take a sandwich out of her bag, I saved my work, closed up my computer, and walked outside.

Holding up the paper bag with my own sandwich and some chips, I asked, “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure!” she said, eyes sparkling as she stepped to the side so I had room to set the bag on her table. “What’ve you got?”

“BLT,” I said. “You?”

“Oooh, that sounds tasty,” she said. “I just made a PB&J.”

“Want to share?” I asked. “Halvsies?”

She snickered. “What, are we in middle school?” I almost rescinded the offer with an abashed comment, but before I could, she added, “That sounds nice, actually.” Removing half of her sandwich from its cellophane wrapping–she’d cut it into two rectangles–she gave me one. I gave her a triangle of my BLT.

“How’re sales going?” I asked, eating the savory sandwich first.

“Great,” she said. “Your note is really helping, people keep stopping to ask who wrote it.”

“I wondered why everyone kept staring at me,” I joked. “I figured they just recognized me from the wanted poster.”

“But seriously, thanks. I’ve sold like sixty cups already!”

“That’s a puppy and a half, right?” I asked. She beamed and nodded. “Awesome!”

I wanted to ask. I desperately wanted to ask, but I wasn’t going to be a creep, no matter how much the curiosity burned. Instead, I said, “So are you a student here?”

“Guilty as charged,” she replied. “I haven’t picked a degree yet. Kind of want to be a vet, but like–I don’t know I want to do that, you know? So I’m just collecting credits for now.”

“I get that,” I replied, finishing off the BLT and moving to the half-PB&J I’d received from Santa. “Have you considered going into toy delivery?”

She laughed. “I almost didn’t dress up, y’know. But this was warmer than my other jacket anyways, so I figured–why not?”

“Next time you can bring coal too, for people who don’t buy the cocoa,” I suggested.

Santa smirked, picking up her cocoa to sip it. “So what about you? What’re you doing here?”

“Disappointing my parents,” I replied. “Or, well–I’m a theater major. English minor.”

Snorting, she sprayed cocoa out of her lips mid-sip. A little got on me, and she blurted, “Sorry!”

“It’s fine!” I replied, wiping off my jacket with the palm of my hand. “I timed that quip pretty unfortunately. Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, here,” she said, picking up her thermos. “Let me at least treat you to a bit more, since I’m getting it all over your clothes anyways.”

“Do you have any napkins? You got some on your robe too,” I added, pointing to a little dark stain on the red.

She shrugged. “I’ll rinse it out later. Trying to sop it up in the cold would be pretty pointless–my clothes are too absorbent.” Giggling at her own joke, I definitely saw her flush rise a little more.

(That’s–that’s definitely a blush. Is it because she said her clothes were absorbent? Would she be that brazen? Why am I thinking about it this much?)

I felt myself struck by a clumsy tongue, unsure how to speak without blurting, ‘So are you wearing a diaper?’. She noticed my apprehension, and we ate in a slightly awkward but otherwise pleasant silence.

“Whelp,” I said, hefting my backpack. “Back to work.”

“Good luck,” she replied. “I’ll be here a few more hours at least–I know there’s a big club rally meeting something-or-other here at four, and I want to be here to get them all coming through. That might be as many sales as I got the whole rest of the day!”

This time, I really buckled down. Really. I wasn’t constantly glancing up, wondering if–or when–she might finally take a break to come inside and pee.

There was no way she could hold it this long. Not as much cocoa as she’d drank. She had to–(stop thinking about it, you’ve got work to do)–but then she’d said her clothes were absorbent, was that a coy joke, or–(shut up, horny brain. Study.)

I got a couple more pages done in a couple more hours, wrapping up around three thirty. Enough to be satisfied with the day’s work, and by this point, my diaper had become saturated. Much longer, and I’d have to start worrying about leaks, about my discreet padding becoming an indiscreet stain on my pants. I had to pee, a little, and wanted to get back to the dormitory to change before the inevitable happened.

Coming to a stopping point, I started to pack up.

That’s when calamity struck.

It was terrible timing, really, and just bad luck. The wind had picked up, a little, with more flurries twisting in little cyclone circles. While Santa was crouched, getting a new thermos of cocoa, the tape holding her sign in place finally lost its stickiness, a mix of cold, wind, and snowy damp. The sign flipped up, caught in a gust, and knocked over the plastic bag over her stack of paper cups, sending them flying like bowling pins. The weight inside, the little rock, wasn’t enough to do a thing–cups scattered into the wind, spilling across the ground.

Santa stepped back in shock. Desperately, she tried to grab a few off the ground, but even the ones she picked up were contaminated with dirty sidewalk snow, unusable.

I ran out the door, trying to help. There was nothing to be done. A handful of cups were still in the bag, but only a handful, and the ones that had scattered were useless even if they hadn’t blown away.

Eyes turning to huge puddles, Santa whispered, “No–”

“Jeez, I–” I started, looking for words. With little else to do, I at least ran over and grabbed the sign, sticking it back down onto the table. “I’m sorry. But hey, you got a bunch of sales already, right?”

“Yeah, but… the club meeting. I’m going to miss the club meeting. That’s why I came here today.” Her eyes began to water, and her sniffle had nothing to do with the cold. I recognized the ‘I-don’t-know-what-to-do’ panic, while she whispered, “It…I…”

Time to be helpful. “Okay, no problem. You’ve still got a few cups left, and there’s a gas station a few blocks away from here–I think they sell solo cups for the party kids. I’ll go get a box and be right back, okay?”

Her panic froze on her face, melting into surprised relief. “You’d do that?”

“For puppies? Any day,” I said, smiling as confidently as I could.

“Thanks!” She said, “And–hurry, please!”

“Of course. Be right back.” Turning, I half-jogged down the sludgy sidewalk, hustling through snowmelt to get the cups in time.

Easy. No problem. I wouldn’t be getting back to my dorm before I had to pee again, but that didn’t matter–my diaper could hold a little more, and it was worth the inconvenience to provide a little Christmas miracle.

I got a hundred cups for eight dollars from the gas station, paused to pee somewhere without wind or cold, and then hurried back to the library, my diaper squelching warmly with every step. I barely noticed, too task-focused to care.

A car was pulling up to the front of the library as I ran up, bag of cups in my hand. Santa was looking around, concerned, not a single cup on her table. She saw me, and her eyes lit up.

“Merry Christmas!” I called, running the last half block up, just as a few students looked over the table, doing the math, recognizing the deal, and dubiously figuring out which of them had cash to pay for the hot chocolate. Stepping up, I announced, “I’ve got cups for the pups–let’s get this cocoa sold.”

She smiled. I smiled. Then I set out the cups, and we went to town pouring out cocoa, collecting cash, and chatting with customers. We made a perfect Christmas team.

The club rolled through like a storm. Almost a hundred people, enough to completely fill up the library’s ample meeting spaces, and more than half of them got cocoa. Some got two cups. Some passed over wadded twenty dollar bills, just wanting to donate to charity.

I chalked it up to the quality of the cocoa. Santa said it was all due to Christmas cheer.

In half an hour, the last stragglers had gone through. Santa and I were laughing and giggling. She still hadn’t taken a bathroom break, even with me there to help.

I knew I had to ask, even if I was nervous about the results. “Hey…” I said, anxious to say the words. “I need to ask you something.”

She looked me up and down, her giggle dying as her expression turned shy. Not concerned, just uncertain. “Oh, yeah?”

“Um…” I rubbed at the back of my neck. “Can I get your number?”

Smiling, she nodded. “Sure. And my name’s Emily.”

“Right! I’m Sam.” My eyebrows shot up, and I blushed. “Shoot, I–I’d just been thinking you were Santa herself.”

She laughed. “Well, Sam–if you want to get coffee sometime, I’d love to.”

“I’m more of a cocoa person, really,” I admitted. “But thanks.”

I didn’t need to ask about what she had on. It didn’t matter–I liked her, and she seemed to like me. Maybe the rest would work out, maybe it wouldn’t, but for now it was coming close to Christmas and I felt happy.

I helped her pack up, and we polished off the last thermos of cocoa together.

“Do you need help carrying this anywhere?” I asked, gesturing to the box of empty thermoses, the folded up table, the bag of trash and various remaining supplies.

“I’ve got a friend coming to pick me up here soon,” she replied, “But thanks.”

“Happy to help,” I said, smiling. “So…see you later?”

“Sure. But…” she added, blushing and glancing away as she stood back. “Maybe pull your jacket down. I didn’t want to say anything before, while other people were around, but you, erm, leaked.”

My eyes widened, and my face turned bright pink. “O-oh!”

“I don’t mind,” she said. “And you can only really tell if you’re looking down at the back of your pants. Just thought you’d want to know.”

Bright pink, I said, “Um…thanks. I–um–I was–erm, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, shyly, before quietly confessing. “Don’t worry. You’re not the only one.” She stepped up to me. She had to get on her tiptoes and lean forward, but she planted a kiss on my cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

I looked at myself in the mirror–I had a big lipstick mark on my cheek. I didn’t want to wash it off, not for the world. I beamed. “Merry Christmas.”