Beach Baby Bridgette (Pt. 2): A SpankingToons fanfic

Based on SpankingToons original characters & backstory – check out their brilliant artwork and subscribe to their Gumroad and Patreon

Content warnings for this story (click here for guide):

Captivity/Bondage, ABDL/nappies, dress-up/sissification, wetting/desperation

Bridgette woke up the next morning with a smile on her face that turned to a grimace as she realised her nappy was wet. Cindy had of course insisted on their sharing a twin room. The potty was off-limits to the overgrown toddler until she ‘showed some signs of maturity’, and Bridgette couldn’t help throwing tantrums at the embarrassing baby things Cindy expected her to accept. Bridgette was concerned to discover she’d begun to wet herself at night without even realising, so even if she were stealthy enough to de-diaper herself in bed, she’d only end up in a worse mess.

As Bridgette groaned inwardly at the hot, wet mass between her legs, Cindy materialised.

“Aww, looks like the model needs a diaper change. Do you think you’ll be able to hold your pee-pee for the whole photoshoot, Bridgette?”

Bridgette glared at her former classmate.

“Of course I can! I’m not a baby – I’m a professional!”

Cindy cupped a hand to her ear.

“…Mommy…” mumbled Bridgette.

“Better,” said Cindy. “Now come over to the bed. I’ve got your changing mat laid out. I’ll clean you up and we’ll try you with some big-girl panties for the shoot today.”

Bridgette brightened. At last! She’d get to shed these godawful Princess Chubby Cheeks diapers. Only for the two hours of the shoot, mind, but it was a start! Maybe Cindy would see that she was ready to be allowed out to party again.

Cindy didn’t pull out girly cotton knickers, but offered a set of plain thongs, and even allowed Bridgette to choose the colour. And wow – jeans? A t-shirt without some stupid cartoon character on it? She’d forgotten what a slamming body she’d got under those dorky smock dresses and puffy bloomers. OK, she’d soon be swapping these clothes for obscenely expensive swimwear, but even briefly stepping into form-fitting cotton brought back her former life as smoking-hot pin-up.

The weather was less than smoking-hot. A blast of wind hit the two women as they stepped out of the hotel, and drizzle plinked down from the gloomy Brighton sky.

“Ugh,” shuddered Bridgette. “Gross.”

“Smile, sweetie-pie,” sang Mommy. “Someone’s taking pretty pictures today.”

Bridgette rolled her eyes. A beachwear shoot in this weather? She’d freeze her tits off. They’d have to Photoshop the goosebumps off her bottom. Urgggh, as if!

She bit her tongue. It would all be worth it for that coveted front cover. And she would model the hell out of those Ricci swimsuits, even if it was snowing.

They arrived at the beach, Bridgette striding ahead with a tiny tote bag, Cindy hefting a large kit bag full of bits and bobs – spare nude underwear, sandals etc.

Peter Garland was chatting to his assistants as they set up umbrellas, stands and screens. Bridgette felt a thrill run through her at the prospect of being back in front of the camera. She forgot the wind, which kept threatening to whisk away equipment until it was sandbagged in place. A shy make-up girl tapped her on the shoulder.

“Miss Redheart?”

Bridgette bristled at the tap.

“No touching,” she said, sharply, and the girl blushed. Ooh, she had missed that. She’d loved being a diva on set.

“Sorry miss. But would you mind coming to the make-up chair please?”

“I want to talk to Peter first,” said Bridgette, brushing the girl aside and striding between Garland and his assistant.

“Peter darling,” she said, throwing her arms around him and kissing him on both cheeks. “It’s been soooo long. I can’t wait!”

“Uhh, Bridgette!” Peter said, surprised by the kisses. “Yes indeed – it’s been years! But I think this shoot’s going to be very special.”

“I’m going to be so damn hot in that Ricciwear,” purred Bridgette. “Even if it’s fucking freezing out here. Because apparently California was shut?”

“Uh, well – this was just a better location given the time constraints, Bridgette,” said Peter, as his model raised her right eyebrow. “Look, I just have a few things to sort out and then I’ll be right with you. Would you mind going with Hattie here to get your face on?”

Bridgette scowled at the brush-off. Fine. She joined the hovering make-up girl and went off to be made up.

Luckily the rookie wasn’t doing her make-up – they’d drafted in the legendary Bonnie Nim and Bridgette sighed as the expert got to work.

As the finishing touches were applied, the styling team wheeled in a rack of covered garments. The first suit was revealed and Bridgette salivated. It was a stunning graphite suit with a silver chain on one shoulder, daring slashes and metallic accents, it looked gorgeous on the hanger, and when she tried it on, Bridgette was impressed at how perfectly it fitted.

“Was this custom-made?” she asked Marcel Costa, the chief stylist.

“Oh no, but that’s the whole thing about this line,” he said. “It’s made with a revolutionary new fabric, Mimique, that perfectly adapts to the wearer’s body. This suit fits a woman from size 0 to size 32 with no pull marks or squeezing. One size really does fit all.”

There was no mirror on set, but Bridgette could see the perfect swoosh of exposed skin from just under her left breast to just under her navel. She looked delicious.

Brrr, but it was frrrreeeezing. She snatched a dressing gown from a nearby peg and swaddled herself while the team set up. She half-wished she’d found a bathroom en route but she’d been too keen to get to work, and had stomped ahead of Mommy, hoping to pass her off as her dumpy assistant.

Eventually Garland was happy with the set-up and called for Bridgette.

The model herself strode up in her gown and shed it, holding the fabric out until Cindy eventually took it away. The wind leapt up again and Bridgette’s teeth chattered, but she draped herself across the rocks as sexily as possible, flirting with the camera as though she’d never been away.

Garland snapped away busily, praising her poses and calling “Beautiful! Stunning! Change it up! OK, hold that! Gorgeous!”

But after just two changes of swimsuit,- one a lightning-bolt design in copper and the other an electric-blue snake wrapped around her body, Bridgette began complaining.

“I want water! Ugh, it’s too cold! I think this make-up must be cheap – it’s itching! Aren’t we done yet? Can someone clear the seaweed off this rock? It’s disgusting.”

“Ah, I was wondering how long it would take,” groaned one of the senior assistants. “I was just starting out when we shot her original Sports Universe cover. She was a bloody nightmare then and all. Didn’t think she’d have changed that much.”

“Bridgette, please focus,” called Garland. “We’re making good progress but we really can’t lose the light. If you need a break, we can take a short one but no more than two minutes.”

Bridgette sat up from a mermaid pose on the sand.

“Two minutes? That’s pathetic. I’m basically getting frostbite out here!”

“What temperature is it?” asked Garland, and an assistant fished out her phone.

“16 Celsius,” she said. “Pretty average, though it is a bit windy.”

“Let’s use that wind, Bridgette,” said Garland. “How about we get you leaping about on the sand? That’ll help you stay warm and we’ll get some really cool shots.”

Bridgette grumbled. She was desperately unfit and didn’t enjoy leaping at the best of times. Besides, she could feel the need to pee creeping up on her. She had to focus. Think of the cover. Think of the accolades. This could be her chance to get back on the A-list.

She leapt and twirled, her blonde hair flying about her face, as the camera clicked again and again.

“Keep going! Great! Great! Looking good!” shouted Garland. Bridgette sprang up one last time and lost her footing, landing on her bottom. A junior assistant giggled and the diva saw red.

“How dare you laugh at me! I’m a fucking star and you’re a grunt for some second-rate photographer! Just because you’re too hideous to model Halloween masks, you little troll!”

Bridgette was just settling into her tirade, enjoying the tears in the assistant’s eyes, when she heard a gasp and then a splutter of laughter.

“What?” she span round. “Who’s laughing now? Who wants to be fired?”

The laughter grew, punctuated by an “Oh my God, she’s not…” and Bridgette suddenly felt a warm wetness on her leg. She was wetting herself in a Ricci swimsuit, a dark patch forming on the crotch and dribbling down to the sand.

“Oh dear, Bridgie,” tutted Cindy.

“What? It’s not – shut up! All of you!” screamed Bridgette, clapping her hands over her soaking crotch.

“Holy crap, that suit is worth £25,000!” wailed Costa. “How am I going to tell Ricci?”

Bridgette turned bright red, unable to stop peeing in the expensive outfit.

“And how are we going to finish this shoot if the model keeps peeing herself?” moaned Costa.

Garland and Cindy exchanged looks and he nodded to the large bag she’d brought.

“At times like this,” said Garland, “I think a little girl needs her Mommy.”

Bridgette recognised a trap when she saw one.

“No! No!” she cried, lunging at Cindy.

“Don’t excite yourself, baby,” said Cindy. “You might have another oopsie and then Mommy will have to clean you up in front of everyone.”

Bridgette began to form the word “Shut –“ when Cindy pulled out a Princess Chubby Cheeks sample pack from her bag.

“Shall we…?” she asked Garland.

“Oh, please,” smiled the photographer. “I’ve been looking forward to this for five years.”

“Oh, Bridgette!” called Cindy. “The mail’s been and guess what arrived?”

Bridgette sat on her naughty chair, sucking a glittery dummy. After refusing her breakfast, she’d been soundly spanked and a peeled ginger root had been pushed into her bottom before her nappy was taped back in place. She shuffled uncomfortably on her plastic throne as the fiendish ginger burned inside.

She was about to snap that she didn’t care when Cindy waved a sealed package with Sports Universe printed on the front. She unwrapped it to reveal a sensuous-looking Bridgette writhing on the sand in the graphite Ricci costume, under the heading “Garland Retrospective: Turning Back the Tide…”

Bridgette was astounded. She actually looked amazing. Given what had transpired at the shoot, she was relieved this was the picture they’d chosen. She snatched the magazine to admire herself, but as she did, a wraparound flap opened up and she gaped in horror.

“…For Wet Girl Summer”, concluded the headline. Underneath it sat Cindy, looking maddeningly good in a mint and silver adaptive Ricci swimsuit. And over her lap, wearing a ducky sunhat, “Water Baby” bib, padded armbands and a new Princess Chubby Cheeks swim nappy, was Bridgette Redheart. Her red bottom, courtesy of the entire crew, glowed bright red. A sub-heading read “Ricci x Princess Chubby Cheeks: Vive La Mom Boss”.

“Our cover is sold out already!” cooed Cindy. “I must say, I enjoyed feeling glamorous, and sales are up for our swim diapers too. I knew I could rely on you to throw a tantrum, Bridgette. That really was a lot of fun, and Peter Garland was so grateful to get revenge on you, he offered to pay for the swimsuit you went wee-wee in!”

Bridgette buried her face in her hands and sucked on her dummy in shame. “You know,” said Cindy, “I might see if they sell print of their covers. We could sell autographs with Splashytime Sets! Oh yes, there’ll be so much modelling for Mommy’s little princess to do…show me that sweet little smile!”

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