Doing Business [Season 4] [Part 79 posted on 4/26/2024]

[quietlyhumiliated]

Whew. Took a little unintended break there. Between the holidays and a busy day job, it's been hard to keep on top of these sorts of things. Things are looking better now, and new chapters will be coming at a more regular pace again. Thanks for your patience.

Memorandums II, Part 2: Getaway

“I know I said that it felt like the right decision at the time, but I’ve been doubting myself ever since. Sure, we had problems–but every couple has problems, right? Maybe I could’ve worked a little harder on fixing them. Maybe I could’ve listened more. Talked a little less. My biggest fear was that she was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and I just threw her away.”

Jorge smirked for a moment before seeming to realize that bursting into laughter was not the response that his friend was looking for. “Dude. Leaving Danielle was probably the smartest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life.”

“R-really?”

“Eric, she was controlling. She wasn’t any fun. She didn’t like drinking. Hell, she didn’t like dessert. Who the fuck doesn’t like dessert? It’s not even like she just didn’t enjoy cake, you know? She just didn’t like any dessert at all. That’s a fucking sociopath, right there.”

“I’d like to think that I saw a side of her that nobody else did. She could be nice. Uh…from time to time.”

This time, Jorge really did laugh–shaking his head as he did. “Goddamn, man. Just you wait. Not too long from now, you’re going to be balls-deep in pussy and you’re going to be telling me that leaving Danielle was such a good idea.”

“I mean, I could be having sex with Danielle right now…”

“When was the last time you had sex with her? Be honest.”

“It was, uh…” Eric paused and glanced off into space. He seemed stuck like that for a solid minute. “I guess it’s been a while.”

“I’m not saying a good relationship is all sex. But you should at least be having some once in a while.”

A gentle breeze had made its way down the shoreline, blowing through the resort’s cantina where the two men were sipping on their bottles of beer. The ice-cold libations had certainly been doing some good work in cutting through the remarkably thick evening heat, but the wind had a more immediate effect. Eric couldn’t help but sigh with pleasure as he felt the coolness whisk past his face.

“I’m glad you came with me, man,” Jorge said, clinking his bottle against Eric’s. “You needed to get away. You needed this.”

This was a place that seemed completely alien to Eric. An all-inclusive resort, stocked full of beautiful women and seemingly endless alcohol and food. It was the sort of place that he had rolled his eyes at in the past. He’d never come here on his own accord. But at Jorge’s expense? Sure, he’d kill a few days on a Mexican beach.

“What do you think of them?” Jorge asked, slyly thrusting his chin in the direction of two women sitting at a table on the other side of the cantina.

“I mean, they’re pretty hot. But they’ve got to be at least, like, 15 years older than us.”

“So?”

“So…there's plenty of women who look closer to our own age around here. Really beautiful women too. Like her. And her. And that one over there.”

“I think that’s a guy.”

“Well, he’s a good looking guy.”

“Do you think you stand a chance with any of them?” Jorge asked. “I mean, I’m not saying you don’t. You’re a good looking guy. And you can even be pretty charming when you get out of your own head. But what are the odds that you’re going to talk to any of them?”

“Probably not good… But I didn’t come here to sleep with someone. I came here to get away from reality for a little bit. To drink until I can’t see straight.”

“And I invited you to come with me so you could get laid, my friend. The sooner you find some stranger to hook up with, the sooner you’ll realize that it’s time to move on from Danielle.”

“Uh huh. And…what does this have to do with those ladies?” Eric asked, casually pointing towards the older women that Jorge had pointed out a moment earlier.

“Trust me on this, dude. Those are exactly the kind of women you want. They’re here for the same reason we are.”

“To get over a bad breakup?”

“Uh, maybe. But more specifically, they’re here because they want to have no-strings-attached sex with some nice stranger. And in this sea of 20-something bikini-models, they’re probably feeling pretty insecure, right? So then you show up, young and charming, and it gets ‘em all hot and bothered. ‘Oh, what?’ they’ll say. ‘This cute stud-muffin wants to fuck me? Well, let me just open my legs.’”

“Stud-muffin? Have you ever even talked to a woman before?”

“I’m telling you, dude. Those ladies? That’s what you need. They’re probably married or divorced, right? They haven’t had good dick since, like, the first Obama term. So they’re going to be absolute animals in bed.”

Eric didn’t exactly believe everything that Jorge was saying, but Jorge sometimes managed to sound so confident that it was actually convincing. And–thousands of miles away from home–Eric considered that there might not actually be much harm in at least trying to score himself a one-night stand. And there was something about a slightly older woman that just seemed less threatening to him.

“Look, I’m not saying it’s a good idea… But now I’m kind of curious to see how viable your theory is.”

“Dude, you are not going to regret this.”

“So what’s the plan? Waltz up to their table and ask if they want to talk?”

“No, no, no. You’re not picking up women at the church picnic. We need to, like, make them feel special. Important. They’ve probably got these dumb husbands who play golf all the time and ignore them, right?”

“You play golf.”

“Okay, but I’m not married.”

“Touche, I guess.”

“So we need to make them feel noticed. Like, make them feel like they did when they were teenagers or something.”

Eric laughed, shaking his head. “It’s a little disturbing how much thought you’ve put into this. And if any of our female friends back home heard you talking like this, they’d punch you in the face.”

“But they’re not here. You’re in, right?”

“Sure, I’m in. Show me your magical powers of seduction.”

Jorge wasted no time in waving over one of the servers shuffling from table to table with a tray and a notepad.

“Hey, could you do me a huge favor?” he asked the young blonde.

She smirked–the look of someone who had already seen how moves like these played out in the past. Countless times. “Sure. What do you need?”

“Do you see those two women over there?”

The server’s eyes followed in the direction of Jorge’s pointing finger. Her smile seemed to grow. “Uh huh. I see ‘em.”

“My buddy and I were hoping you could deliver a couple of drinks over to them.”

“Sure. And what should I bring over?”

“Whatever they’re already drinking.”

Were Eric to guess, he’d say that her expression read as: ‘Are you sure about that?’ But what she said was: “You bet. And I’m assuming you want me to tell them that the drinks are, uh, compliments of you?”

“Of course,” Jorge nodded.

Off she went, a smug smile on her face.

“I didn’t love her attitude,” Jorge said soon after. “But whatever. Now we just sit back and wait.”

“You do remember the ‘all-inclusive’ part of the ‘all-inclusive resort,’ right?” Eric asked. “I’m not sure this gesture means all that much when nobody is paying anything extra for them.”

Jorge muttered some curse word under his breath. “Alright, that’s fair. But it’s still the thought that counts.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

It took a few minutes, but they eventually watched as the server picked up two new cocktails from the bar and carried them over to the two women, placing them down in front of them. They watched as the server explained the situation, and eventually pointed over towards Eric and Jorge. Eric held his breath as he waited for the reaction.

Laughter. They were actually laughing. And not just them, but the server too.

“Now what?” he asked Jorge.

“We, uh, wait.” He sounded uncertain–the laughter seemed to have deflated him a little.

“Wait for what? Them to stop laughing?”

“We wait for them to come over here and thank us for the drinks.”

“You really think that’s going to happen?”

Jorge shrugged. “Maybe? Look, if this doesn’t pan out, we cut our losses and head down to another bar. There’s like a thousand of them here on the resort. We’ll just start over. Maybe try some different tactics. I’ve got some other ideas, too. Like, we could walk up to some women, right? And we’d…”

“Uh, wait,” Eric said, nodding towards the ladies. “They’re waving to us. I…think they want us to go over there.”

Jorge looked confused. Flummoxed, even. This didn’t seem to be the way this was supposed to work. “They’re supposed to, uh, come to us.”

“We should be thankful they’re acknowledging us at all,” Eric said. “You know what? I’m going to go over there. Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, alright,” Jorge said, standing up and cracking his neck.

“Ah,” said one of the women at the table as the men approached. “These must be the gentlemen who helped expedite our second round of cocktails.”

“That was very courteous of you,” said the other, an accent in her voice. French, perhaps?

“Pull up a seat,” the first woman said to Eric, pointing to some vacant chairs under a nearby table that wasn’t being used. She then pointed to Jorge. “You too. Come. Sit with us.”

“We, uh, can go if you want,” Jorge said to Eric, in a tone just quiet enough that perhaps the women didn’t hear it.

But Eric was picking up the actual meaning of what Jorge was saying: “Maybe we should go look for a situation where I feel like I’m the one in control.”

Eric pulled up a chair and sat down. A moment later, Jorge begrudgingly dragged a chair next to Eric’s.

“Allow me to introduce ourselves,” Jorge started, flashing his exceptionally white teeth at the ladies. “My name is Jorge. And this is my good friend Eric. We’re just here for a few days. How about yourselves?”

“I’m Gabby,” the first woman said.

“And I’m Neve,” said the other–the one with the accent. “It’s a pleasure to meet the two of you.”

“Oh my. Neve,” said Jorge, enunciating the name slowly to himself. “That’s a beautiful name. And Gabby? Is that short for…”

“Gabrielle,” Gabby said.

“Another beautiful name!”

“Quite the schmoozer you have here,” Gabby said to Eric. “Is this how he is all the time?”

“Well, you know, we’re trying to make a good first impression, so…”

“Was that a good first impression, you think?” Neve asked Gabby.

Gabby shrugged. “It was fine. Though I am a little curious as to what attracted you two to our table.” She leaned back in her chair, scanning the cantina. “There are some very attractive women here.”

“You don’t think they’re prettier than you, do you?” Jorge asked, seeming to double down on his suave act.

“Well, they’re younger than us, for sure,” said Neve. “Nice skin. Good hair. They’re certainly not thinking about the inevitability of menopause.”

“But do you know what they lack?” asked Eric. He was feeling emboldened. Whereas Jorge seemed thrown off by the confidence the older women exuded, Eric was seeing an opportunity.

“I’d love to hear,” Gabby said, her smile seeming to get a little bigger every time he looked at her.

“They lack your confidence. Your presence.”

“Hm, I rather like this one,” Gabby said to Neve, pointing at Eric. “What do you think? Can I keep him?”

“You have one at home already,” Neve said. “And isn’t he a handful on his own?”

“Married?” asked Jorge.

“Never,” Gabby said. “I just have a little one back home.”

Eric blushed, realizing he may have just been compared to a child. “H-how old?”

“How old are you?” she asked.

“29.”

“Ah. Well, you’re older than him.”

I should hope so, he thought. “I’m sure motherhood is rewarding, but I bet it’s nice to get away once in a while too.”

The women looked at each other, sharing a little smirk, before laughing. The exchange made Eric curious, as he felt like he was out of the loop for some sort of in-joke.

“Exactly,” Gabby said. “Mommy needs to have some time for herself.”

“And how about you, Neve?” asked Jorge. “Married? Children?”

“Neither at the moment,” she answered.

Jorge’s eyebrows raised, an amused expression on his face. “At the moment? Did you have some before?”

Eric couldn’t help but cringe a little. Jorge was just being playful, but it seemed like a dangerous question to ask. The answer could very well have been: “Yeah, up until they fell off a cliff.”

But Neve just smiled. “My babies have grown up and moved on. As for a spouse… Well, which would be more exciting for you? If I was or wasn’t married?”

Jorge’s cheeks reddened. The men’s intentions had been rather obvious since they first made contact, but this almost felt like being called out.

“That’s a good question,” added Gabby. “I’m assuming you didn’t drop by for just the camaraderie.”

Eric was starting to feel more confident in his ability to read the women’s vibes. They weren’t interested in games or pickup lines. They needed to see men who were brave enough to say what they wanted.

And, now that he was here at their table, Danielle was the furthest thing from his mind. Jorge might have actually been right about coming to the resort. He needed to reset himself. He needed distractions. He needed copious amounts of booze and meaningless sex.

“Why does anyone come to a place like this?” he asked.

Gabby presented a closed fist in front of her face. “Good food.” She extended a finger. “Alcohol.” She extended another finger. “Warm weather.” And another finger. “Massages.” Another finger extended. “And…ah yes, sexual advances from strangers I’ll never see again.”

“So far so good,” Neve said. “This morning’s massage was divine. We had that fresh tuna for lunch. And we’ve got ourselves some extra cocktails here. So, I suppose all that’s missing is the…”

“You know,” Jorge interrupted, some confidence returning to his tone. “If you two aren’t doing anything tonight, maybe we should all, uh, spend some time together?”

“DId you have any plans tonight?” Gabby asked her friend, gently nudging her with her elbow.

“Isn’t there supposed to be a bonfire on the beach?”

“Really? You wanted to go to that?”

“I don’t know,” Neve shrugged. “I thought it sounded nice.”

“If you want to watch shirtless men chugging beer while gaping into an open flame, I’ll take you to my cousin’s farm in South Carolina.”

“Fine, fine,” Neve said. “Let’s let these gentlemen charm us off our feet.”

“That’s the spirit,” Gabby said. She turned her attention back to the men. “Now then. How do you see tonight playing out? Should we get a few more drinks first? Should we take a moonlit walk down the promenade to get in the mood?”

Neve jumped in: “Or should we cut out all the shit and just head back to our room? We’ve got a suite. It’s very nice. Very big.”

“A suite?” chuckled Jorge. “Here? That must’ve cost an arm and a leg.”

Neither directly addressed the comment, instead just shrugging and laughing amongst each other. Everything about them was making Eric a little nervous. These women–whoever they were–were much further out of their league than they’d have guessed.

“Shall we head over?” Gabby asked, finishing the last of the drink she was working on and picking up the full glass. “I’ll take this one for the road. And, obviously, there’s plenty more back at the suite if we need more.”

Jorge glanced back at Eric, his eyes big and excited. “Yes. Absolutely. Lead the way.”

Soon, the two women were walking a few yards ahead of the men. They were arm in arm, giggling and laughing with each other like two schoolgirls.

“Dude,” Jorge said. “What did I fucking tell you? Jackpot.”

Eric laughed and shook his head. “You sure about that, buddy?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I think we misjudged them.” He wanted to say that Jorge had misjudged them, but he was willing to take a little of the blame on this. “They’re obviously rich. Probably powerful. They’re not just out of our league–they’re from an entirely different dimension.”

“Even better.”

“Jorge, bud, they’re going to eat us alive.”

“Good! I’ll give them a fork and a knife.”

Truthfully, Eric was feeling pretty excited himself–though it might not have been the same brand of excitement as Jorge’s. Jorge, he wanted drunk raucous sex–the kind of night that you barely remember the next day, but what memories you have are spun into legendary stories told at parties for years to come. Eric, meanwhile, was just looking forward to experiencing life after Danielle. He wanted women to laugh at his jokes again. He wanted to catch someone smiling at him out of the corner of his eye. He wanted someone to earnestly ask him what his favorite film was. Hell, even if someone just asked what his favorite color was, he’d love that too.

The suite was every bit as impressive as the men thought it would be. Probably even more. Eric was pretty sure that it was bigger than the apartment he had lived in after graduating college. And, sure, it was incredibly excessive–especially at a resort where you were encouraged to wander around and do activities. But if he had that sort of stupid money, maybe he’d want things like this too.

“So, I gotta ask,” Jorge said, strolling around the main living room and picking up a banana from a bowl of fruit on the table. He seemed surprised that it was, in fact, a real banana and not just a decoration. “What do you two do with yourselves that allows you to snag a room like this one?”

“Consulting,” Neve shrugged.

“The mercenaries of the business world,” Gabby added.

“Damn,” Jorge said, shaking his head.

“Oh come now,” Gabby said, launching the cork from a champagne bottle into a towel with a loud POP. “Did you come up here to gawk? Or did you come up here to have a good time?”

Wine glasses are distributed and everyone gets some bubbly in their glass.

“Do we not have champagne flutes in here?” Neve asked.

“I grabbed the first thing I saw,” Gabby responded. “Besides–these hold more.”

A toast is made. To new friends. Clink.

Time starts to accelerate. One minute, they’re dancing to some obnoxiously upbeat pop song. The next, they’re all laughing about how Jorge pronounces the word ‘onion.’ In the blink of an eye, Neve is whispering something into Jorge’s ear that’s making his face turn bright red. Then they’re dancing again.

Eric stepped out onto the balcony for some air, a glass of something in his hand–he’s not quite sure what it was or where it came from. Some variety of cocktail that seemed heavy on the pineapple.

“Neve seems rather smitten with your friend,” Gabby’s voice said from behind him, the sound of the glass door sliding shut again.

“He’s a charmer,” Eric shrugged. “Does that mean I get…you?”

She walked past him, leaning over the railing so that her ass was sticking up in the air in his direction. “If you want me.”

He does. He just wished it was a little easier. Stupidly, he was still thinking about Danielle. He blamed the booze–not that it would stop him from drinking more.

“There’s no pressure, of course,” she added, perhaps sensing that his focus was split.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. He stepped forward to lean over the railing with her. It was a pretty amazing view. “I broke up with someone recently. I know it was the right thing…but, you know, here I am. In an amazing suite with two beautiful women and all I can think about is her.”

“That’s actually a little relatable,” she said.

Glancing over at her, he could see a thin chain dangling from her neck. A little trinket hung from it. Was it a key? Or was it just supposed to look like a key?

“Yeah?” he said, trying not to stare too much at the pendant. “Did you, uh, break up with someone too?”

“Sort of,” she said. “Though I didn’t break up with a person. More like…a drastic life change.”

“Oh? Care to elaborate?”

“You could say that I had a relationship with my job,” she said. “My company. I put all of myself into it, and in a lot of ways, you could say that I loved it like one might love their partner.”

“What happened?”

She laughed, a surprisingly hearty laugh–right from her chest. “Everything happened. A perfect storm of things. The world I knew just started falling apart–but it happened at about the same time that I realized I was ready to move on anyway.”

Eric nodded, taking another sip of his drink. “Yeah, I hear that.”

“It was a few months ago, now. But it still hurts.”

“I swear,” he said, chuckling. “It’s like you’re talking about my relationship.”

“This is how they win, of course,” Gabby sighed. “The Danielles and Darren Yangs of the world. They get in our heads and ruin the fun rum-soaked moments on resort suite balconies.”

“Rum?” asked Eric, taking a sip of his cocktail again. “Is there rum in this?”

“I honestly don’t remember.”

They both laughed.

“Fuck Darren Yang,” Eric said. “Whoever he is.”

“Fuck Danielle,” Gabby replied. “You’re too good for her.”

Eric looked over his shoulder, curious to see what was going on in the suite between Jorge and Neve. But he didn’t see either of them.

“Oh, she’s probably got him in her room by now,” Gabby said.

“Wow.”

“Your friend is going to have a good night, I think.”

He was feeling a little bolder again. She had that kind of spirit about her–it was infectious. “What about me? Think I’ll have a good night?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, turning her head back towards the illuminated resort below the balcony while grinning. “But I’m pretty sure I’ll have a good night.”

Eric smiled. Here it comes. The part where she devours me whole.

She turned to him, placing her hand on his cheek. “Why don’t you get on your knees for me. LIke a good boy.”

The sinking feeling he usually experienced when feeling distressed or anxious was suddenly present–except it didn’t feel as overwhelmingly negative for once. Overwhelming, sure. But he was also excited. Who was this woman, and what was she going to do with him? Because…he was pretty sure that he’d let her do anything she wanted.

“Right here?” he asked, looking around him. He could see the other balconies from some of the neighboring suites, though they all seemed angled in a way that he couldn’t really see if anyone was on them or not. Which probably meant that they couldn’t see him either.

“It’ll be better for both of us if you don’t think and just do.”

He was sure she was right about that. Without another thought, he dropped to his knees before her. When was the last time he was on his knees before a beautiful woman? Had he ever done that before? He certainly wouldn’t have done that for Danielle. He looked up, astonished at the way she seemed to tower over him. She was a queen. A goddess. He wasn’t worthy.

“I told myself that I was going to take a break from my vices while I was on vacation,” she said, looking down at him.

“Wh-what are your vices?”

“Submissive men who will do anything I tell them to. That’s you, yes?”

He nodded, laughing a little. “Sounds like me, yeah.”

“I thought so. Well, you should be fun.”

“I’m fun,” he said, his eagerness seeping into his voice.

“I have to piss,” she said.

“Should I, uhm, wait here?”

“I was thinking that I might…piss on you?” She laughed to herself, like she couldn’t believe she had said that either.

“On me?”

“Wouldn’t that be cute? If I marked my territory?”

This was far beyond anything he’d ever fucked with in his life. He knew there were people out there who were into that sort of thing, but he never imagined he’d meet one. Though, he couldn’t say he was actually disgusted by it. That might have been the booze talking–but he didn’t think so. There was something about her idea that he actually found kind of…hot. He didn’t think it was the pissing itself–but he hadn’t ruled it out yet either. It was the ‘marking of territory’ part that got him a little worked up. That he was interested in. Like he had fallen into her trap, and now he was all hers.

“Y-you would do that?” he asked.

She nodded. “Do you want me to?”

He chuckled. “Sort of?”

“You don’t have to do much,” she shrugged. “Just stay kneeling where you are. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“But…my clothes–”

“If you really wanted to, you could take them off. Personally, I think you should leave them on.”

She made a convincing argument, he thought. Of course, just about anything she said at this point was going to sound like a good idea.

He continued gazing up her body. She looked even more splendid by the minute. Did he want to be peed on? Well…no. Or, at least, it wasn’t the sort of thing he normally liked. But if she wanted to pee on him? He could see himself having some deep regrets if he didn’t take her up on this offer.

It was one final thought that solidified where he stood on her idea: It’s just piss. The showers at this resort had probably cleaned up worse things.

How much longer was he going to think about it? “Well, uh, I’m ready when you are.”

She reached down between her legs and pulled up the hem of her breezy summer dress, revealing the rather lacy red number that was serving as panties. If he didn’t know better, she had gone out to drink with the intent of eventually meeting someone who would eventually see these.

Right. Into. Her trap.

She shuffled her body forward a little–just enough so that, with her legs spread open, she could place one on either side of his body. Her fingers pulled aside the dainty piece of cloth that concealed her pussy. It fell just below his mouth. A shame, he thought, as part of him was wondering what it might be like to stick his mouth under it while she was letting go. He still could, he thought, it would just require him bending his body a little.

He imagined it slowly dribbling out of her at first before growing into a heavier stream. But no. As soon as she unclenched her bladder, a deluge of piss poured from her. It immediately saturated his chest, flowing down his shirt to soak everything in its path. As the flow continued, he continued to become more drenched. He felt the warm liquid dampening his pants now–his cock made rock hard by the naughty act.

Out here in the open air? On this balcony? This was unreal. Quite possibly the most unreal thing that had ever happened to him. He made a mental note later to thank Jorge for this trip. For this night. Fuck. He’d pay for a night’s worth of lap dances later this week if Jorge wanted them.

Her stream was slowly tapering out. He decided to not let these last few seconds go to waste and he hunched down just enough so that he could catch some of it in her mouth. He had never tasted piss before. He never thought he would’ve wanted to either. But here he was, lapping it up from her cunt like it was liquid gold and he had never been happier in his life.

“Oh my,” she said, biting her bottom lip for a moment as she felt his face graze against her. “I like you. I’m tempted to take you home with me.”

“You can just stow me away in your luggage,” he said, gulping the last of her forbidden juices down his throat.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“N-now what?” he asked, his back straightening as looked back up her body again.

“Would you like to go inside?” she asked.

He nodded–an overeager nod that made him feel like a puppy who wanted its belly rubbed.

“Follow me,” she said, taking a few steps past him to open the sliding glass door. She turned back towards him for a moment: “But you’re going to have to crawl.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He looked down at the front of his pants, finding that they were completely drenched. There was a puddle of piss on the floor beneath him, not yet absorbed into the lacquered tiles. It was tempting to just get on all fours and lick it all clean–the only reason he didn’t was because he knew she’d be waiting for him inside. A shame. He wondered if the puddle would still be there later.

Crawling. He hadn’t done that in a long time. But it was easy enough to do. And surprisingly fun. Just like a puppy, he thought. Her puppy.

Back inside the suite, he saw a wide smile on Gabby’s face. He almost asked why she was so happy–but then he heard it. A series of pleasured grunt’s coming from one of the bedrooms.

“Unh! Unh! Oh my god! Unh! Unnnnhh.”

He couldn’t be sure–he hadn’t ever heard anything like those sounds before–but he was pretty sure that it was Jorge making those noises.

“What do you think they’re up to?” Gabby asked Eric.

He laughed. “Whatever it is, it sounds fun.”

“Do you want to go have a peek with me?”

“Wait…really? I don’t know. That seems like a, uh, private moment, doesn’t it?”

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “If we had gotten into my bedroom first, Neve would’ve bust in with a bucket of popcorn.”

He is very curious. Especially if Jorge’s time is anything like what he just experienced himself out on the balcony with Gabby. But it does seems wrong to barge in on his friend like that.

Apparently, his thoughts on the matter weren’t important, as he watched Gabby confidently strutting towards the closed door–ready to open it herself. He began to open his mouth, unsure of what he might say–but decided against it. If she was going to be nosey, let her take the heat. He’d still get his curiosity satisfied.

She opened the door. “Oh wow.”

Eric had to see what was happening. He scurried forward on his hands and knees, ending up behind Gabby so he could look through her legs and into Neve’s room. Sure enough, it was not what he expected. Jorge was in the position that he imagined Neve would be in–face down on the mattress with his ass up in the air. Neve stood behind him, wearing a harness around her midsection that secured a purple dong to her crotch. Eric could only see a small portion of it, though. The rest of it seemed to be buried inside of Jorge’s bottom. Neve turned to the two eavesdroppers, smiling and waving.

“How did this happen?” Gabby asked, waving back.

“I gave him some options,” Neve shrugged. “This is what he picked.”

“Hey, wait, is that my harness,” Gabby laughed.

“I’ll clean it up and give it back when I’m done,” Neve said, almost sounding like a teenager who had been caught wearing her mother’s sweater.

It was hard for Eric to say which was more surreal–that his best friend was seeming to have the time of his life while getting pegged by a stranger, or that Neve and Gabby were having the most casual of conversations about borrowing each other’s sex-toys while it was happening.

“And what about him?” Neve asked, pointing to Eric. “Baby?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Gabby shrugged. “You’d think I’d be sick of babies, but…”

“Well, if you need any milk later…”

Gabby laughed. “I assume you’ll be feeding your little friend there when you’re done with him.”

“He had a taste earlier,” Neve shrugged. “I think he’s working up an appetite for some more.”

“Perhaps we should leave them to it, then?” Gabby asked, looking over her shoulder at Eric.

He shrugged. “Uh, sure?”

The door was closed, and Gabby began walking across the room, towards the doorway that led to, presumably, her bedroom.

Eric, of course, had a number of questions. He wasn’t even sure where to start, finding himself so overwhelmed with confusion that he just started spitting out words that had the cadence of questions. “Milk? Uh…babies?”

Gabby laughed. “Do you really want to know?”

He did. But he also felt like he needed to catch up to the progress Jorge was making in Neve’s room. And if his throbbing cock was anything to go by, he’d prefer doing over talking. Maybe there’d be a Q&A segment later–after the action.

“It doesn’t matter right now,” he said.

“Suit yourself.” She gestured towards a suitcase near the bed. “Should we pick something fun out of the suitcase? Or should we go for something a little…simpler.”

God, what he wouldn’t give to just be fucking her right now. But now he felt like he was on a gameshow.

“Behind door number one, we have what is–most likely–the most amazing pussy you’ll have ever rammed your ding-dong into. But, we also have door number two here–and that promises mysterious pleasures that you’d spend the rest of your life wondering about if you don’t choose it. So…what’s it gonna be?”

“I mean…I feel like I have to, at least, see what’s in the luggage, right?”

There was a moment where she almost seemed disappointed by his choice. Was she actually hoping for some straight-up sex? If so, it begged the question of why she even brought the suitcase with her. Though, he supposed, this could mean that he was just tonight’s contestant. She had welcomed others into her suite the night before. And there’d be a new one tomorrow.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” she said, a big grin returning to her face as she dragged the suitcase up onto the bed. “Neve got the harness out already–that might’ve been my first choice too.”

First, she pulled a vibrator from the pack–one of those absolute units you plugged directly into a wall and had the big white head on the end. ‘Personal massager’ a catalog might call it–the wink and nudge implied. Interesting, he thought. It was the sort of thing he was always curious about, but never thought to buy for himself. Toys, in general, were a hard sell for him–his palm was always free.

Next, she pulled out…

“Diapers?” he laughed. He wasn’t completely sure what they were, but that was definitely what the white folded objects reminded him of.

“Interested?” she asked, holding one of them closer to his face for a better look.

That, sure as hell, was a big adult diaper.

Ohhhh. Things were clicking now. Milk. Babies. She hadn’t been making him crawl around like a puppy–she was making him crawl around like a baby. Even when she said he’d be a ‘good boy’ for kneeling before her while out on the balcony.

“I…I’m not sure about that,” he said, hoping that it wouldn’t offend her.

“No?” she cooed, her lips pursed as she talked in a condescendingly infantile tone. “You don’t want to have Mommy change your dirty diapies?”

There was no telling how he was supposed to react to that. “It’s…uh, interesting? I’m not sure that’s for me. I mean…maybe it’s the sort of thing I could learn to love. But…”

“I’m on vacation,” she said, almost sounding like she was talking to herself. “I should probably be taking a break from changing diapers…”

He sighed with relief, though he was sure to pocket the idea of grown men wearing diapers. Something to think about later, perhaps.

Another thought: Much earlier in the evening, she had mentioned having a ‘little one’ back at home. That, too, made a little more sense now. He thought about the key that hung around her neck again. A key to a crib? A cage? He wouldn’t put it past her.

“W-well, I can assure you that I’m not some sort of baby,” he said.

“I dunno,” she said, booping him on his nose. “You’re already kind of pissy.”

That he was. His clothes were still wet, though at least he wasn’t dripping any longer. Once in a while, he thought he might have caught a whiff of her drying piss on him. It was surprisingly exciting. What if he just never washed these clothes again? Would her piss age on his shirt like a fine wine? He’d pull it from its protective bag a year from now and take a deep inhalation of it, finding himself knocked on his ass in ecstasy? He hoped so.

“Oh, what do you think of this?” she said, pulling out another item. It was an artificial cock–rather lifelike, even in its color. What was interesting about it was that at the end of it was what looked like a…pacifier.

“Holy shit,” he laughed. “That’s a real thing they make?”

“I had this made for me,” she shrugged. “Haven’t had a chance to give it a test though. Though…it wouldn’t be very fair of me to let you be the one to break it in.”

He nodded, thinking that he had a general idea of who she meant. He tried to imagine what that person might be like–her ‘baby’ back at home. Was he the same age as her? No, probably younger. Perhaps even the same age as him. But maybe not. It could be her husband. One of those cuckolding situations, where one partner gets off on sacrificing all his dignity while the other fucks everything that moves.

How do people even meet like that? The internet, maybe–when uncertain, it’s probably the internet.

He wanted to know everything. He wanted to be a fly on the wall at her home. He wanted to stow away in her luggage and wake up in her living room so that he could meet the man who is seemingly well-accustomed to diapers.

Really, he found himself just wanting to be a part of this strange world.

“I mean…if you really want me to wear a diaper,” he said, “I’m not opposed to it.”

“Is that so?” she asked, clearly feigning surprise. Clearly she knew he’d say that long before he did.

“I mean…you are on vacation–like you said. So if you’re tired of that whole thing and you just want to…”

“I wouldn’t have brought diapers with me on vacation if I didn’t want to use them. What I meant to say earlier was that I should be taking a break from changing diapers. Except I never seem to tire of them.”

“Ah,” he laughed. This was definitely happening now.

In hindsight, it was hard to recall the exact sequence of events as they actually played out. It was as if his memory–when faced with events that were wildly outside of anything ever recalled before–lost the ability to properly track it.

He was put into a diaper, that much he remembers clearly. He recalled the way his cheeks blushed as he lifted his ass into the air so that Gabby could slide a diaper under him. And he remembered how immediate the feeling of thickness was between his legs when she taped it shut around him.

The clothes he had been wearing–the ones still soaked with her piss–were on the floor. It would make sense that they had been removed prior to when she put the diaper on him–but he also had the distinct memory of the scent of her urine wafting to his face while he was being diapered. He had wondered: Will my diaper eventually smell like this shirt does?

He remembered looking at himself in the mirror, his clothes stripped away so that he could see himself in the diaper. But he might have looked into the long mirror a few different times–there’s a memory of his diaper being fresh and clean. And there’s a memory of his diaper sagging between his legs–the padding soaked and heavy.

She spanked him. She spanked his bare ass. This almost certainly took place after he had been initially diapered, though the moment’s exact spot in the timeline is hard to say.

Jorge had been there at that moment. Watching. This, he remembers vividly. He would’ve expected Jorge to have this smug smile on his face as he watched his friend being humiliated and infantalized–except there was no such look. Jorge was smiling, sure, but he just looked happy. Content. Satisfied. His look said something like: “Did I not tell you that tonight would be amazing?”

He remembered the feeling of wetting himself–and it being his choice to wet. There was certainly some encouraging happening–there were many voices taking delight in watching the color and texture of his diaper change–but he was sure that it was his choice to empty his bladder.

He drank the milk. Right from Neve’s breast. As did Jorge. This might have been the hardest moment to recall with clarity. He remembers the feeling of the soft breast pressing against his face. The awkwardness as he fumbled his lips around her nipple. How naturally it came to him to suckle. But the taste of the milk…that eluded him. He loved it, that was all he knew.

“I could give you my number,” he said to Gabby at some point. “My email address. We should stay in touch. We should–”

“Be a good boy and finish licking Mommy’s clit,” she responded.

More memories would come in time. As the hangover subsided. As the days passed. As he settled back into the everyday.

“Did you cum?”

The boldness of the question–something that Eric couldn’t remember Jorge ever asking him before–brought him back to reality as he brought a cup of coffee to his lips.

They had asked the women if they’d be joining them for breakfast. The women said they had plans. They asked the women if they wanted to do any of the activities at the resort with them during the day. The women said they had plans. They asked the women if they wanted to get together again tonight. The women said they had plans.

Message received. They went home instead, changing into some fresh clothes. Eric’s clothes from the night before–still holding onto that scent–were stuffed into a plastic bag and tied shut.

Now they were eating breakfast–just the two of them–while still digesting the previous night.

“I did,” Eric said. “But I think I came inside the, uh…” He didn’t really have to finish that thought.

“I came on Neve’s bed,” Jorge said. He sounded proud of it. “It was fucking unreal. Like she just…fucked it right out of me. I wasn’t even touching myself. I’ve never experienced that before.”

“I tasted breastmilk,” Eric said, staring at the ramekin of disposable half-and-half cups left on the table for them.

“Good, right? Think we can get some of that back home?”

It was a joke, he was pretty sure. But it was a good question.

“How does your ass feel?” Eric asked.

Jorge snorted. “Fine. The secret is lube, I think. I still feel pretty greased up back there.”

“Need a diaper? Just in case anything wants to just slide out?”

“Did she give you some extras for the road?” Jorge asked. It wasn’t the sound of someone interested in wearing a diaper himself–it was the sound of someone changing the subject.

“Nah…just the one I’m wearing.”

“You’re still wearing it?”

“I feel like I probably won’t be able to take it off without ruining it. And, like, when’s the next time I’m going to wear a diaper? Figure I might as well enjoy this one while I can.”

“Look around you,” Jorge laughed. “The most beautiful people you’ll ever see in your life are walking around us. And you’re sitting here with a literal diaper on under your shorts.”

Was Jorge trying to shame him? Or was he, rightfully, pointing out the absurdity of the situation?

“It’s true,” Eric shrugged. “Ain’t that something?”

His eyes  looked around the restaurant at the other people eating breakfast or brunch or whatever this particular meal was supposed to be. He looked out the window at the people strolling past with big stupid smiles on their faces. They were all living their best vacation life right now–and so why shouldn’t he?

Jorge smiled. “So? Are you over Danielle yet?”

This might have been the longest he had ever gone without thinking of her. Usually, she was among his first thoughts in the morning. Even if he wasn’t thinking of her, specifically, he was at least being haunted by the feeling of regret that he associated with her. See also: longing and loss. But he hadn’t thought of her once today. He wasn’t even feeling consumed with regret. He hadn’t even realized those thoughts were missing at all until Jorge had mentioned her.

Eric sighed. “Is it weird that this is the best I’ve felt in a while?”

“Right there with you,” Jorge laughed, his cheeks looking a little rosier than they had a moment ago.

“What do you want to do today?” Eric asked, taking another long sip of his coffee. There was a surprising amount of optimism in his voice–as if, whatever the answer was, it was going to be the right answer.

“Let’s get back out there. See if we can’t have ourselves another adventure.”

“Sounds good to me,” shrugged Eric.

“Of course, we’ll have to find someone who’s willing to babysit you…”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“You up for it?”

Eric gazed out the window again. Somewhere out there were Neve and Gabby; though the odds were slim they’d meet again. Then again, perhaps Neve and Gabby’s existences proved that there were wild experiences all over this resort. Somewhere out there was another woman with a kink unlike any he had ever considered before. There might even be another woman willing to change his diaper.

He smiled at Jorge. “Alright, c’mon. Let’s go.”

 

[littlebopeeper]

Absolutely terrific chapter.  In fact, if I had to choose, I'd say this was the best one to date.

And what's the name of this resort?  

[quietlyhumiliated]

Greetings and Salutations, readers of Doing Business. Patreon has finally decided to give my ass the boot off of its platform. Thankfully, the thick padding prevented the boot from hurting too much...but still, I found the experience to be rather frustrating.

I've packed up the nursery, and I've relocated to Ream - a platform that already seems to have been embraced by many other ABDL erotica writers. Here's a link to my new site: https://reamstories.com/quietlyhumiliated

As always, I never want to demand that you subscribe to my subscription service. But if you like my writing, and you want to read both brand new stories by me, or if you just want to read new chapters of Doing Business before they're made public, I'd encourage you to subscribe at the tier that makes the most sense to you. 

Thank you, as always, to everyone who provides any amount of support - whether that's subscribing, liking a post, sharing it on any other platform, leaving a comment, sending me a message, or just giving a thumb's up to your computer screen (you might think I can't see it, but I can. Ditto if you give the screen the middle finger.).

Here, have the next chapter of Doing Business...

 

Memorandums II, Part 3: Pumpkin

1.

Pumpkin asks the same question she always asks when she comes over: “Is she home?”

“Nah,” he answers. “She’s not around that much during the day.”

It bothers him that she asks. Not enough to hold it against her. But does she really think that he’s going to bring his new girlfriend over to the apartment where his ex still lives? The new girlfriend that caused them to break up in the first place? He’s come close to asking her this before, but he’s bitten his tongue each time. It’s easier to just confirm that she’s not there.

She rolls her eyes. “And you’re the one who has to move out?”

“Well, I mean, it’s her apartment.”

He doesn’t mind the concepts of packing and moving. And, in many ways, it’s an exciting time for him. A fresh start; free of the baggage and drama of what came before. It’s an opportunity to have a place to make his own. An opportunity to put roots down in a new neighborhood. New pizza places to order from. New corner shops to buy energy drinks from.

But moving also feels like a loss. He lost the battle, and he lost the war. No matter how good things were for him after this, he’d still be leaving here a loser. And that sucked.

“Didn’t she, like, lose her job?” Pumpkin asks, the question only briefly interrupting the steady sound of her chomping on her gum with her mouth partially open. Sometimes he finds that trait kind of endearing. Sometimes he wants to reach into her mouth and yoink the gum right out of it. 

“She did,” he shrugs. “But…I guess she got a new one.”

“That quickly?”

“I dunno,” he says, loading some books into a box. There’s a few other things he could say about that situation, but none of it is for Pumpkin to hear.

Moving has a way of making you rethink all your life decisions up to this point. He’s almost certain that he hasn’t even opened these books in the time he’s lived in this apartment. But he’s not sure he wants to get rid of them, either. What if he wanted to read them a few years from now? And suddenly he didn’t have them? He supposes he could just go online and buy them again–but then who knows what the demand is going to be like. The book could suddenly be a collector’s item, and he’d need to spend $50 just to get a copy of it.

He’ll just load the books into a box and take them with him. It’s easier than finding something else to do with them.

“I bet she, like, hates me,” Pumpkin says as she casually sifts through a pile of his unsorted books on the coffee table.

“She’s angrier at me than she is you,” he says. Though, yeah, she probably hates Pumpkin. Pumpkin is like her antithesis. The kind of person she’d point out and say “God, I hate people like that.”

Maybe that’s what made Pumpkin so damn attractive? Every kiss was an act of aggression against his ex. Well, on top of the fact that Pumpkin was, as he put it to his friends, ‘smokin’ hot.’ 

“She’s pretty,” Pumpkin says, wandering over to a framed photo on the wall. 

He’s surprised it’s still hung up, honestly. There used to be a ton of photos of the two of them around the apartment. Slowly, but surely, they’ve all disappeared. He’s not sure where they went–either destroyed or stuffed into some box, he supposes. He has to assume this photo was just missed. 

He steps forward to study the photo. He remembers this moment–they were at a ballgame a summer or two ago. He had awkwardly been trying to take a selfie of the two of them, sticking his arm out as far in front of him as he could so that he could snap a photo of both them and the field too. It hadn’t been working out. An older woman from the row above them offered to take the photo for them.

When he thinks back on that trip–both now and when he had considered it previously–he sees it as the last of the ‘good times.’ Things got rough after that. Or, perhaps, he just started noticing that things were getting rough after that.

“Not as pretty as you,” he says to Pumpkin. He’s not entirely sure he believes that to be true, but it feels like the right thing to say. Any other answer and Pumpkin would probably pout.

Look, Pumpkin’s a lot. He knows this. And for right now, he doesn’t care. Nobody believes that he’s going to be with Pumpkin forever–probably not even Pumpkin herself. He just wants some candy right now–something real sweet and satisfying in the moment. Later, he’ll have a tummy-ache. Whatever. That’s a future-him problem. One he’s done with Pumpkin, he’ll…get a salad.

He’s not sure what that means either.

“How long were you and Linda dating?” Pumpkin asks.

“Lyndie,” he corrects. “Oh, I dunno. Long enough.” He almost laughs. That answer would absolutely piss Lyndie off if she heard it. “You don’t even know how long we were together?”

2.

“Are you smoking again?” Lyndie asks. “You made such a big deal about how you were done with it.”

“It’s not smoking,” he says. “I’m vaping.” Of course, he hears just how silly this argument sounds as the words come out of his mouth. He tries again: “I’m not sure if I’m back on it again or not.”

“I’d rather you didn’t do that in my apartment.” Extra emphasis on ‘my.’ So much emphasis that the word sounds like it was said by a different person altogether.

He rolls his eyes. “It’s just, like, water vapor.” He literally has no idea if that’s true or not.

“Whatever it is, it smells. What even is that scent? Bubblegum?”

“Cotton candy,” he says.

“What are you, five?”

“Yeah,” he spits. “I’m a five year old who vapes.” He knows he should just leave it at that, but he can’t help himself: “I’m surprised you’re not turned on by that.”

Fighting words.

“Excuse me?” she spits back. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“Nothing…”

“No,” Lyndie says, shaking her head, hands on her hips. “You don’t get to say something like that and then act like a coward when I ask for elaboration.”

He sighs. He really didn’t want to get into this, and he has a lot of regrets about starting the conversation. But she’s right. The proverbial cat is out of the proverbial bag, and there’s no stuffing it back in.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he says. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing these days.”

“What do you know?” she asks. “What do you think you know?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Something about people who dress up like babies?”

Her eyes narrow. “How do you know about that?”

“Did you, uh, forget? My friend Greg Tompkins literally works for the same company you did.”

She grumbles, clearly having forgotten about this little fact. “And what did he tell you?”

“Some guy was wearing a diaper? And you got fired because of it. And I guess a lot of people at the company think there was, like, a whole network of sex-maniacs who kept their assistants in diapers?”

She scoffs and shakes her head. He’s not really sure what to make of that reaction. Is she disputing those details? Or is she just not happy that the truth is out there?

“When are you moving out?” she asks.

His eyes scan the room, taking in the piles of boxes already packed and the handful of half-full boxes that still need to be finished. “I dunno. Might be a little bit yet.”

“Not good enough,” she said. “Give me a realistic date before you go to bed tonight.”

3.

The passenger-side window is rolled all the way down, and the breeze is flowing through Pumpkin’s voluminous brown-red hair as he flies down the highway. He can’t help but look at her and think of a dog with its mouth open and tongue hanging out as it sticks its head out the window.

Too, he’d like to hear the radio and he can’t, over the sound of the wind whooshing in.

“I’m going to be finished moving this weekend,” he says to her, his voice on the verge of sounding like yelling. “Everything’s all packed up. Just got to get it on the truck and take it over to the new place on Saturday.”

“Cool,” she says. That’s it. No follow up questions or commentary.

“Are you coming over?” he asks. 

“Nah,” she says, her hand waving like she’s brushing the very idea away from her body.

“You don’t have to, like, help move things. You can just be moral support.”

She offers a noncommittal “Hrm.”

“You should at least come over and help me christen the place. Some kitchen-counter sex? Sex in the shower? Sex in the…pantry?”

She seems a little more interested now. “Yeah? That might be fun.”

4.

It’s just about over. The end of an era. The boxes are packed and stacked up. The truck has been reserved and will be in his possession first thing in the morning. He’s got a friend or two coming to lend a hand. 

No word from Pumpkin yet regarding whether or not she’ll be stopping by so that she can get fucked on his kitchen counter–but he’s made a mental note to text her about that in the morning. 

The only thing left to do is to sleep. One last sleep in this apartment. 

As if he could sleep.

He’s feeling restless. Regretful, possibly. 

Lyndie is somewhere in the apartment–probably in her room. He wants to talk to her. There’s things he wants to tell her. Things he wants to apologize for. He’s realistic enough to know that it wouldn’t change anything–he’d still be moving out and they’d both be moving on. But he’d like to think that there’s a world where his words would at least help to mend some of the damage that’s been done over the last few months.

Venturing out into the kitchen, he surveys the situation. He decides that if he sees her, he’ll talk to her. If she’s not around–he’ll just get a glass of water.

He just gets a glass of water.

Maybe it’s for the best. Some of the things on his mind are probably better left unsaid.

5.

Pumpkin is lying face-down across the kitchen counter, and her legs dangle off the edge–unable to touch the ground. Her pants and panties are in another room. Her bra is still under her shirt, but it’s been unclasped and now serves only to get in her way. The sounds of her moaning seem to fill every empty nook and cranny of the new apartment–not hard, considering barely anything is unpacked yet. 

He likes that she’s loud during sex. Sometimes, he wonders if it’s a little too loud. Now is one of those times. How thin are these walls? What are his neighbors like? Is he going to get some awkward stares next time he walks out the front door?

He should be thinking about Pumpkin. That ass, built by yoga and morning jogs. That immensely pullable hair. Her absolutely perfect skin. It’s all right there in front of him as he thrusts himself in and out of her. 

He’s thinking about Lyndie. Sort of. He’s not imagining himself fucking Lyndie–that’d be pretty hard, considering how different Pumpkin feels. He wouldn’t be able to explain the difference, only that there is one.

In a blind fuck test, I’d be able to tell them apart.

He’s thinking about diapers. Sort of. He made some shitty comments about it to Lyndie the other day, but it was only because he felt backed into a corner and needed to lash out. In all honesty? The part about all those rumors that bugged him the most was the idea of Lyndie being into some weird fetishes.

He has weird fetishes. Fetishes he keeps to himself because he assumes she wouldn’t be interested. Maybe if he had just given her a little credit, she would’ve dressed up like a nurse and had taken his temperature via his ass. Maybe she’d have used nipple clamps on him. Maybe she’d have put a collar around his neck and made him crawl around like a dog. 

Diapers. Very interesting. Maybe he’d have given that a whirl too–if that was what she was into.

“Pumpkin? Would you dress up like a nurse if I got you a costume?”

“Is…oof…that what you’re…uhh…into?”

“Maybe.”

“Get me a costume,” she says.

“What if I want to wear a…unh…collar and a leash?”

“Oh! Like a…uhm…uhhhff…dog?”

“Yeah.”

“Get a leash,” she says.

He doesn’t like how easy that was.

He can’t believe he’s going to ask this, but he figures he’ll never know if he doesn’t ask. “What about a…”

“Just fucking buy it and show me later,” she barks. “Can you just worry about making me cum right now?”

6.

It is the weirdest feeling in the entire world to have to knock on the front door of what used to be your own home.

“Coming,” says her muffled voice from the other side of the door.

Lyndie looks good, he thinks. Maybe she lost a little weight, but he’s not even sure that’s what it is. It’s like she just seems a little more…perky? She’s got this energy about her.

Is she just happier? 

That’s a punch in the gut. He can’t help but think that she’s just doing better because he’s not in her life anymore. 

“Thanks for dropping by,” she says, waving him inside. “It’s not a lot–just a few odds and ends.”

He didn’t think he was missing anything, but then he got a call that he left a few things at the old apartment. Lyndie offered to ship it to him, but that seemed silly when he could just swing by and pick it up one day after work. 

It had only been a few weeks since he moved out, but he thought that when he stepped through the door, the place would still feel like home to him. It did not. In a relatively short amount of time, everything had changed. There was new furniture. New decorations. A new TV. And even with the things that he recognized, he found that they were in completely different places now. The apartment doesn’t even smell the same anymore. He can’t put his finger on what it smells like–but it’s nothing he remembers from when he lived here. This wasn’t his home, nor would it ever be again. To be expected, but he still didn’t like it.

Still, he has a social obligation to say: “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Yeah?” she smiles. “Thank you. Ava and I have been working hard to make it our own.”

“Ava?”

“My friend? Roommate? I’m sure I’ve mentioned her to you before.”

He doesn’t remember mention of an Ava. Then again, she probably doesn’t remember him telling her about the new strings he had bought for his guitar. “Oh yeah-yeah-yeah. I remember you talking about her.”

“How’s things at your new place?” she asks. He can’t tell how genuine she’s being. She seems friendlier than he expected her to be. Is it just for the sake of getting through this moment without a fight? Or has her spirit really just improved this much?

“It’s good,” he shrugs. “Still have a few things to find a place for, but it’s good.”

“Are you still with, uhm…” her voice trails off for a moment while she thinks about it. “I’m really sorry, that’s rude. I can’t remember her name.”

“Pumpkin,” he immediately answers. He wishes he hadn’t done that.

“Wait…really?”

He bites his lip. “Uh…well. It’s actually Paige, but…”

Her expression changes in a moment and her lips slowly melt into a frown. “You…used to call me Pumpkin. Remember?”

“I know, I know…”

Just as quickly, she shakes it off and starts to smile again. “Well…best of luck to the two of you.”

He’s pretty sure it’s not entirely genuine, but so it goes. 

“Your stuff is over there in the box,” she says, pointing to the coffee table. “Just a few books and DVDs.

He doesn’t want today to end like this. He was really hoping that he’d find a way to bury the hatchet and lay the foundation for some sort of friendship. The chances of that happening now seem nil.

There’s another voice from elsewhere in the apartment: “Okay, the bathtub is full!” 

He’s not sure what to make of the voice. Or, for that matter, what the voice said. Is she babysitting a little boy or something?

“Was that…Ava?” he asks.

She shakes her head. She turns around for a moment to face the hallway–yelling towards the bathroom: “Okay, I’ll be right there! Go ahead and get in.”

He opens his mouth to ask who it was then, but stops himself. It’s not his business.

“He’s a friend,” Lyndie says, reading his thoughts.

He shrugs. “Okay.”

It dawns on him what the apartment smells like. A baby. It reminds him of when he was younger and his siblings were still in diapers. The creams and the powders and the diapers…those scents always seemed to linger.

“Does, uh, he live here too?” he asks.

“He’s just visiting,” she says.

“Alright, well, I should probably get out of your hair…”

“Thanks for picking up this stuff,” she says. “And tell Pumpkin I said hi.”

He sighs. As tempting as it is to make some snarky comment right back at her–something about her visitor and diapers–he steps off of that ledge. “Actually, can I ask you something?”

She looks skeptical. “Okay?”

“One of my biggest regrets was just assuming that I always knew how you felt about something instead of talking to you. Over time, I think I created this version of you in my mind that I was resentful towards. It’s probably what contributed to me making some dumb decisions.”

“Like cheating on me with, uhm, Pumpkin?”

He shrugs. “Yeah… Like that.”

“So what was your question?”

“Right, well… Let’s say I had been more upfront with you about the things I thought you were going to dismiss. Like, uh, in the bedroom. Do you think that if I was more open about what I wanted…there’s a world where I’d be in the bathtub waiting for you right now?”

Her eyes widen and she laughs as she shakes her head in disbelief. “Really? That’s what you want?”

“It didn’t have to be that,” he says, his hand pointing in the direction of the bathroom. “I just mean, like, how open would you have been if I told you about the things I’m into?”

“When I’m finished giving Bradley a bath,” she says, smiling to herself as if just the thought of it thrills her still, “I’m going to put him in a big thick diaper. I think you’d be surprised what I’m willing to do for someone I care for.”

He sighs. “Yeah, fair enough.”

“If you want my advice? Just tell people what you want. Let them be the ones to tell you how they feel about it.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Oh,” she says. “I have one more thing for you.”

He waits as she wanders out of the room with a smug smile on her face. He can’t imagine what else there’d be. He’s pretty sure that whatever is in this box is already stuff he didn’t know he owned. If the entire thing was tossed in a dumpster and he was never told about it, would he even notice?

She returns a minute later, carrying a single object. He knows what it is–it’s a diaper.

“Wait, why are you giving me a…”

“You sounded curious,” she shrugs, tossing it into his box. 

His instinct is to deny this, but what does it matter? He’s leaving with the last of his stuff. And, clearly, Lyndie has moved on. He’d be surprised if they ever talked again. 

“Thanks.”

7.

He’s pretty sure that Pumpkin is seeing other men. Her phone is almost always illuminated and vibrating, and she’s becoming less and less available. In fact, she only seems interested when he’s either paying for dinner or when he’s fucking her. And while he likes those things, he also just wants someone that he can watch TV with or go shopping for bedsheets with.

He’s not even mad about it. He knew from the start that Pumpkin wasn’t a viable long-term option–she was just a pit stop on the route to the next chapter of his life. An incredibly horny pit stop that chews its gum too loudly.

It’ll be interesting to see which happens first, he thinks–Pumpkin finally rotating him out of her schedule completely, or him telling Pumpkin to get lost. 

He wouldn’t mind getting a few more nights out of her first.

“I have to work late tomorrow,” she says, kicking her snifter of brandy back like it was a shot.

“Oh.” It occurs to him that he doesn’t even remember where she works–or he might have assumed she just doesn’t work. Either way, he doesn’t believe this for a moment.

“Just sayin’. I probably won’t be by tomorrow.”

“That’s fine,” he shrugs. “You’re here now.”

Soon, she’s on her back on the bed–legs up in the air and most of her clothes resting in a pile on the floor. They didn’t even kiss this time. It’d be hard for the sex with her to be bad, though this is probably the worst it’s ever been. There’s just no passion. She seems disengaged and distracted. He’s thinking about the likelihood that he’ll end things with her tonight.

He’s also thinking about that diaper. He could save it for another day. Another woman. But maybe this is the time to take a stab at it. Whether Pumpkin ends up being uninterested or disgusted–it won’t matter, because they won’t have to see each other again.

“Hey,” he says. “Remember when we were talking about kinky shit the other day?”

“Mm,” she hums, sounding like she may not be entirely in the same place as he is. Who’s fucking her in her imagination right now?

“So, I got this diaper…”

Her eyes open, and her hips stop gyrating. Their bodies seem frozen, like someone sculpted a single moment of the two of them fucking. “Diaper?”

He bites his bottom lip. This was probably the worst time to bring up such a strange thing, and he’s already started this conversation in the strangest way possible.

“Do you have, like, a problem?” she asks, picking up the beat that he dropped.

“No, no. It’s like a, uh…” He realizes he has no idea how to actually convey his curiosity.

“Oh,” she says. “Like…you want me to wear it? Are you into that?”

Hmm. He hadn’t considered that. In his attempts to daydream about diapers thus far, he had only imagined himself wearing the diaper. But perhaps he had been looking at it all wrong. Maybe it would be sexier if he was the ‘daddy?’

“Yeah,” he says. “Sure. Is that, uh, something you’d be into?”

“Uhm…maybe? Tell me more about it.”

Jesus Christ. He barely knows how he’d explain it to himself, let alone someone else. Of course, she doesn’t know anything about it either–maybe he could just bullshit his way through this?

“You’d, uh, be my little girl,” he says. “Maybe I’d…inspect your panties when you come over. And I’d find that they weren’t clean enough.”

“My panties are always clean,” she says.

“Okay, right. But…we’re, like, roleplaying here.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding. “Okay. So…my panties are, uhm, dirty? And then what?”

“And maybe I say something about how if you can’t keep your panties clean, maybe you shouldn’t be wearing them at all.”

To his surprise, Pumpkin’s body seems to be in motion again. Like a locomotive, slowly leaving a station, he can almost see the signals traveling through her body as her hips start to grind on his still-embedded cock again. “Go on.”

“And, well, I’d have to remind you that you’re not the big girl you think you are…”

“H-how would you do that?”

“A…spanking? Yeah. A spanking. I’d have to put you over my knees and spank you.”

“Like a little girl,” she says. A moan escapes her mouth as both of our bodies start finding their rhythm again. 

“And when we’re done, I…uhm…couldn’t let you wear panties anymore.”

“No…” she whispers. “I’d just make ‘em dirty…”

“So you’d have to wear a…”

“...diaper.” She practically melts into the bed, releasing a prolonged “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh…”

It’s safe to say that she’s into this idea. She might even be more into it than he is.

He’s tempted to grab the diaper right now. But, he can’t leave this. They’ve got something good going on. Not just good. This might actually be the best sex they’ve ever had–and they’ve had some very very good sex.

“Fuck me, Daddy.”

How does one respond to that? “Okay, sure.” He just continues thrusting himself inside of her–eager to see which of them pops first.

“I’m your little baby girl,” she says, her eyes tightly closed. “Bobby, tell me I’m your little baby girl!”

“Bobby?”

She opens her eyes. “Fuck.” She is, clearly, not looking at Bobby.

There’s a part of him that is tempted to just keep going. Whatever. We knew this thing was going to self-destruct soon anyway. Might as well finish what we started. But the reality is that there’s really no coming back from the wrong name being uttered during sex. 

She’s done too. Maybe too ashamed of herself, or maybe she’s disappointed that she wasn’t actually being regressed by whoever Bobby was. 

Neither of them say much to each other. Pumpkin grabs her clothes and goes into the bathroom to put them back on. She’s never done that before when getting dressed–and feels like the most definitive proof that things are over now.

He’s not mad. He’s not sad. Sure, he wishes he could’ve spent a few more minutes elaborating on his fantasy until he blew his load–but it’s nothing he can’t take care of himself, later. 

He gives her some time and space, returning to the kitchen where he pours himself some more brandy. This, he convinces himself, is a good thing. A true starting point for his new life. No more Lyndie. No more Paige. No more Pumpkins.

“I’m sorry about that,” she says, finally emerging from her bedroom. Aside from her hair looking a little tousled, she looks as fantastic as she did when she first showed up tonight.

He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

What else is there to say? They offer some half-assed goodbyes and then she’s gone.

8.

As fun as the ‘daddy scenario’ sounds, he sees an opportunity now that he has his own apartment and all the privacy he could ever ask for. Maybe he ought to just give the diaper a whirl. See what happens.

He returns to the bedroom, spotting the box of junk he had taken home from Lyndie’s. He hasn’t bothered going through its contents yet. Even the diaper had remained there–sitting on top of everything else. Waiting for him.

Except…it wasn’t there when he peered into the box. Everything else was there. The books. The pair of socks. The random baseball hat. A coffee mug. 

But no diaper.

For a moment, he came close to entertaining the idea that he never actually had a diaper–that last moment in Lyndie’s apartment had just been an elaborate dream. A fantastical daydream. 

No, he knew where it was. The box set atop the dresser, which was right next to the bathroom door. When Pumpkin–Paige–came out of the bathroom, she probably had a perfect view of the diaper sticking out of the top of the box. And, thinking about the little fantasy that she had gotten sucked into during sex, she grabbed it.

And now Bobby–whoever the fuck that was–was going to have the time of his life as he took care of his new little girl.

Whatever. He’s mad about it, but not mad enough that he’d let it derail the newfound sense of peace he was experiencing. 

He’s single. In a new place. With an infinite number of curiosities to explore. 

There’ll be other Pumpkins.

He’ll be just fine.

 

[littlebopeeper]

Another nice piece.  Like the way you use these interludes to show us familiar characters in a different setting.

[kirababy]

What a weird little twist.  Love it.   So quirky.

[bigbear95]

That twist near the end was kinda heartbreaking. 

[CCApril]

22 hours ago, bigbear95 said:

That twist near the end was kinda heartbreaking

Yes, but well deserved.  Good to see Bradley is being taken care of!

[aldl4811]

I absolutely love these last two additions. Happy new year

[quietlyhumiliated]

Memorandums II, Part 4: Working at the Baby House

Dirty diapers. A lot of them.

I couldn’t decide which was stranger: that I was throwing a clear plastic bag filled with dirty diapers over my shoulder so that I could haul it out to the trash can, or that I’ve done this so many times that it felt normal now.

Sometimes I was tempted to talk to someone about this. There had been a few close calls. I’ll get a few drinks in me at the bar on a Friday night and someone like Hank or Aisley would be complaining about their jobs. It took a lot of willpower to not just jump in with my own story. “Okay, but do you have any idea how many dirty diapers I had to drag to the trash can today?”

I think I know why I didn’t, though. It’s because my job wasn’t actually all that hard. It was just weird. And it hadn’t even always been this weird–that was more of a recent development. And it’s not like I had to change diapers. I was just emptying the diaper pail when I was there. 

Sure, once the bag ripped and a pile of dirty diapers fell all over the sidewalk. I had to find some gloves and spent longer than I’d like picking up the damn things. But that was just once. The rest of the time, I was just doing the same thing I’d do at any other house. I washed some dishes. I mopped the floor. I vacuumed. 

Sometimes I’d throw away diapers.

===

I kind of stumbled into the whole cleaning gig. Originally, I was just looking for something to pass the time during the summer as I debated on whether or not I’d be returning to college in the fall. My parents tried their hardest to be supportive of ‘whatever it was I decided I wanted to do,’ but I could read their faces well enough to know that they were going to be disappointed if I didn’t go back.

It just happened to work out that my neighbors, the Bensons, were in need of a little summer help. An older couple whose kids had grown up and moved out long ago, they were in need of a helping hand to take care of some chores for them while they did some traveling. It wasn’t anything unreasonable–vacuuming, mopping, weeding their small garden. And, thanks to my mother’s need for perfection in her own home, I knew a thing or two about cleaning well.

Well, my neighbors had friends who were looking for a similar helping hand, and my name and number was passed along. And so I picked up a few more gigs. And those clients had friends too. Suddenly, my schedule was jam-packed. It was a job. 

I was making money. Good money. Money that was all under the table, too. It was hard to put all of that on hold for another semester of college–especially when I wasn’t even interested in college in the first place. So I decided to put my education on hold. I’d come back to it later–if I needed to. My parents weren’t crazy about the idea, of course, but neither of them seemed willing to just put their foot down and demand that their daughter go back. 

===

Gabrielle Heller had been one of the first clients I had taken on after the Bensons shared my name and number with their socal circle. I’m not sure what their connection was with each other, but it didn’t really matter to me.

Ms. Heller’s house was one of my favorite stops during the week. She was a single woman living in a rather posh house that seemed too big for one person. Not only was there very little work I had to do there, but she was always keen on slipping me a few extra bucks on top of my usual rate, “just because you’re doing such a good job.” I wasn’t sure what she thought I was doing that went above and beyond the services she hired me for, but I also didn’t argue about it. 

I was intrigued by Ms. Heller. She was friendly. Pretty. Obviously rather rich. And yet she was single. Once in a great while there was a sign that she might have had a gentleman over for a night–once I found two empty cocktail glasses sitting on the coffee table of the den–but otherwise it was like she just lived in this sanctuary that was all for her. 

Once in a while, I’d stumble into something that felt out of place. It was always something…infantile. A pacifier. A pack of baby wipes. They were almost always semi-hidden–set in a place that was just out of sight and perhaps forgotten about. She didn’t have children of her own. Maybe she had nieces and nephews that visited on occasion, but it was always strange that I’d stumble across, say, a bottle of baby powder but never a color book or some toys. 

Every house has curious details like this, though. Mr. Ritzcomb has a jar in the back of his canned vegetable cabinet that contains a dead fly. Just one dead fly in a jar, the lid screwed on tightly. The hell if I know what that’s about. I’ve found Mrs. Mang’s vibrator in three or four different places around the house as I’ve cleaned it for the last year. The Clemente’s keep an impeccable house, with the exception of the garage–which looks like a hoarder’s paradise.

So Ms. Heller had some baby things stashed around her house. Strange, but not the strangest I’ve ever seen.

But then it got stranger.

===

“I don’t think it’ll change much for you, Marnie,” Ms. Heller said one afternoon as I dropped by with my vacuum and bag of cleaning products. “But I’ll be having a guest stay with me for the…foreseeable future.”

This was how I knew that I had officially taken on the occupation of ‘maid:’ I started by my own cleaning products and tools because I was developing preferences for specific things that not every house had available to me. My vacuum was like my guitar–a carefully selected and personalized item that nobody would ever know as well as me.

I gripped the handle of the vacuum tightly as I shrugged. “Yeah, sure.” And then, because I was curious, I had to ask: “What sort of guest?”

She laughed. It wasn’t the reaction I had expected–it was as if she was just at a loss for words of how to describe whoever would be staying with her. I immediately knew it was a situation that was probably a little beyond what I needed to know about.

“He’s a young man,” she said. “Maybe about your age. We have an, er, arrangement?”

Was this code for: The much-younger man that I’m sleeping with is going to be staying at the house?

“Of course,” I said, hoping she could read my mind: I’ll stay out of the way of the two of you.

“I feel that I need to let you know, Marnie…” There’s some hesitation in her tone. There’s something else. Something awkward.

“Yes?”

“You may be surprised when you see this young man.”

My imagination was already sprouting all sorts of ideas. A man in a wheelchair. A man with a grotesquely swollen head. A man with bat wings. A man dressed up like a sugarplum princess.

“How so?”

“I don’t see the point in beating around the bush, Marnie. You’ll likely see it all for yourself soon enough. He’ll look like a giant baby.”

“A…baby?” Immediately, all my imagined versions of this mystery man dissipate, leaving the mental image of a cartoonish man in an oversized diaper.

“I’m not sure how else to put it,” Ms. Heller said. “Onesies. Pacifiers. Shortalls. Diapers. He’s dressed like a baby.”

Oh wow. My new mental image was proving to be far more accurate than I’d have thought.

I wasn’t sure how to respond to this. Obviously, it was strange. And, obviously, Ms. Heller knew that I’d find it to be strange. But it was her house. Her life. And she owed me absolutely nothing. If she didn’t want to tell me anything about her new guest at all–leaving me to discover the big baby for myself–that’d have been her prerogative. Either way, I had a job to do.

“I want to make it perfectly clear,” she continued. “I’m not expecting anything different from you. You do an excellent job in helping keep the house straightened, and I’d expect you to just keep that same job. Any and all things regarding my guest will be my responsibility.”

“Well…thank you very much for telling me,” I said. “Why don’t I get right to it, then?”

Of course, if someone tells you that a man is walking around the house while dressed like a baby–you want to see that. It didn’t matter if I thought it was exciting or disgusting–it was just weird, and that sort of weird was something I had never experienced before. I was on high alert, looking over my shoulder at all times, hoping I’d catch a glimpse of the fabled baby-man as I went about my job. 

Once in a while I’d hear a door open or close. There’d be footsteps. I’d hear Ms. Heller talking softly to someone. On rare occasions, I’d hear the response–a new and boyish voice that usually had the cadence of whining. 

I just had to know: Why? Was this a disability? A kink? Something else entirely? I felt like all the clues were already distributed around the house–the pacifiers and baby powder and all that. If it wasn’t this particular boy, she had certainly seemed prepared for someone in need of baby things for sometime now.

===

It wouldn’t be until two weeks later when I’d finally meet him. But I had already begun to see signs of his existence during my visit the week prior. Jars of baby food in the recycling. Baby bottles of milk in the fridge. Items like pacifiers and baby toys were suddenly being found in obvious areas like atop the dining room table and on the kitchen counter next to the mail. From upstairs, behind the doors of rooms I didn’t usually go into, I could hear the soft music and exaggerated voices of children’s cartoons.

I was sweeping the kitchen when it happened. Often, it feels like I’m just going through the motions at Ms. Heller’s home–there’s just not that much to actually clean. I was pushing the broom around, reaching into every corner to pull out the faint traces of dust or debris, but there was little to show for it. That’s when I caught some movement in the corner of my eye. I looked up, spotting him at the same time he spotted me.

Just as I hadn’t expected to see him standing there, I don’t think he expected to see me either. His eyes were big, and he had this deer-in-the-headlights look about him, where he probably couldn’t just run away, even if he wanted to.

He was, as Ms. Heller said he’d be, dressed like a baby. He wore a blue and green striped onesie with an illustrated alligator on the front of it. A bib was around his neck. Below his hips, the onesie seemed bulging and inflated, a thick diaper was doing its best to break free from the dainty snaps at the bottom of the onesie, between his legs. He may have been about my age. Maybe a little older, maybe a little younger–it was hard to judge someone’s age when they were dressed like this.

I still had no context for why this boy was dressed like a baby, and so I was hesitant to say much. Still, it felt rude to just indefinitely stare at him.

“Uhm…hi. I’m Marnie. I clean Ms. Heller’s house once a week.”

“Hi,” he said, nodding. “I’m, uh, Clark.” That was all he said. 

“Well…I’m just cleaning up a little in the kitchen. I hope I’m not in your way.”

“N-no,” he said, his fingers nervously scratching at his tousled hair. “I just came for something to drink.”

“Sure,” I shrugged. “Don’t let me stop you.”

He didn’t walk to the fridge–he waddled. His body had this comical little bob to it as he went to the fridge–pulling out a bottle of milk in a baby bottle. Looking back at me–perhaps to gauge if I was judging him or not–I could see that his cheeks were a bright pink.

“I, uhm, got it,” he said.

“Okay,” I shrugged. “I’ll, uh, see you later?”

He nodded and waddled his way out of the kitchen.

Somewhere else, moments later, I could hear Ms. Heller’s voice: “Clarky. How many times have I told you? Babies crawl. You need to get used to crawling everywhere.”

===

Every week was good for at least one Clark sighting. I’d see him crawl past the doorway of the room I was working in. I’d see him dozing in a playpen that had been set up in the den. I’d walk past the dining room and watch as Ms. Heller guided a spoonful of colorful glop into his open mouth.

A few weeks passed when I found him in his playpen one day as I was making the rounds with my trusty vacuum. He had that deer-in-the-headlights look on his face again when we spotted each other. Not completely unsurprising, but I had thought that we had seen enough of each other that it wouldn’t be as big of a deal for him to see me. 

No, it was something else. It wasn’t just that I had walked in on him. It was when I had walked in on him. He was squatting in the center of the playpen–legs spread apart with his diaper hovering just above the ground. He wasn’t wearing a onesie today–instead, just a t-shirt and his diaper. I knew nothing about diapers or taking care of babies, but I could certainly smell what he had been doing.

He let out an uncomfortable grunt, like he had to finish something–whether he wanted to or not.

“Oh,” I said, taking a step or two away from him. “Did you just…uhm…”

His face was beet red as he stammered, clearly debating about how much he should say to me. “I…uhm…well…I just…”

“Why don’t you just sit right there,” I said. I thought better of that quickly. “No, wait. You probably shouldn’t, uhm, sit. Just…stay there? I’ll go and get Ms. Heller.”

The boy just nodded sheepishly, the ripe odor getting stronger by the second.

There are some sensations that you just don’t ever forget. I think that smell has forever been burned into my nostrils–the stench of his freshly soiled diaper. So fresh that I was literally staring at him as it was happening. 

“Uhm, Ms. Heller?” I was walking through the house now, hoping to find her. “Ms. Heller? When you have a chance? I think there’s something you should know…”

“Yes dear?” Ms. Heller emerged from one of the upstairs bedrooms–a spare room that I had only ever seen once, and was a mostly empty space at that time. Now, I could see that it was slowly taking the form of a nursery.

“I was just downstairs in the den and, uhm, Clark is there and…”

“Is he okay?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that question. Was he okay to shit his pants like a toddler?

“I guess? I think? It’s just that I think he had an…accident.”

“Ah, I see,” she nodded. “It happens often. Being a baby and all that.”

“Right, well…”

“Did he go number one? Or number two?”

“Uh…two?” I simply couldn’t believe that I was telling someone that a grown man had messed in his diaper.

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Damn. I thought we’d have a while before that happened again. Is he still in his playpen?”

“Yes. Well, he was when I came up here.”

“I suppose I should go down there and take care of that,” she sighed. Then she smiled at me. “Unless you have any desire to learn how to take care of a baby.”

“I think I’m good,” I said.

She laughed, like she already knew what my answer was. I couldn’t tell if she had just been joking, or if she would’ve actually let me tag along if I had said yes.

“I’ll change the baby and then I can take him upstairs for his nap,” she said. “That’ll get him out of your way to clean in the den, yes?”

“Oh…he’s fine where he is,” I said. “I just thought you should know about his, uh, diaper.”

“So you’ll be okay if I leave him in his playpen while you clean up?”

“That should be fine.”

I busied myself elsewhere for the next few minutes, tidying up the bathroom instead. A few minutes later, Ms. Heller found me and paused at the doorway with a smile on her face.

“The offending bottom has been dealt with,” she said.

“That was quick,” I blurted out. I was trying to think of how long it would take me to clean up after myself if I ever found myself in the unfortunate position of pooping my pants. Hours, I figured. Hours and six or seven showers.

“Ah, well, I’m somewhat of an expert on diaper changes by now,” she said.

I had a million questions, but it felt like it’d be rude to ask any of them. “I guess that’s, uh, good for him.”  

She nodded. “The den is still a little stinky, so if you’d like to skip that room today, that’s fine by me.”

“I appreciate you saying so,” I said. “I guess we’ll see how it is when I get there.”

Truthfully? I didn’t want to be walking around a room tainted by the smell of someone who had pooped themselves. It’d have been no different if it was an actual baby. 

Still, I felt a sense of obligation. Ms. Heller had been kind to me since I started working for her, and I felt that I couldn’t just leave her house without doing everything I came here to do. I had earned her respect, and I intended on keeping it. 

A few minutes later I was back in the den with my cleaning supplies. I’d have probably preferred to have waited a little longer, but seeing as how it was all that was left to do before I was done, I decided to just get it over with. The scent of dirty diapers was less strong now, but it was still lingering in the air.

“Hi,” a still-blushing Clark said, now seated in the playpen as cartoons played on the TV.

“Hi,” I replied. I was hesitant to say much more. I was the interloper. I was the only one in the house that wasn’t of whatever weird world they were currently living in.

“I’m sorry about before,” he said.

I shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. That’s why they’re called ‘accidents,’ right?”

He laughed. I didn’t think I was making a joke, but I had stumbled into some sort of in-joke that you only appreciated while wearing diapers.

I look around. I check down the hallway. I want to make sure that Ms. Heller isn’t around when I come back to the playpen.

“Hey. Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“Are you…okay?”

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“Like, whatever is going on here…you’re happy with it?”

He nodded, sighing like it’s not the first time he’s fielded this question. “I’m good. I’m happy. This is exactly where I want to be.”

“So…all of this? It’s a choice?”

“Yes.”

“And you like it?”

“Yes.”

I supposed that was all I really needed to know. All the other questions were none of my business.

===

A month later, Ms. Heller was going away for a week; though she left a key behind for me and asked if I wouldn’t mind going through the usual routine anyway. That was fine by me. 

I assumed this meant that there’d be nobody home. I would quickly learn that this was not the case. Soon after arriving, I followed the noise of the TV into the den. Except it wasn’t Clark–it was a girl that I didn’t recognize. She was probably a little older than I was, with dark curly hair and big glasses. 

“Oh, hi,” she said, pausing the TV. “Ms. Heller said you’d be coming by. Marnie, right?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s me. I’m sorry, you are…”

“Courtney,” she said, standing up and walking towards me to shake my hand. “If there’s anything I can do to help out, just let me know.”

“Well…I kind of got this,” I shrugged. “It’s my job.”

“Ms. Heller says you’re very good too.”

“Th-thanks,” I said, unsure how to take a second-hand compliment from a complete stranger. “So are you, like, housesitting?”

“Sort of,” Courtney shrugs. “Babysitting, actually. But, I mean, I guess that makes me in charge of the house too.”

“Oh. So Clark is…here?”

“Mmhmm,” she hums. “He’s taking a little nappy-nap in his crib right now. Poor guy is all tuckered out.”

Yet another person drinking the kool-aid, I think. She acts like this–babysitting a grown man in a diaper–is the most normal thing in the entire world. And maybe some of that energy has rubbed off on me. At this point, I rarely think about the absurdity of Clark or Ms. Heller’s relationship. This is just the ‘diaper house.’ I do my job, maybe avoid the rooms that smell like a dirty diaper if I can help it, and I move on to the fly-in-jar house. Once in a while, like on this particular day, I’m reminded of just how strange it all is.

“So, hey, can I ask you something? Just between you and me?”

Courtney smiled. “Yeah, of course. What’s up?”

“How does something like this even happen? How does a guy just become…a big baby?”

Courtney shrugged. “Some people just like that sort of thing. You should see them together. It’s the cutest thing.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Are you into, uh, diapers?”

“For the amount that Ms. Heller pays me? I’ll fucking eat a diaper if she asked.”

That made sense to me. Money had a way of loosening inhibitions.

“I offer a service,” Courtney said. “This isn’t the only little guy I watch over.”

“Oh.” That made even more sense to me. A small amount of research had revealed to me that the ‘adult baby’ scene was far more vast than I could’ve ever imagined. No doubt, Ms. Heller wasn’t the only one with a need for a specialized babysitter. “Do you like this work?”

She laughed, shrugging. “I usually enjoy it. But I’m always good at it.”

I could see some of myself in Courtney–a young woman who might have stumbled into a line of work that wasn’t what she had expected, but she was surprisingly good at. I tried to imagine myself in her shoes–changing diapers and pushing bottles into the mouths of men who were older than I was. I wasn’t sure that I could handle it.

“It probably does look pretty weird from the outside,” Courtney added. “I’ll give you that.”

“Whatever pays the bills,” I shrugged.

“Exactly.”

We stayed out of each other’s way. I cleaned the house, while I’d only occasionally see Courtney as she went back and forth from the den to the nursery upstairs. I put a little haste into my work, hoping that if I finished a little sooner, I’d have a few more minutes to ask Courtney some questions before I needed to be on my way again. This mission was a success and when I returned to the den, I found her waiting for me–a smile on her face.

“Want to see something?” she asked.

“Maybe? Is it gross?”

She laughed. “Depends on what your threshold for grossness is.”

I was thinking I should refuse. Whatever it was–it probably wasn’t any of my business. Which, of course, was exactly why I wanted to see it. 

“Yeah, alright.”

I followed her up the stairs and over to the nursery. I had only seen the completed nursery once or twice–and only from the hallway. Actually standing inside of it was a sight to behold. The oversized furniture. The abundance of supplies. The strong scent of powders and lotions that were so inviting that it seemed to turn on the maternal drive deep within me that I barely knew I had.

And there was the baby. Clark was lying on his back, passed out in his crib.

“He had an accident while he slept,” Courtney whispered to me. “Wet himself real good. I need to change him before he leaks all over the crib.”

“Like…an actual accident?”

“Oh, he has more accidents than not-accidents.”

This was incredibly fascinating to me. “Is that what you wanted to show me?”

“Have you ever seen the inside of his diaper?”

I held a hand up to my mouth to muffle my laughter. “When would I have ever seen that? Why would I want to?”

The idea of seeing some guy’s limp penis in a soaked diaper didn’t sound like the best of times to me.

“Trust me,” she said. “You’re going to want to see this.”

The side of the crib was opened, giving Courntey access to the slumbering baby within. I was surprised with how naturally she went about her task–reaching to the diaper and pulling open the diaper’s tapes before pulling the bloated diaper’s front down between his legs.

I was, in fact, surprised by what I saw. His pale skin was devoid of any pubic hair. Not even faint traces of stubble. I almost wanted to ask Ms. Heller, later, how she had gotten it so smooth. 

However, this was not what Courtney wanted to show me. No, I believe that would’ve been the metal device that contained his shrunken little manhood.

“Is that a…”

“Chastity,” Courtney nodded. “Locked up nice and tight and Mommy’s got the key.”

“Mommy,” I repeated to myself. It probably should’ve been obvious that it would be what Clark would call her, but I hadn’t ever heard him say it. I liked the sound of it. It felt so empowering. Mommy. I couldn’t even imagine–feeling so small and dependent that I’d look to another adult as my ‘mommy.’

“Pretty cute, right?” Courtney asked.

“It…kind of is,” I said, again having to stifle a little laugh.

It was more than cute, though. I was fascinated by the idea of Clark making this grand commitment to this lifestyle–even though he lacked the ability to get off on his kink without his Mommy’s key. Books could be written about this. Stories, at least.

“Think you’ll ever look at him the same?” Courtney asked.

“I was never really sure how to look at him in the first place.”

===

It’s hard to say what changed. Maybe the more I saw Clark as he waddled around in his bloated diapers, the easier it was to pretend that he wasn’t that different from an actual, and adorable, baby. Maybe if you smell enough dirty diapers, it rots away the part of your brain that tries to tell you that it’s all pretty fucking weird.

Regardless, I felt myself slowly coming around on the baby thing. 

“How’s the baby?” I’d ask when I came by to do a cleaning. Ms. Heller loved to be asked about the baby.

“Oh, he’s doing well. Though, can you believe it? It’s only 10 AM and he’s had three diaper changes already.”

“Three? What are you feeding that kid?”

Clark seemed to be warming up to me too. It’s not like we sat around and had deep discussions, but it seemed that he had come to accept my presence as a regular thing. He stopped freezing in his tracks and blushing when he saw me. He stopped apologizing when he filled his diaper in front of me. In fact, he seemed to have no trouble pushing a little gift into the back of his pants whenever I was in the vicinity. Coincidence? Or did he just get a little thrill from dirtying his diapers while I was somewhere in the periphery?

We had reached a strange level of comfort with one another. Not quite friends yet, but something more than two strangers who occupied the same building once a week. 

Sometimes he’d ask me questions. Strange questions. Questions that made him sound like he had been abducted by aliens or had been in prison for a few years, and he just didn’t know how the world worked anymore.

“What’s, like, viral these days?”

“Is that chicken place still downtown by the old Catholic church?”

“What kind of weird flavors of Mountain Dew are there right now?”

Meanwhile, as I found my footing with him, I found it easy to begin to tease him. I’d ask, before I entered a room that he was already in, if it was safe to proceed or if he needed a clean diaper first. I’d make a big deal about how many diapers I found in the trash cans around the house. I’d compliment his cute little outfits and tell him how excited all the ‘big girls’ would be if they saw such a mature man strutting around dressed like that.

I decided that I’d start cleaning up in the nursery too. Ms. Heller hadn’t asked me to do that, and I wasn’t even sure she’d approve the idea if I had asked. But it just seemed like a nice thing to do, to take some extra responsibilities off her shoulders. I washed the onesies, bibs, and whatever other oversized baby clothes found their way into the hamper. I’d sanitize the pacifiers. I fluffed the pillows in the crib. I straightened up the supplies near the changing table. If the diaper bin was filled, I’d take out the bag and carry it out to the trash can.

“Marnie, dear. I couldn’t help but notice that the hamper was empty after you left last week. Did you…wash everything that was in there?”

“Yes, ma’am. Cleaned it, folded it, and put it all away.”

“You know you didn’t have to do that, right?”

“I know. I just…I wanted to.”

“That couldn’t have been pleasant,” Ms. Heller said. “There was that onesie with the questionable brown stain going up the back of it…”

“A little bit of pre-soaking and I got the stains right out of it by the time it was in the wash,” I replied confidently.

“Well aren’t you just full of surprises,” she said.

When she realized how much I was taking care of in the nursery, she insisted that she pay me more. I tried to tell her not to–coming close to admitting that I would’ve done it for free, just because I was so enamored with the world she had built for herself and Clark. Alas, she ‘won’ the argument, and soon she’d be paying me enough that I could stand to lighten my workload throughout the rest of the week without feeling an impact in my wallet.

===

As much as I liked Ms. Heller, it was the rare weeks when I got to see Courtney that were my favorites. Seeing her car in the driveway when I rolled up to the house gave me a big hit of dopamine.

Sure, maybe Courtney knew her way around a grown man’s diaper, but I still saw her in a similar situation as me–an outsider. We weren’t living here in the Diaper House. We weren’t dealing with Clark 24/7. We just came and went when Ms. Heller waved some cash in our directions. 

Courtney being there also meant that Ms. Heller wouldn’t be. Again, I liked Ms. Heller, but she was also like the default authoritarian. At her best, she was the best high school teacher you ever had–a great friend and someone you enjoyed spending time with, but you also had to respect her because she was in charge. So when she wasn’t around, everything just felt a little more relaxed.

“When you’re finished cleaning,” she said, a clear bottle of amber liquid raised into the air, “I’ve got a beer for you.”

That was the kind of stuff I liked. Sitting down for a few minutes in Ms. Heller’s ultra-plush home, cold beverage in hand, while I laughed at the baby with my new friend.

“Come in here, Clark,” Courtney shouted towards the hallway as we watched the shadow of the overgrown toddler crawling into view. “We want to see you.”

“B-but…”

“I’ll never understand how he still acts so timid,” she said. “Don’t you think you’d just be used to being spotted in your diapers by now?”

Clark crawled into the living room on his hands and knees, wearing only a cropped t-shirt and his big diaper. The diaper had an obvious sag to it, and the color at the base of it looked off–yellowed and darker. 

Sometimes I wondered if it was rarer to spot Clark in a completely clean and dry diaper.

“C’mon, Marnie. Don’t you want to try changing his diaper?”

“Absolutely not,” I said, shaking my head with exaggerated force. “I clean up everything else around here–including the trash cans full of his stinky diapers. You can be responsible for cleaning his ass.”

“Fair enough. Clarky? You’re looking pretty soggy, mister. Do you think I should change you now? Or…do you have something else you need to do in your diaper first?”

“W-well…” He tried to answer her question, but his eyes kept wandering back and forth between myself and Court. Whatever the answer was, he didn’t want to say it out loud. Not to us. 

“Oh, come on,” Courtney cooed. “You usually have no trouble telling me all about the naughty things you have to do in your diaper.”

And, likewise, I was no stranger to catching him loading up his padding while I was around. 

I could see how this was different, though. There were two of us. Two separate entities that he usually only had to deal with when we were on our own. But together? That was an entirely different monster. One that was already giggling and smiling as we looked down at him on the floor.

It was different for me too. With Court at my side, I felt empowered. I could understand the appeal to Courtney or even to Ms. Heller herself–this sensation of having this pathetic little man in the palm of your hand. I wouldn’t even have to feel guilty about it, because he was here willingly. He liked this. He craved moments like this above all others, as best as I could tell.

“I…do have to…” 

It’s hard to hear someone stammering over the words when you know exactly what he’s going to say. It took restraint on my part to not just finish his sentence for him. I’d wait. I’d let the baby say what he had to say.

“Just say it,” Courtney sighed, rolling her eyes. She had a little less patience than me–but then again, she might have dealt with this situation plenty of times in the past.

“I have to…” His eyes diverted from our faces and he stared down at the floor. I could just feel the shame permeating from him. “...poop.”

I laughed. It felt cruel to, but I couldn’t even help myself. I’d be mortified if I had to tell my best friend that I was going to take a shit in the bathroom. But to have to look up into the faces of us, while wearing a diaper, and admitting that he was going to use said diaper? I’d have just keeled over on the spot. The only way my brain could handle that secondhand embarrassment was to laugh.

“Aww, wittle baby-pants has to make his poopies?” Courtney said in a mocking tone while gesturing with her hands wiping fake tears from her eyes. “In front of the big girls, no less? Whatever shall you do?”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” I said, feeling emboldened.

“Get out,” Courtney said to me, playfully slapping me on the shoulder. “You’ve seen him poop himself?”

“One of the first times I ever met him,” I nodded, glancing back in his direction. “I watched him squatting down in that playpen over there.”

“Ah yes,” she said, wistfully staring over at the playpen, now moved into the corner of the room while not in use. “Many a stinky afternoon has started in that playpen.”

“It’s kind of exciting,” I said. “Like…watching it happen? I can’t really explain it. It’s as if what you’re watching is just so gross and ridiculous that it just sucks you into it. And suddenly you’re studying his diaper to see how much it’s going to expand.”

Courtney laughed. “Exactly! And his stupid little face gets all scrunched up…”

“...and maybe he, like, grunts or something?”

Something was happening, and it wasn’t just our mutual interest in humiliating the diaper-baby. Courtney and I found ourselves on the exact same wavelength, and we were suddenly staring into each other’s eyes as I felt my cheeks turning red. Just as Courtney’s were.

“Uhm…guys?” muttered Clark. “I-I’m still here. And…”

“Can you just, like, suck on your thumb?” Courtney said, not even bothering to look in his direction.

From the corner of my eye, I could see his hand lifting up towards his mouth to follow her instruction.

“Once babies learn how to speak,” she said. “They don’t ever shut up.”

I laughed, biting my bottom lip as my mind tried to organize all the things I was feeling.

“You, uh, deal with other babies too?” I asked. 

She nodded.

“Are they all as pathetic as Clark?”

She nodded again. “But in different ways. Clark is a special boy. He’s…devoted. Most of the other babies I see are just exploring this space for a set amount of time. After I leave their place–or they leave mine–they’re an adult again. But Clark…he’s just always a little baby.”

I didn’t think it was the talk of Clark, himself, that was so hot to me. It was just the way she was talking to me. Her whole persona. This sense of power and deviousness, combined with a breezy nonchalantness. I didn’t know what was coming over me, but I wanted to drink it from her lips.

“He’s so stupid, isn’t he?” I asked. My voice had gotten a little softer. I felt myself leaning towards hers on the couch.

“Oh, for sure,” she replied. “The dumbest little baby.” She was leaning towards me too. She was smiling. 

Oh wow. I really liked that smile.

Somewhere in the background, I could hear the sound of Clark suckling on his thumb. A constant and rhythmic suk-suk-suk-suk. There was a moment when I could’ve sworn his sucking was timed perfectly with my heartrate. Suk-thump-suk-thump-suk-thump.

“We’re big girls,” I said to her.

“Mmhmm. We don’t need diapers. We don’t pee our pants.”

“We don’t wear diapers.”

“We don’t make poopies in our diapers.”

“We can do anything we want.”

Each of us had been moving closer and closer to the other. And suddenly, before I had even expected it to happen, our faces were but an inch from each other’s. All there was left to do was to close that gap. We did so at the same time, our lips meeting in the middle.

In the background: suk-suk-suk-suk. It was getting faster, like he was just as excited as we were.

“Big girls,” Courtney whispered to me, pulling her mouth from mine just for a minute.

My tongue explored her mouth. Our hands explored each other. The rest of the room faded away as we enveloped each other, giving into desires that were either entirely new to us, too, or had been there since the first time we met–without us realizing it until now.

Pblort. 

There was no mistaking what that sound was. As we went about feeling each other up and making out, Clark was busy with a little project of his own. There were a series of sounds–muffled blats in the back of his diaper, interrupted by his own occasional grunt.

Had there been an opportunity to think about it, I’d have assumed a grown man pooping in his diaper near us would’ve killed the mood. I’d have been wrong. Clark was awkwardly glancing in almost every direction besides ours–trying to avoid eye contact as Court and I made out with each other. Were I to guess, he didn’t mean to mess himself when he did, it just happened. And that was what made it so hot, to me. This pathetic little boy couldn’t even help himself, and was now left to marinate in his dirty diaper while waiting for us to finish.

“He stinks,” I said to her.

“Do you want to stop so I can change him?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. We’ll just let him sit in that for a little bit.”

===

Another heavy sack of dirty diapers was thrown over my shoulder so it could be dropped into one of the trash cans outside. It was a particular ripe bag of goodies–Ms. Heller must’ve had her hands full recently.

This might have been the last bag of dirty diapers I ever hauled across Ms. Heller’s house. 

A few weeks prior, I’d given my notice that I would be winding down my cleaning services. I decided it was time to move on, and much to my parents’ delight, I opted to go back to college. I had an idea of the direction I wanted to take my career, and so I had enrolled in classes for hospitality management. Seemed like a good fit to me.

I tried to take in everything that I could, hoping to retain all these senses as memories for later. The scent of baby powder wafting through the hallways. The feeling of a stack of fresh diapers as they were squeezed into one of the nursery’s shelves. The way that Clark looked at me with equal parts excitement and humiliation when he spotted my eyes fixed on his squishy bottom. 

The following weekend, at the bar, I invited my new friend Courtney to join my friends for some drinks–a little celebration in honor of my closing one chapter of my life and moving on to the next. Of course, as it usually goes, we reached the part of the night where everyone was complaining about work again. Hank had to do–gasp–too much filing this past week. Aisley had a rude customer. Tony got written up for showing up late too many times.

“What about you, Marnie?” Courtney asked, a wide smile on her face. “Have to deal with anything crazy at work this week?”

She’s one to talk. Her job was crazier than mine.

But, whatever, I decided to take the bait. Maybe it was time to throw some of these stories out there–as unbelievable as they sound. I was curious to see how they’d react.

“So…there’s this one house I’ve been cleaning for a while,” I started, not completely sure where to begin. “And, uh… Well, the woman who lives there has a baby.”

So far, nobody seemed all that interested. Fair enough. She knew she’d have their attention soon enough.

“I think this baby is, like, my age? Maybe a little older than me?”

Now they were curious.

[D503]

Haha, that was a great vignette! I hope we get to see more of these characters and someone makes a TV series lol.

 

[sherlock]

Can you include Clark's decline into "more accidents than non accidents" in more detail in the next memorandum, to actually now need diapers and the psychological impact and real world adjustment, how Lyndie reacts etc. 

[quietlyhumiliated]

2 hours ago, sherlock said:

Can you include Clark's decline into "more accidents than non accidents" in more detail in the next memorandum, to actually now need diapers and the psychological impact and real world adjustment, how Lyndie reacts etc. 

The next many chapters are already written. I do get into some of that soon enough though. Obviously we've jumped a bit ahead in time and we're more focused on the present than the past. But I believe there's some more details about the decline of his potty training!

[littlebopeeper]

The moral of the story has gotta be, if you are gonna use a cleaning service., put things away before the cleaning lady shows up!

[sherlock]

10 hours ago, quietlyhumiliated said:

The next many chapters are already written. I do get into some of that soon enough though. Obviously we've jumped a bit ahead in time and we're more focused on the present than the past. But I believe there's some more details about the decline of his potty training!

Maybe a memorandum on it?

[quietlyhumiliated]

Memorandums II, Part 5: Megan Ascends

 

1.

Darren Yang did have a wide range of emotions, though this probably wasn’t obvious to everyone who worked with him. He had a smug stoicism about him, and he wore it like a mask at all times. Even if someone recognized it as a mask—it really didn’t matter because they couldn’t see behind it.

It had taken a long time to be able to do so, but Megan could now see behind the mask. And when she looked at his face—despite the fact his lips were locked in a confident grin—she saw concern and worry. Panic, perhaps.

“You and me,” he said. “We’re different.”

“How so?” she replied. He sometimes started conversations like this—sounding like he was answering a question that hadn’t been asked.

“The rest of them, they had their hands dirty, you know?”

She squinted her eyes, as if that helped her to make sense of what he was saying. “Who are we talking about?”

“The other execs,” he said, throwing his arms up in the air like it had been completely obvious. “And when I say that their hands were ‘dirty,’ I do mean that literally. The diaper changes and all that.”

“Oh,” she said. She hadn’t realized he was talking about that.

“Gabrielle, you know, her hands were dirtier than anyone else’s. Besides that other assistant girl’s.”

“Lyndie?”

“Sure. So it makes sense that they were the first to go, along with Gabby’s assistant…uh, Whatshisname.”

“Clark.”

“And then Neve’s assistant…”

“Ava,” Megan said. She wished she had made an effort to get to know her before she left. “But I think she had put in her notice before any of this had happened.”

“Nancy’s assistant quit too. Did you know that?”

“Bradley,” she said. She wondered if it was silly to speak their names—but it only seemed right. She didn’t want their existences reduced to associations with other people whose names that Mr. Yang could remember. “I hadn’t heard that.”

“Or fired,” he shrugged. “I don’t know what happened there. Neve is leaving too.”

“Is she?” This, too, was news to her.

“She says she’s leaving on her own accord, but you have to figure that the Board is breathing down her neck.”

The Board. Faceless ghosts that had a strange amount of power over everything the company did. Megan had never seen them, as far as she knew, nor had they seen her. Depending on the story that she was hearing on any given day, they were either in support of the executive team’s antics, or they were opposed to it.

“You think they want her to leave?”

“It makes sense,” he said. “Everyone else in the company has questions and concerns, right? You remove everyone who was involved in the situation, and then you don’t have to provide answers anymore.”

That made some sense, she thought. 

“It’s just Nancy and I now,” he continued. “And you.”

How nice. Almost an afterthought. 

“Nancy is fine,” he said. “You and I, we’re fine. We’re different.”

“Because our hands aren’t dirty?” She didn’t completely understand the logic, but sometimes she just had to try and speak in his language.

“People never saw you waddling around in a diaper, did they?”

“Not at work, no.” It was a cheeky comment and she knew it.

“We’re fine,” he said again. Everytime he said it, he sounded a little less sure of himself.

2.

“I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me today,” Troy Morris said. 

He had an exceptionally kind face. Megan wondered why she hadn’t noticed this before, but quickly remembered that they hadn’t interacted much in the past. The most time they might have ever spent together, she thought, was when she positioned herself over his lap for a ceremonial spanking—the same ceremony that Clark had most recently found himself enduring.

“Of course,” Megan said. “When the CEO asks for some of your time, you give it to him.”

“Acting CEO,” he corrected. “The Board has just asked me to take on the role while they begin the process of finding a proper replacement for Gabrielle.”

“You must be quite busy,” she said.

“Sort of,” he shrugged. “There’s so much to do—so much to catch up with—that it almost feels impossible to even try. I’m just kind of letting everything sit on the back burner for now while I find my footing.”

Mr. Yang did not know she was here, and she doubted that she’d tell him about this meeting either. He hated Mr. Morris, though she was relatively certain that this was no fault of Mr. Morris’s. There was just something about that man that set Mr. Yang off. Maybe it was his gregariousness. His handsome face—though Mr. Yang would never be called ‘ugly’ either. Megan’s theory was that Mr. Morris didn’t have to wear a mask, and that was what made Mr. Yang hate him so much.

“I’m sure you’ll find it soon enough,” Megan said.

It was more than Mr. Morris’s exceptionally friendly face that she liked. She liked the way he looked at her. Lots of people looked at her everyday, especially in the office. They looked at her like they were trying to figure her out. Maybe they saw the faint glimmer of a man who didn’t exist anymore. But not Mr. Morris. He looked at her like she was a person. He saw Megan.

“So I wanted to talk to you, specifically, because I’ve been a bit of an, uh, admirer-of-sorts recently.”

She felt her cheeks warm a little. “I’m sorry?”

He laughed and shook his head, realizing he needed to rephrase what he said. “Your work, Megan. I’m an admirer of your work.”

“Oh,” she said, chuckling a little herself. Though, somewhere deeper down in her subconscious, she was a little disappointed.

“Yang presented that spending report last week,” he said. “It was an exceptional presentation. But…”

Megan laughed again, as if knowing where this was going.

“...I could tell that he had no fucking clue what he was talking about,” Mr. Morris continued. “It was as if someone had done all the work for him and all he had to do was talk about it. Do you know anything about that, Megan?”

“Maybe. A little.”

“I’m not kidding—that report was exceptional. Did you do that on your own?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me sir, Megan.”

“Mr. Morris.”

“Just Troy is fine,” he said.

She nodded. She liked that.

“So, look, I’m inheriting a shitstorm of work here. They can say that I’m only temporarily the CEO, but we both know that a formal replacement isn’t coming for months. Maybe even longer. The Board has given me carte blanche to do whatever I need to do to get things back on track, though. And I think one of the first things I want to do is put together a team of folks that I trust.”

“An assistant, Mr. Mor— Er…Troy?”

“No,” he said. “‘Assistant’ is suddenly a bad word around here, if you haven’t noticed. Besides, I think you’re too smart to be assisting other people. I think you can be trusted with bigger, more important, projects. Hell, maybe you’d need an assistant yourself. Or a…helper? Whatever it is we’d end up calling them.”

“Oh wow,” she said, running her hand through her hair. She wasn’t sure what else to say.

“This is an informal conversation,” he said. “I’m only asking if you’d be interested—you don’t have to commit to anything today.”

“I’m interested,” she quickly blurted out. “Very interested.”

3. 

She certainly wasn’t thinking about Mr. Yang during sex. But, then again, she usually didn’t. Often, she’d at least be thinking about sex—albeit with someone else—but she wasn’t even thinking about that today. She felt like a piece of furniture that a dog was humping.

“Oh Jesus,” Mr. Yang grunted from behind her. She almost laughed, imagining him as a pastor giving a sermon. “Jesus…fuck…”

It amazed her that he was still into this. It also amazed her that he didn’t seem to notice how she felt about it. Sure, she thought, I’m the one on my hands and knees right now. Maybe that was enough for him to assume she liked it. 

Or he didn’t care.

“Come on,” she said, her voice vaguely encouraging. “Give it to me.” No thought had been put into the words—they came out of her mouth automatically, just part of a routine.

He said something. “Urgahana,” it sounded like. She wondered if he meant to say something intelligible.

She was thinking about Troy Morris, but she wasn’t thinking about being fucked by Troy Morris. She was thinking about the concept of legitimacy—as in, having an actual position within the company where she was respected and appreciated as a hard worker, not a glorified sex doll. When Mr. Morris—Troy—had shown interest in giving her a new position, that had almost brought her to an orgasm.

Something that Darren Yang, grunting and huffing away behind her, hadn’t done in a long time.

The timing of her conversation with Troy seemed serendipitous, actually. She hadn’t realized it, but she had fallen into a little rut, of sorts. Her life was a constant cycle of transactional sex and thankless toiling in the office. It was Clark, of all people, who made her realize that she wanted to break out of that cycle. She wasn’t sure that he had said or done anything specific to be a catalyst—he had just been a source of chaos, introduced to her life when she needed it. Since then, she had been thinking about finally doing all the things she had been putting off: breaking away from Darren Yang, getting a new job, getting an apartment that she paid for with her own money, etc. Troy gave her direction. He gave her hope that such things were more than just fantasies.

“Uhhh,” groaned Mr. Yang. She knew that sound. 

There was a burst of wetness in her bottom. Once upon a time, she thought that she liked that feeling. She wasn’t sure that was true anymore—but it could just be the source of the wetness that she didn’t care for.

“Incredible,” he muttered, sounding like he was talking to himself. “I’ll never get sick of that.”

She didn’t respond to that. Either he didn’t notice, or again, he didn’t care.

They were in her apartment. His apartment, he’d sometimes remind her—seeing as how he was the one paying for it. This was usually where it happened. A handful of times they had done this in his office. Once or twice at his home—though he didn’t like bringing Megan to his home. He had never said this aloud, but he seemed to make it obvious enough. He could understand why—Mr. Yang was not a single man. He did not live alone.

Of course, few knew this. He didn’t talk about it much. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, causing Megan to speculate that he either didn’t like broadcasting his marital status, or he wasn’t actually married to the woman he lived with. Whoever she was, he had never even said her name aloud.

Carly was her name. Megan knew that thanks to the combination of some detective work and a little bit of luck. She kept the name close to her chest, making sure never to tell Mr. Yang that she knew it. It was banked with some other tidbits she had learned him along the way. She wasn’t sure what they’d be needed for, but they felt helpful to have. A ‘break glass in case of emergency’ depot of forbidden Yang-knowledge.

“Fuck,” he said, rolling onto his back. “Remember when I could do this twice in an afternoon? I’m getting older.”

“That was just a few weeks ago,” she replied, feeling wetness leak from her ass and down her thigh.

“Huh,” he grunted, seemingly displeased with her observation.

She was tempted to say that he had been acting ‘strange’ as of late, but that implied that there was a time when he had been ‘normal’—which he had never been. Since the Thomas Pritchard incident, he seemed to be slowly unraveling. 

“I have to get going pretty soon,” Megan said. It was a trick she used from time to time—feigning the need to be somewhere else in an effort to get him to put on his clothes and roll out the door sooner. She wondered what today’s excuse should be. “I’m, uh, meeting some friends for dinner.”

“Are they cute?”

She sighed. “Sure.”

“Excellent,” he said. “I’ll tag along.” She was pretty sure that he was joking, though it was getting harder to tell.

“Well…”

“I’m kidding,” he said, grinning like he was the funniest man who had ever lived. He was sitting up now, legs crossed and his hands behind his head as he stretched his nude body out across her bed. 

Note to self: wash those sheets before bed.

“I’ll see you in the office tomorrow?” he asked, finally sliding off the mattress to gather his clothes.

“You know it.”

4.

Troy Morris took a long and slow sip from his steaming mug of coffee. Megan was tempted to ask where he even got coffee that hot–it was a frequent complaint that the coffee pots throughout the office weren’t hot enough, but maybe that was one of the perks of being CEO. Acting CEO, as he’d be wont to remind her.

“So, the other day, you and I had a little chat,” he said. “I called it an informal conversation.”

“I remember,” she said, nodding.

“Well, today, I’d like to make it a formal conversation. I’d like to offer you a position. I haven’t ironed out the exact title yet, but I’m thinking something like ‘Operations Director.’ Something important sounding.”

“I mean, just as I told you last time, I’m very interested.”

“You’re smart and you’re organized, Megan. I think you’d be a valuable asset in helping me get the company on track again. I drafted up a list of job responsibilities,” he said, pointing down to a piece of paper on his desk. He pushed it towards her. “And on the bottom of that paper, is a number. I already got it cleared with the board–so I don’t want you to think that’s a fib. That’d be what I want you to make if you took this position.”

She wanted, very badly, to look at the number at the bottom of the paper first, but she resisted that urge–figuring it’d be best if she at least took a glance over what kind of work he’d be expecting her to do. By and large, it didn’t seem like anything she hadn’t done while working with Darren Yang. Though there were a few terms that jumped out at her that felt like they were beyond what she knew how to do.

“Data analytics?” she read aloud.

“Ah, don’t worry about that,” he said, waving his hand. “I don’t know much about that either. But we could learn together.”

She bit her bottom lip and squirmed a little in her seat. She wanted to learn everything with Troy. She wanted to learn everything about Troy. Regardless of what salary he was offering, she suspected she’d take the job–if only to spend more time around him.

But then she saw the number. No, that can’t be right, she thought. She looked at it again, trying to decide if there was a typo or if she just didn’t understand what she was looking at. Because if this was the offered salary, it was significantly more than she was making as Mr. Yang’s assistant. In fact, it might have even been more than Mr. Yang was making himself. This was an absurd amount of money. A stupid amount of money.

“Are, uh, you serious about this amount here?” Megan asked.

“Quite,” he said. “Like I said, you’re worth it. I want you to stay with the company and work with me.”

With you, under you…whatever you want.

“I… I’m very interested in this position,” she said.

“I thought you’d say that. Say the word and I’ll get the ball rolling with HR. I’ve been told that we can have you transitioned into this new role within the next two weeks.”

Such things shouldn’t matter, but she still had to know: “What about, uhm, Mr. Yang?”

“Ah, well, I’ll leave that part up to you. If you don’t want to talk to him about it, I’d be more than happy to have a conversation with him.”

“I can talk to him,” she nodded.

“Actually…I wanted to ask you about him anyway.”

“Hmm?”

“Well, I really hate to put you in this position, but the board has had some concerns about him and they’ve kind of left it up to me to decide if he should stay or go. Honestly, I’m not sure that I really care either way. I never cared for him much, personally, but I also didn’t know him that well. If you don’t mind…I’d love to get your thoughts on him, and if you think there’s a place for him in the company moving forward.”

She laughed aloud. Absolutely unreal. Minutes ago, she was still Mr. Yang’s assistant. A few days ago, he was fucking her from behind. Now, his job was in her hands.

“I’m very grateful for Mr. Yang for a lot of things,” she said. She meant that. “But that doesn’t mean that I like him.” She also meant that.

“Fair enough.”

“I think I’d like some time to think about it, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course,” he said, his voice still kind and smooth. “Take all the time you need.”

“I truly appreciate that, Mr. Morris.”

“Troy,” he said. That sexy grin was sending signals to her, she was sure of it.

“Troy,” she nodded.

5.

Megan had intended to talk to Mr. Yang sooner, but she was still in the habit of avoiding him whenever possible. She went home that night with a bottle of wine and celebrated by herself. She wished she had friends to call, it’d have been nice to not have to drink alone. At the very least, she would’ve liked to have called Clark–though the two hadn’t spoken in a bit. Was he upset that she texted his photos to his mother? If so…that was fair. She still felt pretty bad about that. More likely though, if the rumors were true, he was living his best life as Gabrielle Heller’s little pet baby. Nice work if you can get it. And so, drinking alone it was.

She came into the office late the next day, a little hungover.

“Well, well, well, look who decided to show up,” Mr. Yang said, ushering her into his office and closing the door behind him. 

“Uh…sorry I’m a few minutes late,” she said, still rubbing some sleep from her tired eyes. She’d have offered an actual excuse…but fuck it. 

She could see through the mask this morning. Mr. Yang looked pretty upset.

“Why did I have to hear about your new promotion from anyone other than you?” he asked.

She scratched her head. “Wh-who told you?” 

“Nancy from HR,” he said. “She sent me an email detailing your transition to Troy-fucking-Morris’s team.”

“He offered me a very good position,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk about it with you first, but… Well, I had to take the job.”

“Did you forget who butters your bread?” he asked. “Who pays for your clothes? Your pretty little dresses? Your apartment?”

“Look, I want to be clear with you, Darren…” She rarely called him ‘Darren,’ but it felt like it was time to use it. Troy showed her that she was worthy of being on a first-name basis with her boss.

“That’s Mr. Yang to you, you ungrateful little…” He stopped himself and took a deep breath in an attempt to compose himself. He started over again: “Look, let me make it simple for you, okay? If you’re going to work with Troy-fucking-Morris, then you’re getting cut off. That apartment is no longer yours. You’re on your own for buying clothes. And you better believe that you’re not going to be feeling my cock in your asshole anymore.”

She almost laughed, thinking about how tempting it was to shout back: “Thank god for that.”

“Are you sure this is such a good idea?” he asked. “Are you sure you want to lose everything?”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to this. Maybe she’d be more sure of herself if she wasn’t battling a hangover. There was one thing worth saying, though–something that she might have been a little nicer about presenting if she was feeling better: “Are you sure that you want to lose everything?”

He narrowed his eyes and sat back in his chair. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I heard something too,” she said. “I heard about the board being less than pleased with you.”

“H-how did you… Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “But I can promise you that if I went to my new boss and told him that I didn’t think you were worth keeping around…well, the front door would be hitting you in the ass on your way out.”

“That’s bullshit,” he said, shaking his head. “You don’t have that kind of pull around here.”

“Try me,” she shrugged. She could feel it washing over her–power. The realization that Mr. Yang had nothing to hold over her anymore. “Fuck around and find out.”

She was sure that he had more to say, but she didn’t feel like listening to it. She stood up and left his office while he sat in his chair–dumbstruck by both her audacity and the conversation they had just had.

6.

“Can I talk to you in my office, please,” read the message Mr. Yang sent to Megan’s computer a few hours later. At first glance, it didn’t really say that much–but, once again, Megan could see behind the mask. It was the ‘please,’ that seemed out of place. He never said please to her.

Oh, this was good. Without having any idea what he wanted to say, she already knew she had the higher ground.

Taking a seat across his desk from him, it was like she was looking at a completely different man than the one who talked to her that morning. He looked friendly–or, at least, like he wanted to appear friendly.

“So…” he began. “I, uh, just want to tell you that I’m sorry about this morning. I had the chance to talk to Mr. Morris this afternoon and, er, he seemed pretty excited about having you on his team.”

There was a lot that he wasn’t saying–a lot that he probably didn’t have to say. Suddenly, Mr. Yang looked scared and afraid. He knew that his career–possibly even more than that–was now in Megan’s hands. She wished she had been a fly on the wall when he and Mr. Morris had talked. What had he said to Mr. Yang?

“I’m excited too,” she said.

“I…I’m sure. Look, about the apartment and all that–maybe we can work something out and…”

“I don’t want your apartment,” Megan said. “I don’t need your money. I don’t need your cock.”

He sighed. “But…I just…” The sound of a man fumbling for the words and coming up empty. But Megan knew what he wanted to say: “Please don’t ask Troy Morris to let me go.”

“If you don’t want to leave the company,” she said, “you shouldn’t have to.”

“No?”

She laughed a little, sitting back in her chair. She hadn’t thought about this conversation much–maybe in little fantasies she had over the years–but not since she accepted Mr. Morris’s offer. “If you want to work here, you can work here. You want to work here, don’t you?”

“Well…yes. I do.”

“Darren,” she said–he didn’t correct her this time, “how badly do you want this job?”

He sighed and tapped his fingers on his desk. He was looking around his office, possibly taking inventory of what he had here in his little bubble. “I mean…I need this, Megan. Surely, we can work towards some sort of agreement, right? Maybe it’s time we put an end to you and me and our little…”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” Megan said. “You and I–whatever it was that we had–it’s over now. You won’t be my boss. You won’t be my daddy. You won’t be fucking me, and I won’t be fucking you. In fact…I’d like my key.”

She almost wondered if she’d need to specify which key she was talking about, though she was certain he knew. There was only one that he kept from her. Truthfully, she probably didn’t really need it–she could find her own way out of her chastity if she had to. She had even saved a tutorial on picking the type of lock her chastity device had a while ago, and it was saved on her laptop just in case the day came where she needed it. Getting the key from Darren was just easier.

“Y-yeah,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Of course.”

He pulled out his keychain, and began to fumble with it, flipping through all the keys until he found the right one. She thought it was kind of amusing that he kept the key to her chastity with the rest of his keys like this. Keys to his house, his car, his office, his boat, and…her dick–all within easy reach. She liked how Ms. Heller did it with the key to Clark’s chastity–kept on a chain and worn as a necklace. Once in a while, Megan would catch sight of the chain on Ms. Heller’s neck–or on even rarer occasions, she’d spot the key itself–and it would provide a little thrill. Clark’s entire manhood was reduced to a piece of jewelry, worn by another woman. 

Meanwhile, she thought, I’m just another door to open when he needs to.

He set a key down on the desk and slid it across to her.

“You don’t mind if I take care of this now, do you?” she asked.

“Huh?”

She didn’t bother repeating herself, instead hiking up her skirt and pulling down the front of her black panties–revealing her chastity cage. 

Sometimes, she liked that she wore the cage. There was some sort of symbolism about it that she never fully fleshed out–but something about keeping the last relic of manhood locked away and rendered useless. She sometimes wondered if, after she took off this chastity, she’d buy one of her own. She didn’t mind being in a cage–she just didn’t want it to be Darren Yang’s cage.

She tried the key, and it slid into the lock chamber effortlessly with a series of faint, but extremely satisfying, clicks. With a slight turn of the key, there was one more click–and then the feeling of looseness. The pressure of the cage had been so ever-present that she had gotten used to it–it rarely even registered with her anymore. That pressure was gone now, though, and she could tell. Freedom–permanent freedom–felt amazing. Near-orgasmic, really. She tucked her dick back into her panties and pulled her skirt down again, before placing the empty cage atop the desk.

“This belongs to you,” she said.

“I…don’t think I want it,” he shrugged. “It was for you. And if you don’t need it, then it’s trash.”

“I dunno,” Megan said. “I think it might still have a use.”

Darren–he was no longer ‘Mr. Yang’ to her–laughed a little. “Yeah? Do you think it should be mounted on the wall as a decoration or something?”

“No,” she said. “I was thinking you should take it home with you. Clean it up. And then when you come into work tomorrow, you could be wearing it yourself. I’m pretty sure it’ll fit you just fine.”

“What?” he said, a little smile still on his face. He looked like he heard what she had said–he just didn’t believe it.

“You heard me.”

“Megan, I’m not going to…”

“Are you really in a position to tell me what I can or can’t do, Darren? You already said that you really want to keep your job. And I think you know by now that I happen to be holding your job in the palm of my hand. So…if you want your job, you’ll come to work tomorrow wearing that.”

“But…” The smile on his face was gone. His cheeks were flushed pink, and he was shaking his head slowly. “How do you expect me to…”

“That’s what I want.”

“For how long?” he asked.

“For as long as I want.”

He sighed. “Okay…fine.”

Really? That was easy. Too easy. So easy that she wondered how Darren ever had any power at all.

“Great,” she said. “I’ll be keeping the key, then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“W-wait,” he said as Megan stood up.

“Hm?”

“Is…is that all? That’s all you want from me for you to let me keep my job?”

She shrugged. “Why? Do you want there to be more?”

“N-no, that’s not what I meant. I just…”

“We’ll start with chastity,” she said. “Let’s see how that goes.”

7.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Holy fuck. What an absolute power trip. When she replayed the conversation back in her head–and it was being replayed on a near constant loop–it felt like a movie that she had only been watching and not participating in.

She was thinking about it as she held the vibrator against the front of her soaked diaper in her bedroom–the vibrating shaft pressed against her hard cock.

When she came, she came so hard that her cream shot out from the waistband of the diaper, spreading onto her belly before slowly dripping back back down into the padding again.

She felt like the most powerful woman on the planet.

8.

The next day, Darren came to her office, and took a seat on the other side of her desk.

“Good morning, Darren,” she said, as if this was just another normal conversation.

“Uh, hi…”

“Can I help you with something?”

He sighed. “You, uhm, asked me to do something yesterday. Remember?”

“Hmm,” she mused, tapping her chin in an exaggerated manner as she pretended to think about it. “Maybe? I’ve been so busy lately that it’s hard to recall every conversation I’ve had.”

“Come on, Megan. Don’t play dumb.”

“Darren, why don’t you just tell me what you did or didn’t do.”

He drew in a long breath and paused for a moment. Finally: “I…did it.”

“It? What is it? What did you do?”

“Yesterday, you gave me the cage. You told me to put it on. And…I did that.”

“Did you now?” she asked. She wished she wasn’t being so expressive right now, but she couldn’t help it–she was absolutely elated. “You…disinfected it first, yes? I had been wearing it for a while.”

“Y-yes…”

“And how does it fit?”

“Well, it’s a little big, but I don’t think it’s going to fall off or anything.”

“Interesting,” she said. “I always thought it was a little snug on me. What do you think that means?”

His cheeks turned bright pink, but he didn’t answer. She didn’t need him to answer, either, she just wanted to throw that out there–she had long known that she was packing more than he was, and had always wanted the opportunity to say as much. 

“I’ll need to see it, of course,” she said. “While I’d love to take your word for it, there’s just too much at stake.”

He looked over to the window in Megan’s office. This wasn’t like his–or any of the other executives’–office, where the rooms were almost entirely protected from outside eyes. Just beyond the glass were cubicles–though it was early enough that there were very few people in this part of the building yet.

“You should probably be quick about it,” Megan continued. “Donna will be here any minute, and she sits right there,” she said, pointing to a cubicle that seemed to have a pretty good vantage point right into her office.

He said nothing else, and made no further attempts to delay the inevitable. He stood up, quickly unfastened his belt, unzipped his pants, and pushed his pants and boxers down just enough to display his manhood–locked up in a familiar looking cage. Then, just as quickly as he pulled his pants down, he hoisted them back into place. He sank back into his seat again–just as Donna casually strolled past Megan’s office on her way to her cubicle.

“Very good,” she finally said, nodding.

“How long do I have to wear this for?” he asked.

“As long as I want,” she shrugged.

“But…Megan. You realize that I don’t live alone, right? I can’t just have my penis locked up indefinitely.”

“How long do you think it would take for Carly to notice?” Megan asked.

His eyes grew big and his mouth hung open. God, it was so satisfying to see that expression on his face when she finally dropped that bit of knowledge.

“How do you know…”

“I don’t know her,” Megan said. “But I know she exists. And I’m willing to bet that she doesn’t know that I exist. She doesn’t know about the little toy you’ve kept as your assistant for the last few years, does she?”

“Megan…sooner or later she’s going to find out. And what am I supposed to say to her?”

She shrugged. “Did you ever, once, care about what I’d have to say to the people in my life as I transitioned?”

“Right, but you wanted that. It’s not like I forced you to–”

“No, you’re right,” she nodded. “But that’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking if you ever thought about how hard it was for me to have conversations with my friends and loved-ones about what I was going through. Or did it just not matter to you, because all you cared about was your little girl-toy in the office?”

“I…well… If I said that I did think about that, would you even believe me?”

She laughed. “No, probably not.” But, also, she was pretty confident that had never been the case. Darren Yang only ever cared about Darren Yang’s needs.

“I suppose good behavior will convince me to return the key sooner.”

“The, uh, cage came with two keys,” Darren said. This was true–but it was also a bluff.

“You lost one, remember? When you took me to the Outer Banks.”

He sighed and threw his hands up in the air.  “Fine. Happy now?”

“I have to be honest with you,” she said. “I’m feeling very good right now.”

9.

“You seem pretty confident about this plan,” Troy said. He insisted on being called Troy, despite how tempting it was to call him Mr. Morris. “It all looks pretty sound to me, so if you think this is what we should roll with, then let’s do it.”

Megan nodded. “I feel good about it.”

It wasn’t much–just a spending report for a new initiative she was spearheading in the office. However, it was her first major task since beginning her new role, and thus she saw it as the first opportunity to make a good impression on Troy. Which, from the looks of it, she had.

“Well, look,” he said. “I’m going to sneak out of the office a few minutes early today. If anyone comes looking for me…”

“I’ll tell them to get lost,” she said. They both laughed.

“Thatta girl.”

“So what’s getting you out of the office early tonight?” she asked. “Something fun, I hope.”

“A, uh, date, actually,” he said, a little pink in his cheeks as he ran a hand through his short hair. 

There was a moment where Megan was a little unsure of how she should feel about this. She had been harboring a little crush on the guy for the last few weeks, and there were times–though she could never be sure–where she thought he might have been flirting with her too. She certainly thought about him when she was home at night, her hand inside of her diaper while she played with herself. 

“Sounds nice,” she smiled. “Someone new?”

“Third date, actually,” he said, barely able to hide his goofy smile. “But I’m kinda crazy about her, so fingers crossed this pans out.”

Maybe this was a good thing. It could mean that her relationship with Troy was more platonic. More professional. It meant that, maybe, she didn’t have to stress about complicating things with emotions and sex and, most likely, the inevitable confession that she really just wanted a daddy to change her diapers for her.

This is what it’s like to have an actual boss, she thought. One that I don’t have to fuck.

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you too, then,” she said, grinning.

“Well, I appreciate that. But, look–you don't need to hear your boss talking about his love life.”

The moment felt reaffirming. It was a reminder that his job offer, his reliance on her, and his friendliness towards her were all genuine. This wasn’t a handout. This wasn’t one side of a transaction that required sex to be complete. 

That felt better than anything else had felt recently.

“Well, have a good time,” she said. “And at least tell me how it went tomorrow?”

10.

She wasn’t thinking about Troy. She could’ve–and it was tempting to–but it felt wrong now. He was her boss, and maybe it was best if she didn’t drag him into her fantasies.

Now, when she closed her eyes, there was someone else there between her legs–asking if she needed her diaper changed. She wasn’t sure who the person was–but she was confident that she’d eventually meet the right person to fill that faceless being’s form.

In the meantime, it didn’t matter who it was–just that there was an imaginary presence there, asking about the condition of her diaper.

“It…it’s pretty dirty,” she said aloud, as if talking to someone.

It wasn’t a lie. She had come home from the office feeling like she was absolutely desperate for the feeling of a ruined diaper against her skin. She probably could’ve waited for nature to take its course–but she was feeling impatient and had grabbed the enema bag from the closet. Now her bloated diaper was filled to capacity–a sloppy mess was just barely contained inside of it as she slipped one hand down the front of her diaper and the other held her vibrator to the padding. 

One of the nice things about chastity was that it had forced her to get more creative with how she brought herself to climax. But…there was something really nice about the immediacy of just stroking herself though.

She thought of Clark, who was probably somewhere sitting in a dirty diaper of her own.

She thought of Darren Yang, who was probably still struggling with hiding his cock from whoever Carly was to him.

She thought of Troy Morris, who was probably being his effortless charming self with a very lucky woman right about now.

She thought of the faceless being who was urging her to ‘make cummies in your dirty diapies.”

“Fuck…”

11.

There was a knock at her office door. 

“Come in.”

“Hi, Megan?” It was Peter, her new assistant. Well, aide, as she liked to refer to him. Polite and hardworking, though a bit naive. Someone like Neve Beaufort or Gabrielle Heller would’ve had this kid crawling on the ground and pissing his pants in an hour. And…that was certainly a tempting option, but she thought it’d be best to not let history repeat itself.

Still, it didn’t stop her from daydreaming about it when she saw his boyish face.

“Yes, Peter? What’s up?”

“Mr. Yang is here to see you…”

She sighed. “Can you just–”

“I know,” he said. “I tried to get rid of him or make him schedule a time to come see you. I said I’d come over and see if you’re available for him now…but I’m prepared to go back and say that you’re unavailable.”

“It’s fine,” she sighed. “Send him in.”

Peter looked surprised by this–she almost never caved like this. “You sure?”

“It’s okay,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

Soon after, Peter was gone and there was a new shape in her doorway–Darren. He stumbled in, quickly shutting the door behind him before he took a seat.

“Darren. I heard you had this immediate reason to talk with me? Is everything okay? Is it an emergency?”

“D-don’t play coy with me, Megan,” he said. “You know why I’m here.”

“Enlighten me.”

“It’s been a month. I’m still locked up. Carly thinks I’m cheating on her because I won’t have sex with her. I…I need to get out of this thing.”

“And so you thought you’d barge into my office and demand I release you?”

“No…I thought maybe we could barter? Make a deal of some sort?”

“It’s safe to say that I’m more respected around the office than you are now,” she said. “I’m not sure that you have all that much you can give me.”

“Anything, Megan. Anything.”

She sat back in her chair and thought about it a little. She imagined herself tasking Darren with being her nanny–wiping her ass for her when she made a messy diaper. Then, she imagined Darren himself in a plump diaper–whining and crying on the floor while the front of it turned yellow.

Or…maybe this was when she revealed that she knew where Darren and Carly lived. Maybe he’d pay Carly a visit, and they could have a little chat about Darren’s life outside the house. Maybe she’d hand Carly the key to Darren’s cage and tell her to do with it as she pleased. Hell, maybe Carly would even be interested in having some diapers on hand.

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

“Please,” he said. “Soon?”

“Soon,” she nodded. “I’ll think about it this afternoon.”

He sighed. “Thank you.”

“Is that all?”

“Y-yeah. I’ll get out of your way. But, you’ll tell me when you made up your mind?”

She nodded again. “Promise.”

It was hard to read the expression on his face as he stood up and reached for the door. He looked distressed, but he might have also been impressed.

“I…I had no idea you were like this,” he said. 

She shrugged. “You know, I think this is your fault.”

“How so?”

“Well…you tried to create a girl. But what you actually created was a goddess.”

Oh. That sounded nice. That was what she needed–someone kneeling at her feet, calling her a goddess while she looked down at them. And after, they’d change their goddess’s diaper.

 

 

Thank you for reading the Memorandum II series. Season 4, and the story proper, resume next!

[zzzz50]

Still anxiously waiting to hear what happened with Clark’s mom, thanks for the tease.

[D503]

How the turn tables!

[CCApril]

Loved it. Great chapter! She should just mail Carly the key with a note to ask Darren what the key fits.

[quietlyhumiliated]

Hello. We are about to embark on Season 4 of Doing Business. And as we do so, here's a friendly reminder that if you want to read ahead in the story - or if you'd like access to the multitudes of other ABDL stories I've written - subscriptions are available at Ream Stories (https://reamstories.com/quietlyhumiliated) and start at only $3.

Thank you so much for continuing to read this story. I hope you like what's to come!

 

Sixty-Seven

It was as if a fog had been lifted. A fog that I wasn't even aware of until I saw it receding.

And so if I looked a little a little out of it—if I looked kind of confused, or maybe even flustered—it was because it suddenly felt like I was seeing the world around me for the first time. The 'real' world. Not the imagined fantasy land I had been, willingly, plunged into for the last few months.

“Are...you okay?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. What the hell am I doing?

I tried assembling a quick timeline in my mind, trying to retrace the last few months.

Months? Had it been months? That felt right. It had been longer than weeks, but it certainly hadn't been years.

Beyond that, I realized I didn't know all that much about when it was. I didn't know what day of the week it was. I wasn't even completely certain what month it was. I could have taken an estimated guess, though I wouldn't have been surprised if I was wrong.

There had been moments, a ways back, when I had thoughts like this. I'd be lying in my crib, or rolling around on the floor and I'd suddenly think about the rest of the world—still doing their jobs. Going on dates. Buying paperback books from the grocery store. Scrolling through the near-infinite amount of content on streaming platforms as they looked for something to watch. And there I was in a world almost entirely of my own. And Mommy's.

“Uhm...I think I just need a minute...” I said.

That feeling had surfaced less frequently over time, until the point where they just ceased to exist.

Looking at Ava, that feeling was coming back for the first time in a while. Stronger than I could ever remember it being before too.

Mommy was gone, somewhere between the house and the airport. Had I been left in the care of Courtney—as was usually the case—I doubted I'd be having this overwhelming feeling of having squandered my life. It would've been just another day in the life of the baby.

It wasn't just the presence of Ava that was triggering this feeling of my life being squandered. It was who Ava seemed to be, all of a sudden. In my mind, Ava was the same young woman I worked with back at the office. That Ava had an innocent face and a reputation for stinky diapers. That Ava rolled around with me in a quiet park in the middle of the night. That Ava suckled from Ms. Beaufort's chest amidst the crisis that was unfurling in the office.

This was not that Ava. Her hair was longer. She was wearing more makeup than I could ever remember her wearing before. Even her body language seemed a little different. Was she standing straighter? Was that confidence in her poise?

“What are you doing here?” I asked, at last.

“I got a call,” she said. “Well...it started with a call. Gabrielle and I met for lunch after that.”

“Y-you...met up with her?” I did not know about this. I hadn't realized that Mommy had contact with Ava at all. I certainly hadn't talked to Ava in... Well, it had been a very long time.

“And you wanted to, uh, babysit me?”

“No,” she said, laughing. “I just wanted to see you.”

“But...”

“Clark, do you actually need a babysitter?”

“Uh...”

My diaper was wet. Soaking, actually. Worse, I woke up like this, with the accident occurring while I was fast asleep. Was I that much different than an actual infant? So, yeah. Maybe I did need a babysitter.

“I missed you, Clark. And it seemed like this was the only way to see you.”

“You could've dropped by at any time,” I shrugged.

“I wanted to see you. I didn’t want to see Ms. Heller’s little plaything.”

“Oh…I…”

“No offense,” she shrugged. “I was a plaything once. And it was quite nice. But I knew I was never going to be able to have a conversation with you–a real conversation–for as long as she was around.”

“N-none taken,” I said. “This isn’t like a, uh, intervention, is it? Because…”

“It’s not an intervention,” she sighed. “I just…needed to see you.”

“W-well,” I said, my voice a little shaky as I leaned back on my knees, starting the slow process of standing up. “Here I am.”

“You look…cute,” she said. It sounded genuine, though she didn’t look entirely happy about that either.

“Mommy dresses me,” I blurted out, barely giving myself a moment to consider how infantile that would sound. I felt my cheeks warming as I finally stood straight up. I felt my diaper shifting, the soggy load between my legs sagging down as far as it could in my onesie.

Sometimes it would dawn on me just how little I stood anymore. I probably looked pretty pathetic even trying–a wobbly toddler in obvious need of a diaper change.

“I’m sure she does,” Ava said, her lips curling into a small smile. “She probably does a lot of things for you, doesn’t she?” I disliked how she seemed to be talking down to me–her tone getting soft and exaggerated like she was trying to have an ‘adult’ conversation with an actual child, all while chuckling at the child’s attempts at trying to match that cadence. I didn’t think she was really laughing at me or even intending to be all that condescending. Perhaps it was just human nature to talk like that when confronted with someone so…small.

“Well…just about everything,” I responded, shrugging.

“Are you happy?”

The question feels big. The question feels like it was something she meant to save for later–something we built up to with a number of other conversations first. A question that would serve as a cliffhanger at the end of a chapter. Instead, here it was–only minutes after she walked through the door.

It was a very easy question to answer, I thought. “Of course.”

“The diapers? Being fed? Being bathed? Crawling around in just this house because you can’t really go anywhere else?”

Was she trying to point out reasons why I shouldn’t like my lifestyle? Because those all sounded like amazing things to me. “I…like all that.”

She nodded. I wondered if she was disappointed by my response–though if she was, she was doing a decent job of hiding it.

A strange feeling had come over me–an almost adult feeling. She wasn’t a babysitter like Courtney or Lyndie were. They’d come over and immediately take charge, reminding me that I was still a little baby–regardless of whether or not my Mommy was around. Ava, on the other hand, wasn’t like them. Sure, maybe she couldn’t help but be a little condescending, but this was already the most ‘mature’ conversation I’d had in months. I was feeling like a host–like I would be responsible for the comfort of a guest in my own home.

“Can I, uh, get you something?” I asked.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Ms. Heller has made it very clear that I can help myself to anything.”

“But…”

“I can take care of myself,” she smirked. “I’m a big girl.”

It’s a playful jab, but one that sticks a little deeper than she probably intended for it to. It took a conscious effort not to just lower myself into my default crawling position again–standing doesn’t feel as natural at the moment. 

What do adults talk about?

“So…how have you been?”

She laughed. The vibe I read from her is something like ‘Aww, look, he thinks he’s a big boy!’ But I might’ve been projecting.

“I’ve been good,” she said. “Busy.”

Busy. ‘Busy’ was something I hadn’t experienced in a long time. It was a thing that happened to the people around me–but never me. Mommy was ‘busy.’ Lyndie was ‘busy.’ Courtney always said that she was ‘busy’ when she was over at the house–but she was probably referring to the fact that I kept her busy. 

“You, uhm, have a new job?”

“It’s not as new anymore,” she shrugged. “Doing project management at a marketing firm downtown.”

“You like it?”

She nodded. “It’s fulfilling.”

I wanted to pry into that a little. I wanted to know if she just had a passion for project management–whatever that was–or if it was just fulfilling to be doing any job that respected her like an adult, as opposed to being made to wear diapers and suckle on breasts.

I sometimes fantasized about a ‘normal’ life of working 9-to-5 and using a toilet. Not often, but once in a while.

I kept my prying to myself. “Do you, uhm, keep in touch with Ms. Beaufort?”

“Not really,” she said. Her answer seems rather terse to me. A sore spot?

“She comes by once in a while,” I say. “She and Mommy work together, you know?”

“Yes,” she said. “I know.”

“She has a new assistant now. I’ve only met her once. Uh…Risa, I think?”

“Yes, I know,” she said again.

It dawned on me that I wasn’t reading the room very well. In my defense, I thought, I haven’t had to read the room in a while. This was definitely a sore spot. I wanted to know more, but it was clearly none of my business.

Maybe it was time to change the subject again: “You’re, uhm, keeping in touch with Lyndie, right?”

Ava laughed and nodded. “I live with her, silly.”

I knew that. I thought I knew that–but maybe I just never really processed that before. It was wild to think that two of my closest friends were now living together–in a world completely detached from my own. 

“She’s good?”

She nodded. “She’s good. Busy, of course.”

Everyone is. Well, almost everyone.

“Is she still taking care of…”

“Bradley? She is. Not as often as she used to, though. For a while, it felt like he was over at our place every weekend. But he’s actually going to be leaving the city soon.”

“Oh?” 

“He was offered a job at wherever it is his father works,” she shrugged. “So, he’s…

No, don’t say it…

“...moving on.”

Exactly what I feared. Even pathetic little Bradley was growing up. And there I was, still waddling around in diapers that I soaked while I slept.

“He’s actually over at our apartment with Lyndie this weekend,” she continued. “This might be the last time he sees Lyndie for a while.”

I wanted to know more. I wanted to know what kind of drama, if any at all, came out of the Bradley-Lyndie-Nancy Tamberlin triangle. I wanted to know how long Bradley and Ms. Tamberlin remained with the old company–or if they were still there now. That got me thinking about a number of people I’ve had no reason to think about for a few months. Mr. Yang. Megan. Mr. Morris. People who were close to the epicenter when the Thomas Pritchard bomb went off.

Thomas Pritchard. What was that guy doing now?

I wanted to change the subject again. Or, maybe, I wanted to loop around back to the very beginning of the conversation. 

“You wanted to see me?” I asked.

She nodded. “Is it really that strange that I missed you? We were pretty close for a while there. And then…stuff happened and you just kind of vanished.”

Had it actually been like that? It was hard for me to say. When I thought back at that time–that admittedly short period between when Mommy and I left the country and when I officially moved into her home–I was always under the impression that everyone would just stay in my life. Lyndie or Ms. Beaufort would come over to the house and it’d be like nothing had changed other than the location that I saw them in. And if Ava didn’t come over too, then it was because she just chose not to.

But maybe that wasn’t the case. Maybe she had been waiting for an invitation that never came. Maybe I should’ve made any sort of effort to reach out to her–and the fact that I didn’t had been interpreted as me not wanting to.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Ava.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said. “I didn’t come over here because I wanted you to apologize. I get it. You were given the opportunity to do something you really wanted to do. And Ms. Heller has obviously been taking very good care of you. Maybe I’d have done the same thing if I were in your diapers.”

“Do you…ever wear diapers now?” I asked. The words felt so pathetic as I said them. Here she was, trying to talk to me like I was still her peer, and I was still mumbling about diapers.

“No,” she said.

“Are you…ever tempted to?”

She shrugged. “Once in a while. But it passes. Look, I like the idea of them. And I sometimes miss those days. But I felt like I needed to get away from them if I ever wanted to, uh, grow up.”

Another jab.

“Is that why you’re here?” I asked. “You came to ask me to grow up too?”

“I’m not here to make you do anything you want to do,” she said. “I just…I missed you. I missed Clark. I missed hanging out with you.”

I thought I could read between the lines. “I can’t hang out with you now, because you’re not like me. You’re a diaper-dependent baby. You’re not the version of Clark I want to hang out with.”

“I miss you too,” I said.

“I don’t know what your plan is here, Clark. But there’s an opening at the company I work for. I think you’d be qualified for it, if you were interested. And if you still needed hours for your internship, maybe you could even…”

“I’m, uh, on a break from school,” I said. 

My stomach grumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything since crawling out of the crib. I began a slow waddle across the room in the direction of the kitchen. Between the sagging diaper and my lack of confidence on my feet, it must’ve been quite a sight.

Ava followed me. “Don’t you want to work, Clark? Make some money?”

“I mean…eventually, sure.”

“How long are you going to stay here?” she asked. “How long are you going to crawl around and fill your diapers before you decide that it’s time to get back out there again?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I assume that the time will just feel right.”

“I really don’t want to sound like a nag,” she said. “And I definitely don’t want to tell you what to do with your life.”

“I know that.” I was pretty sure I knew that. My instinct was to be defensive, as if she was trying to ruin my blissfully padded life. But I knew that wasn’t the case. She just cared. She had concerns. 

In the kitchen, I opened the fridge door to look at my options. On most days, Mommy was there to make these sorts of decisions for me. I rarely ever thought about choice when it came to food–I just consumed whatever she put in front of me. The baby bottle of milk caught my attention immediately–probably not an approved breakfast by itself, though Mommy wasn’t there to say as much.

It wasn’t until after I had closed the fridge door and popped the bottle’s nipple into my mouth that I realized how strange this must’ve looked to Ava.

She seemed amused, at least–her lips curled into a little smile again.

My cheeks were warming again as I sheepishly lowered the bottle. “This is weird, right? All of this?”

“I want to be clear, Clark–I don’t think I’m better than you because I decided to make some changes in my life. I believe you when you say you’re happy. I think, maybe, I’m here for…selfish reasons?”

“Selfish?”

She shrugged. “I just want my friend back.”

I didn’t think she meant ‘friend.’ She meant something else. Something bigger than friendship that we had been working on before everything had to go and change on us.

I wanted that too. But I also wanted what I had. I had sometimes daydreamed about the possibility that both things were possible. Now, though, I wasn’t sure that it was.

“I’m still here,” I said. Despite knowing damn well what she meant, I said it anyway. “I’m still your friend.”

“I know,” she said, sounding a little deflated. It wasn’t the answer she wanted.

There was a sudden churning in my gut–a familiar feeling, though one I had gotten pretty good at ignoring most days. I didn’t have to think about it, or what it’d inevitably lead to. Mommy–or someone under Mommy’s direction–would take care of that. Staring at Ava, though, I was more conscious of that ominous gurgle than I had been in quite some time.

There wasn’t much time to spare. Certainly not enough time to sprint to the bathroom–not that I would. All I could really do was warn her.

“I…I think I’m going to…”

Plorrrbbbbttt.

The back of my diaper expanded as much as it could as my mess near-effortlessly filled up all the vacant space that it could find. Another soft and thick load–as they tended to be these days. As loud as it would be stinky.

I was afraid to look up at Ava’s face immediately after. I wasn’t sure that I could handle it if she looked disappointed. Or grossed out. Or even just mildly annoyed.

“S-sorry,” I said.

To my surprise, she answered with: “It’s okay, Clark.” She sounded much more sympathetic than I expected her to.

“I-it happens so quickly anymore,” I shrugged. “I don’t really, uhm, think about it until it's too late.”

“I get it,” she said. I believed she meant that–maybe there was a point when she had experienced a feeling like that too.

I set the bottle down on the counter–that would have to wait.

“I should, uhm, probably change myself. This one’s hanging on for dear life.”

“No,” she said. “You can’t.”

“I mean, I kind of have to…”

“No,” she said again. “A baby can’t change his own diaper.”

“What are you saying? That you’re going to…” I couldn’t even get the words out of my mouth, the thought of being changed by her so overwhelmingly humiliating.

“Ms. Heller did hire me to be your babysitter after all,” she said. “Maybe I came because I wanted to see you again, but I didn’t actually think I’d make it through the whole weekend without changing one of your diapers.”

“B-but… Ava, it’s going to be, like, really gross. Y-you shouldn’t have to…”

“You let me worry about that,” she said. “Why don’t you show me to your nursery? Ms. Heller told me all about it, but I haven’t seen it for myself yet.”

“Yeah…okay.”

I took a few steps forward, feeling the load in the back of my mushy diaper squish and spread as I awkwardly waddled forward.

“If it’s easier,” she said, “why don’t you just crawl?”

I could hear a change in her tone–it was similar to the condescending tone she had used before, except now it sounded more purposeful. More accepting, perhaps.

She had come to me to see if I’d have been willing to ‘grow up’ with her. My response was to fill my diapers with a big disgusting load of poop. I’d have probably thrown in the towel if I was her too. 

There seemed little point in being anything other than what I was: a baby. I dropped down to my hands and knees again, proceeding to crawl the rest of the way–my soiled diaper sagging and swaying from side to side beneath me as I plodded forward. I couldn’t see her, though I could hear her footsteps behind me–her shoes clip-clapping on the hardwood floors. I could only imagine her face, staring down at my bottom the whole way, equal parts disappointment and amusement on her face.

As soon as I crossed the threshold, I decided to just assume my usual position atop the big changing table. It was as much a habit as filling my diapers was at this point. 

Ava seemed in no rush to get to the disaster in my diaper, though. She slowly made her way around the nursery, taking in everything. I wanted to know what was going through her mind. Did such a place still seem otherworldly to her? Did she wish that she had access to a room like this? Did it make her nostalgic for own pair of droopy diapers?

“She went all out, didn’t she?” Ava asked.

“She tends to do that for things she cares about,” I responded.

“Is it crazy that I’m a little jealous?”

I almost laughed. I knew it! I composed myself, offering: “Well, there’s plenty of diapers. If you want one for yourself. I don’t think Mommy would mind.”

“Surprisingly tempting,” she shrugged. “But I think I’m good. Why don’t we worry about you instead?”

“D-do you know how to change a diaper?”

She laughed. “Probably? I’ve had enough of my own changed. And I’ve watched your diapers get changed. And Bradley’s. I think I’ll be good.”

“Okay,” I said as she approached me. “But, uhm…I just want to be very clear: I’m sorry about how bad it is in there.”

She laughed. “Do babies usually apologize when they get their diapers changed?”

Nope. Maybe that was a more normal response for me many many diapers ago. But not anymore. I no longer had any anxiety or doubt about Mommy’s desire to change my diapers. I’d proudly wiggle atop the changing table, almost excited for Mommy to have to get her hands dirty as she cleaned up after me.

This was different. This wasn’t Mommy changing me. It wasn’t Lyndie. It wasn’t even Courtney–who was just a hired extension of Mommy’s own hands. This was someone I felt the need to apologize to for the state of my diaper. Hell, I felt like I needed to send her a ‘thank you’ card when this was all over.

I opened my legs, giving her access to the snaps at the bottom of the onesie. She reached between my thighs, the lightest of tugs opening the onesie up and letting my diaper flop out.

“So do you ever leave the house?” she asked. 

“Not often. It’s kind of hard when I’m…uh…”

“Dependent on diapers?”

“Yeah. B-but…that’s okay. I like being here.”

“You don’t miss the outside world?” she asked, pulling up the onesie to fully expose the swampy diaper.

“Sometimes. I feel very disconnected from it.”

“You’re just a baby all the time?”

The answer felt a little complicated. In the beginning, Mommy had floated the idea of ‘immersion’ past me. As she saw it, I’d quickly acclimate to a new, infantile, life if I just immediately jumped into the deep end. I’d be treated like a baby 24/7 from the start. There’d be no breaks or pauses.

After a while, Mommy seemed willing to ease up on the immersion. We’d go out for an afternoon for some light shopping. Or she’d hand me my laptop and let me catch up on my emails and social media.

More and more, however, I found myself less interested in those opportunities. I didn’t need to stroll around a store. I didn’t care what my second-cousin Jack was posting about on Facebook. And I was more than happy to let Mommy take care of all the ‘adult’ parts of my life. Credit cards, taxes, bills–I handed over my lingering adult responsibilities to her and washed my hands of them.

She’d tell me that I could have whatever I wanted. If I wanted to go out, I could go out. If I wanted to binge watch Breaking Bad, I could binge it. If I wanted to stop pooping in diapers and start drinking from ‘big boy’ cups again, I’d only need to say the words. 

So I was a baby all the time. By choice. 

Actually, maybe it wasn’t that complicated of an answer: “Yeah.”

She laughed, shaking her head at me. “And that still appeals to you?”

“I…like it, yeah.”

She shrugged, seemingly able to accept this answer.

The diaper’s tapes were peeled back, and I watched with bated breath as she slowly opened the diaper. There it was–the nose twitch. The cringe. The look of someone who suddenly realized they were in over their heads.

“Oh wow,” she said, her eyes wide as she stared into the swampy abyss. “That’s…a mess.”

“Look, you don’t actually have to do this,” I said. “I can manage if you need to go get some fresh air.”

She laughed, loosening up her shoulders as she seemed to psych herself up again. “No, no. I can handle this. I may not like it, but I gave Ms. Heller my word that I’d take care of you.”

Out came the wipes. This was usually the part where a pacifier would be popped into my mouth, or I’d just start sucking my thumb unconsciously–leaving the adults to do their thing to my bottom. As tempting as it was to slide my thumb into my mouth, I kept my hands at my side while I watched her face as she tried to formulate a plan for cleaning me up.

“It’s not as bad as it could be,” she shrugged. “I imagine it’d be worse if you sat down in this.”

I nodded.

Her fingertip rammed itself into the tip of my chastity cage, sending a little jolt up my spine. “I see this is still here. Does it ever come off?”

“Not often,” I said. As it turned out, there were plenty of ways for me to climax without being unlocked. It was always a nice treat to see her sliding the key into the lock–but I just didn’t need the key.

“Some life you live, huh?” she laughed.

“It’s not all that bad.”

“Don’t you miss, like, sex?”

All I had to do was answer her question–and it was as simple as saying ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Instead, I answered her question with a question: “Are you having sex?”

I felt my cheeks growing hot after I blurted it out. It was rude of me to have asked–and it felt especially rude to have asked it in such an accusatory tone. 

She sighed, her face getting a little red as well. “Well…I wasn’t planning on talking about it while I wiped up your dirty bottom. But, seeing as how we’re talking about it now…”

I was a fool. In the back of my mind, I had always imagined that Ava had been waiting for me. One day, I’d trade in my diapers for a pair of boxers, and I’d finish school. Get a job. Get an apartment of my own. And Ava would be there, ready to pick up where we left off. But how long had it been? How many months? And all that time, she thought I had just ‘vanished?’ 

“A-are you seeing someone?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Not really. Not…yet.”

“Oh.”

“I think that’s part of the reason I wanted to come see you.”

“To tell me that you’re having sex?”

She snort-laughed, shaking her head. “No, no. I just…I needed to see where you were at, Clark. I needed to see if you were anywhere close to being on the same page as me.”

“A-are you seeing someone?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. Well…not yet. But…” her voice trailed off, as she clearly had some hesitations about completing that thought.

“But what?”

She sighed. “N-nothing. You don’t want to hear about that.”

She was probably right. “I do!”

“I mean, there’s this guy I work with. We hang out from time to time. Flirt a little bit, but that’s all. I know he wants to ask me out on, like, a real date, but I’ve been kind of giving him the run-around whenever we get close to having that conversation. But, like, I want to get out there. I want to date. I want romance.”

“So…why aren’t you out there, then?”

But she had already told me the reason–it was the same reason she was here. She wanted to see if I was ready to ‘grow up’ yet.

Was I? I looked around the nursery, seeing the crib and all my diapers. Really, I didn’t have to look any further than beyond my open legs–where someone was wiping up my messy bottom for me. I wasn’t sure that I’d ever want to give this up. 

She shrugged. “I…missed you, Clark.”

“I missed you too, Ava.”

“But you’re happy, right?”

“Of course.” But I immediately knew I had misunderstood her question. Obviously I was happy. But what she was really asking was if there was any chance I’d be moving on from this life soon.

I wished I could. For her, I wished I could. But I didn’t think I was ready yet.

The old diaper, and all of its foul contents, were rolled up and cast into the diaper bin. She unfurled a new diaper, flattening it out on the changing table between my legs before sliding it under my lifted bottom.

The last thing I wanted to do was ask her to wait for me. But I had to say something. What would a true friend say? 

“You’re such an amazing person,” I said while she sprinkled baby powder into the fresh diaper. “You should be out there. You should be doing all the things you’re supposed to be doing in your early 20s. Making mistakes and breaking hearts.”

She laughed. “I’m not sure that’s the sales-pitch you think it is.”

“You know what I mean.”

She nodded. “You’re a sweet boy, Clark.”

There were a thousand things I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue. I looked pathetic enough as it was–having a new diaper fastened around me. How selfish would I be if I asked her to wait a little longer? If I asked her to wait any amount of time?

“You’re sweet,” I said. “And I hope you meet people who see that too.”

A cloud seemed to hang over the house for some time after. We returned to the living room and tried to chat and catch up some more, but it just felt like small-talk. The energy had been sucked from the room, and neither of us seemed willing to acknowledge it. I finally decided to give us both a break by announcing that I needed to go take a nap for a bit.

I went to Mommy’s bedroom and curled up on her bed. It was comforting to smell traces of her perfume on the sheets. I wished she was here–if for no other reason so that she could tell me what to do and what to think. 

Okay. But what did I want? Because it suddenly looked like I was choosing Mommy over Ava. And there was a part of me that thought: “Well, duh.”

But the big question that Ava had been asking was still a good one: When was enough enough? When would I…grow up?

Somewhere on the other side of Mommy’s bedroom door, Ava was sitting on a couch and watching the TV. Her phone was probably in her hand. Maybe she was texting with her mother. Or Lyndie. Or Mommy, even. Or, perhaps, she was texting that guy that she worked with. Setting up plans. Responding to his texts with emojis and ‘LOLs.’

That could’ve been me. 

I spent the last few minutes of being awake, before taking a nice long nap, wondering what I’d need to do to be considered enough of an adult that Ava could take me seriously again. I wasn’t entirely sure that I was ready to move on yet–but I had a feeling I had been spinning my wheels for a little too long. 

If anything was worth growing up for, it was Ava.

[Babytom948]

Yay,love!

[kirababy]

always nice to see this story have another chapter added to it.  This one was a struggle, as one can really feel for the mixed emotions Clark is experiencing, Ava is trying to close out some unfinished business with him, and he does not really know it.

[Babypants]

It's puzzling that Mommy would encourage Clark to crawl around on hardwood floors.  Take it from someone who has been reduced to crawling by severe sciatica attacks on more than one occasion: this can cause real issues for the patella, which is not what a baby crawls around on, in a very short order of time.  And this has been going on for months?

The other thing that one would expect to have kicked in by now is simple boredom.  The adult brain requires neural stimulus, and it doesn't sound like his brain is receiving the necessary input.  As the story reads to date, what Ava should be seeing after so many months is an altered personality, not a young adult who is caught up in role playing.  Does mommy see any changes in Clark?  Is mommy experiencing any changes in herself, and if so, is she aware of them?  Does Neve see any changes in either or both of them as this relationship grinds on?  The relationship has a static feel at this point, almost as it they are both treading water, and it's hard for me to see how either Clark or Gabrielle would find it emotionally satisfying.  Since it's a well constructed story, I'm assuming that we're missing a lot of down and dirty in their day to day lives.  Are you planning on giving us "a day in the life," so to speak?   

[aldl4811]

Another fantastic set of chapters. I love Ava's character and the desire to see, be with, Clark

[D503]

Brilliantly written chapter. Spoke to me in terms of historical purging. Now I just accept it but don't let it rule my life. A tricky balance to strike.

[quietlyhumiliated]

On 1/22/2024 at 7:31 PM, Babypants said:

The other thing that one would expect to have kicked in by now is simple boredom.  The adult brain requires neural stimulus, and it doesn't sound like his brain is receiving the necessary input.  As the story reads to date, what Ava should be seeing after so many months is an altered personality, not a young adult who is caught up in role playing.  Does mommy see any changes in Clark?  Is mommy experiencing any changes in herself, and if so, is she aware of them?  Does Neve see any changes in either or both of them as this relationship grinds on?  The relationship has a static feel at this point, almost as it they are both treading water, and it's hard for me to see how either Clark or Gabrielle would find it emotionally satisfying.  Since it's a well constructed story, I'm assuming that we're missing a lot of down and dirty in their day to day lives.  Are you planning on giving us "a day in the life," so to speak?   

While there's not a full-on 'day in the life' chapter that details their life prior to this chapter, future chapters do elaborate on what certain aspects were like. Your other points are interesting, and it's tempting to answer them - but some of them may be addressed by the story itself. If, in a few weeks, you think these points haven't been sufficiently answered, I'll consider them lessons to be learned in my storytelling.

As always, thanks for the critical food for thought!