Doing Business [Season 4] [Parts 82 + 83 posted on 5/12/2024]

[quietlyhumiliated]

9 hours ago, Babytom948 said:

Is this moving off into a side story?

A few folks have asked variations of this question. Essentially: This plot thread will be picked up in the main Doing Business series as it goes on. Next week's chapter will be focusing on another character. 

[lower case m]

That was really cute. It's nice learning more about the other assistants

[quietlyhumiliated]

Memorandums, Part Two: Your Friendly Neighborhood Pizza Girl

Neighborhood celebrities. Every area has a few–people that everyone knows or has encountered. Rarely have they accomplished anything exceptional–in fact, most times someone has the recognition to earn the title of ‘neighborhood celebrity,’ it’s for all the wrong reasons. Nuisances. Weirdos. People that everyone knows because everyone wants to avoid them.

That said, I feel pretty confident about two things. First, I’m a local celebrity.

Second? This might be the rare exception in which I’m not well-known because of my worst traits. Instead, it’s because I deliver pizza.

Look, this is the city–there’s a lot of pizza places to choose from. There’s like 2 or 3 options on every block. Hell, I heard there’s a lady over on fourteenth who you can call for pizza and she just makes it in her basement and has her husband deliver it. Seems kind of sketchy, honestly–our shop has a hard enough time avoiding the wrath of the city health department.

But our shop–Toretti’s? Damn-near legendary pizza shop. The place has been around for 60-something years, I think. New shops come and go all the time, but ours is in the same place as it's always been, and most would consider it to be an essential fixture of the neighborhood.

Pizza Girl, that’s what they call me. It makes me sound like a superhero, you know? I sometimes try to imagine what that would even look like. Did I shoot pizzas from my hands? Could I just eat an infinite number of pizzas? Was I able to settle any dispute with just a hot pie? I don’t love being called Pizza Girl–nobody should have their identity reduced to just a description of their job–but I suppose I’d rather that than some slur.

If we’re being honest, I know why I have a reputation. I’m a girl. A cute one at that–or so I’m told. Mackie has been delivering pizzas for Toretti’s for 15 years, and nobody knows–or cares–who he is. People want the pretty girl to deliver their pizza. Seriously, that’s what they say. They literally call and request for me to be their delivery girl.

Mackie says I let the attention go to my head. I say he’s just jealous.

Mackie also worries about me a lot. He says that it’s dangerous for a girl to be going into strange buildings by herself. I guess I can see his concern–the lonely pizza girl stumbling into some decaying apartment complex does seem like the beginning of a good movie. But I’ve been doing this for a while, and I’m still alive.

Besides, I carry pepper spray in my pocket. Never had to use it.

And while I don’t think I’ve ever felt like I was in danger, that doesn’t mean that I haven’t seen some weird shit. Because, let me tell you: I’ve seen some weird shit.

You name it, and I’ve probably seen it. I’ve delivered pizzas to orgies. I’ve delivered pizzas to a room full of people wearing weird animal costumes. About once a week I get a secondhand buzz from delivering pizza to a place where thick clouds of smoke wash over me when the door opens.

Sure, I’ve been hit on and flirted with. Rarely is it that hard to escape with just a variation of ‘Thanks but no thanks.’ Sometimes I get handed a beer. Or a joint. Once I got handed a tab of acid–I truly regret handing it back, in hindsight. Once I got pulled into a Street Fighter III tournament. I didn’t win, but I think I did alright.

Mackie swears that, once, he had a three-way with two ladies he dropped some pizza off to. I guess I believe that it’s possible–I’ve been solicited enough. But have you seen Mackie? I’d have loved to see what these supposed ladies looked like.

The weirdest delivery I’ve ever made? I’m not entirely sure what that would be. I mean, witnessing an orgy taking place while you wait for a naked man to find his wallet so he can pay you for a stack of pizza is pretty weird.

But you know what else is weird? The interaction I find myself thinking about pretty often?

Diaper Boy.

I think I’ve delivered there a few times. If not Diaper Boy’s apartment, at least other apartments in his building. But twice now, I’ve delivered to his apartment, only to find him greeting me while wearing a…diaper.

I’m not going to pretend to be an expert on the medical needs of adults who need diapers. But I’d imagine that if you were a guy–about my age–with some sort of issue with incontinence, you would be doing everything in your power to not reveal that to other people.

Sometimes you just know when something is…off. This guy–Diaper Boy? He’s off. I swear, he wants me to see him in his diaper.

It’s a funny thing to keep thinking about. All the strangeness I’ve seen in this neighborhood, and the thing that’s stuck in my head is the sight of this scrawny boy in his diaper.

He’s not alone, either. Both times I’ve delivered to his place, as he stands there in his diaper, I can hear the giggles and chatter of other people in the apartment. The scene just makes no sense to me. Are they also in diapers? Or do they just like to torment this guy by making him answer the door in a diaper?

I’ve never thought about them before–but I think about diapers all the time now.

I guess I knew there was a kink for that sort of thing. Everything’s a kink to someone, right? I saw an article the other day about people who get off from getting hit in the face with pies. It makes no sense to me…but good for them, I guess. Prior to encountering Diaper Boy, diapers meant about the same to me as getting hit in the face with a pie–too far beyond my comprehension to really have any sort of opinion on it.

But now I’ve seen this guy in his diapers, and I’m curious. What makes a guy like that tick? What is it about diapers that he likes? Does he want to be coddled and babied? Or does he just want to be humiliated? Or is it something else altogether?

- - -

“What would you say if I wore a diaper?”

Josh scoffs. “Like…because you had to?”

“Because…I wanted to?”

I like Josh, though not enough to ask him to be my boyfriend. We’re just friends. Friends who fuck more times per week than friends of mine who are in committed relationships.

I kind of like the arrangement we have for what it is. No strings or emotions. Just physical needs being met. It also allows for me to be a little more open. I can ask him about things–like diapers–without worrying that much about scaring him off.

“Paige, do you…want to wear diapers?”

I shrug. “I dunno if I do or not. But, like, what if? If I showed up at your place tomorrow in a diaper, what would you say?”

“I’d say, uh, ‘take off your diaper and come fuck me in the bedroom.’”

“You wouldn’t think it’s weird?”

“Oh, it’d be real fucking weird.”

“But you’d still have sex with me.”

“You’re not asking me to put a diaper on, are you?” he asks.

“Do you want to wear a diaper?”

“No.”

I laugh. “Okay, then no–I’m not asking you to put a diaper on.”

“Are you asking me to, like, change your diaper or something? Do I have to…interact with it?”

“Hmm,” I respond, considering his question carefully. “I guess you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to...”

“But?”

“But… Well, I guess I’m wondering what else I’d want to do if I was wearing a diaper.”

“So,” he says, “to be clear–you want to wear a diaper?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Why?”

Great question, and one I haven’t been able to answer myself just yet. Do I want to wear a diaper? Yes, I think I do. Why? I couldn’t tell you. Curiosity, if I was to take a guess.

I’m curious about a lot of things. I’m curious about what it’d feel like to jump into a volcano, too. And I probably won’t ever do that. But diapers? Well, for one, they won’t melt my body. Also, maybe the idea of them just scratches a weird itch, so far in the back of my consciousness that I wasn’t even aware of it until I found something to scratch it with.

Is it the taboo of diapers that I was attracted to? Or was there some dormant part of myself that wanted to explore what it meant to be babied? Humiliated? Both?

So I want diapers, I know that much. What comes next is beyond me.

“Just buy them,” Josh says when I tell him about what’s on my mind. “You keep talking about diapers, but I don’t think you’re going to know if you like them or not until you actually buy them.”

“Where do you even buy adult diapers?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Anywhere, I think. Like, you could go to the grocery store and buy them.”

“I guess,” I say, picturing Diaper Boy in my mind. “But not these diapers.”

“What diapers are you even talking about then? Because I’m pretty sure you can’t fit into, like, baby diapers.”

“Maybe I’ll know them when I see them.”

- - -

Later, at the third grocery store I had visited, I still hadn’t found what I was looking for. I still didn’t actually know what I wanted, but I knew it wasn’t the adult diapers I was seeing. Diaper Boy’s had been plump. Thick and crinkly. They weren’t something you wore if you were trying to hide the fact that you needed a diaper–they were something you wore because you loved wearing diapers.

Or so I assumed. It would’ve been funny if I had gotten it all wrong. I could just see it: finally working up the courage to confront Diaper Boy to ask him where he got his diapers–because I wanted to try some for myself–only for him to break into tears because he wears specialty diapers because of a severe issue with incontinence.

But, I doubted that. There wouldn’t have been all that giggling coming from his apartment if he was actually sensitive about his need for diapers.

I delivered another pizza in his apartment building last week. Just to see what would happen, I knocked on Diaper Boy’s door. Another guy opened the door. I apologized and said that I had the wrong door. Probably for the best. I had no idea what I’d say if Diaper Boy had actually answered.

“Uh, hi. Where d’ya get yer diapers from?”

But, when in doubt, go online. It only took me about ten minutes to find the big white diapers I wanted. They were either the exact same ones that Diaper Boy was wearing, or close enough.

- - -

“And what are you going to do with them once you get them?” asks Josh when I tell him about my online order. It’s one of the rare occasions that we’re hanging out with each other outside of our apartments. With clothes on. We’re getting waffles, because I wanted some.

“Wear them, I guess. See how they feel.”

“Are you going to, like, piss yourself?”

I shrug. “Haven’t really thought that far ahead. I guess I should at least try, right?”

He lifts a skeptical eyebrow. “Really?”

“Do you think that’s gross?”

“I guess it’s not that weird,” he says. “People like golden showers and stuff. It’s just kind of weird.”

“It’s just pee,” I say. “I pee in a diaper and…I just take a shower.”

“And, uh, do you think you’re going to drop a big dump in your pants too?” He’s got that smirk on his face that I hate. That sarcastic one when he’s trying to be a smart ass.

Another question I don’t have an answer for yet. But I decide to test the water and see what his reaction would be: “Yup. I think I’ll probably try that too.”

This time, he wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “Count me out.”

“I didn’t ask you to join me.”

“You’d really do that, Paige? Poop in a diaper like a toddler?”

I shrugged. “What if I did? It’s just poop, right? It all washes off.”

He shook his head again. “Nope. Not for me. I don’t think 100 showers would make me feel clean after that.”

“So you’re saying that if I do decide to fill up a diaper…”

“Just don’t tell me,” he says. “I don’t want to know.”

- - -

My diapers are waiting for me in front of my door after a seemingly never-ending shift delivering pizzas on a Friday night. It’s a little after 1:00 AM, and I really should be jumping in bed, but I catch a second wind–honestly my third or fourth wind, at that point–and decide that I need to try them in that instant.

I have no clue what I’m doing, but that almost feels preferable. I don’t want to be a diaper expert–I want to stumble my way through it and find my footing later. After tearing the packaging open and holding one of the giant disposable diapers in my hand–feeling incredibly thick in just their folded form–I’m filled with this childlike glee that I hadn’t felt about anything in a long time. Do you know what I mean? That feeling of excitement and wonder for something completely new?

Yeah, I guess it’s silly to feel that way about diapers, of all things. But why the fuck not? I have no regrets and hangups about it–I’m ready to embrace this weirdness.

I unfolded the diaper and tossed it on top of my bed and lowered my naked body on top of it. It was a little more intuitive than I guessed it would be–once I figured out that the tapes needed to be in the back, I was able to figure the rest out easily enough.

Voila–I was diapered. For the first time in a long time. I had to fight the playful urge to send my mother a selfie of my diapered ass via a text message. Hi Mom. Did you ever think you’d see me in one of these again? I spared her the heart attack and tossed my phone across the room, just to be extra-sure that I wouldn’t take any photos that I’d regret when I was less exhausted.

For a brief second, I was a little underwhelmed. This is it, huh? It didn’t feel all that special. Not that I knew what to expect–nobody ever said that this was going to feel like heaven on earth. I had been the one who got it in my head that this was going to be some sort of wild experience.

It wasn’t until I got up and started to walk around that the reality of the diaper’s existence began to set in. The way I could feel its bulk between my legs. The way it crinkled and rustled as I moved. The way the smooth texture of its plastic shell felt against my fingers when I pressed into the fluffy padding.

I was beginning to see the appeal.

I wished that Josh was here to see it. I know he said he didn’t care, but maybe actually seeing the diaper on me would change his mind. I mean, I looked pretty fucking cute in it. The diaper could’ve been applied a little better, I think. But…maybe he could’ve done that for me?

Maybe I didn’t actually want Josh. I wanted someone to be there. Some fictional somebody who would call me a good girl for wearing my diaper. Some fictional somebody who would call me a bad girl for needing a diaper at my age.

Ooh. Tingles. Maybe there’s something to this humiliation stuff?

I’m not a patient person. I want to experience everything and I want to explore it now. Alas, my third or fourth wind was coming to an end and it didn’t look like a fifth was in the cards. I’d go to bed in just my diaper, lightly caressing the thick padding between my legs until I drifted off to sleep.

- - -

I couldn’t tell you exactly what I had been dreaming about, but it had something to do with diapers, and it had me waking up all hot and bothered. The first thing I was aware of when I woke was the wetness between my legs. I instinctively reached down the length of my body to feel myself, only to have my fingertips make contact with the thick diaper instead.

Oh yeah…

There, in the quiet seclusion of my bed, I decided to push my experimentation a little further. It was surprisingly hard to convince my body to pee while I wasn’t sitting on a toilet–as a lifetime of habit had trained me to do. But with a few deep breaths and a concerted effort to relax my body, I was able to make it happen. Instantaneously, I felt a shameful pleasure unlike anything I had felt before. My stream was instantly absorbed by the diaper, which then grew heavier and more dense between my legs. My fingers remained perched on the front of the padding, feeling it swell and warm as I pissed myself.

I wish you were here. I had no idea who ‘you’ was. Josh, maybe. Some sort of nameless caregiver who would swoop in and change my diaper for me after making a big fuss over how wet and naughty I was.

As good as it felt to press against the diaper with my hand, I couldn’t resist the temptation to just slide my fingers into the wet garment so that I could pleasure myself.

Climaxing in a wet diaper? What a bad girl.

I was going to tell Josh about this later, for sure. Maybe he’d be curious enough to want to see it for himself. Maybe he’d even want to participate. But it was a win-win, because if he gave a disapproving head-shake, that’d still be something I could use to touch myself to later.

The next step in this little adventure feels like it has to be me wearing diapers out in public. Maybe I’ll pick a slower night–a Tuesday, perhaps–and give them a little test run while I’m out and about.

I have to be careful, of course. Being a local celebrity and all, it wouldn’t be too hard for me to end up developing a new reputation as the local Diaper Girl. I dunno, it’s kind of cute sounding? But I think I’d rather that reputation be completely localized to just my bedroom.

Oh, and another naughty thought: Next time I had to deliver pizza to Diaper Boy’s apartment? Wouldn’t he be surprised when he saw that I was wearing a diaper too?

[Babypants]

Didn't see this one coming!  Well done.

[zzzz50]

I am guessing that Lyndie will be changing another person’s adult diaper in the near future.

[Electrically]

This continues to be a very fun story,

your really good at writing.

and that is not a easy thing to do.

thanks

[quietlyhumiliated]

Periodic reminder that you can read future chapters of this story on my Patreon a month before anyone else does. Or, check out the plethora of exclusive stories I've posted there. It's nice.

Three: Julie Smells Something Weird

Same as it was everyday: Hit the snooze button a few too many times on the alarm clock. Grab something completely unsatisfying for breakfast as she rushes out the door. Sit in traffic. Maybe grab a coffee from the drive-thru if the line isn’t too long. Struggle to find convenient parking in the garage, eventually settling for a spot seemingly miles from the elevator. 20-something new emails in her inbox that magically appeared between the time she left work the night before (and she had even left late) and this morning. Arnie stops by to bullshit, never quite grasping the fact that nobody wants to talk to him about whatever TV show he’s watching right now. Mr. Yang stops by to see if she ‘needs anything’ (translation: I know you’re busy, but I need you to have finished everything yesterday–maybe the day before that, if possible). And then, smell something weird.

It was happening more and more often. She’d be minding her own business, doing her job, and she’d suddenly smell something that seemed…off. It wasn’t always the same scent, but there was an entire range of weird scents that felt like they were somehow related. Or maybe it was that they all reminded her of something specific, but she couldn’t quite place what it was.

Sometimes there were the subtle scents of something light and calming. Other times, the odors felt aggressively disgusting. She’d occasionally catch someone else wrinkling their nose too, suggesting that she wasn’t the only one smelling it. But nobody ever talked about it. Maybe everyone else was just willing to roll with it, or to write it off as just the sort of thing that is expected in a building with a lot of people.

Julie can't let it go. She thinks about the weird scents a lot.

- - -

“Is this seat taken?” Julie asks, sidling up to a table in the busy cafeteria.

“Only by you. Hello, Julie. Have a seat.”

There are few people in the office who don’t annoy Julie on some level, and Francine is one of them. She suspects that maybe Francine would grate on her too, if they worked in the same department. No offense to Francine–or anyone else who annoyed (or potentially annoyed) her–Julie was well aware of the fact that her inability to tolerate most others was a her-problem. Such was the problem with working with other people–everyone was doing things their own way and not hers.

“How’ve you been?” Julie asks, working towards reaching the socially acceptable quota for small-talk before she could just devour her salad.

“Eh, you know,” Francine says, shrugging. “Another day, another dollar.”

“You’re not kidding,” Julie mutters. “And we’ll be lucky if we see an entire dollar.”

Francine laughs. For a moment, Julie thinks that she’s just being polite, but she senses that this, in fact, a genuine laugh and it lowers Julie’s defenses a little.

“Hey, you work in Finance, right?” Francine asks.

“Sadly.”

Francine chuckles a little again. “Do you know, uh, Megan?”

It’s Julie’s turn to laugh. It feels like Francine has her hand on the lid to a jar of worms, and is threatening to unleash them. “I do. What about her?”

“What’s that all about?”

What a damn-good question. Julie mulls this over for a moment, lightly tapping her plastic fork on the tabletop.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Francine adds, maybe feeling like she’s asked the wrong question, given how long it’s taking Julie to respond. “I don’t have a problem with someone, like, transitioning. But I’ve heard stories…”

“Stories?” Julie asks. “What sort of stories have you heard?”

“There seems to be a lot of stories around here,” Francine says.

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“So, Megan. She’s a…”

“She’s she,” Julie says, sounding a little more confrontational than she intends to. She doesn’t think Francine has anything bigoted to say–at least not intentionally–but she thinks it's probably best that she helps to direct the tone of this gossiping now.

“I know,” Francine says, comparatively defensive. “And I promise that I’m not judging her. But you’ve heard what they say about her, right? About her and Mr. Yang?”

“Maybe,” Julie says, nervously tapping her fork against the table. “What have you heard?”

“If I can be blunt?”

“Please.”

“She’s Mr. Yang’s little sex-toy.”

Julie laughs. This is not the first time she’s heard this. Not that she ever needed to be told about it–she had seen the two slinking off together enough that she always assumed that something was up. Hell, she was wondering if she had inadvertently started the rumor train herself by blabbing to someone about it at some work function after a few beers.

“Yeah,” she finally responds, playing it a little more coyly. “I’ve heard that.”

“Do you think it’s true?”

“Probably.”

“But it’s not just her, you know.”

Tap-tap-tap-tap. Julie’s fork spends more time bouncing off the table than it does in her salad. She’s not nervous because she feels any sort of connection to this potential drama–she’s nervous because she feels they're on the cusp of having a conversation that she’s never had before. That dangling thread on the company sweater? It might finally get grasped and pulled on, unraveling the whole damn thing.

“Who else?” Julie says. She has her suspicions already, but she’s curious to hear what Francine will say.

Francine leans forward a little across the table. The move’s symbolism is clear–this is something that shouldn’t be overheard by others. And yet she’s still saying it in a crowded cafeteria.

“Gabrielle Heller.”

“The CEO?” Julie is quite surprised that she doesn’t know about this.

“That’s what people are saying.”

“She’s got a little…sex toy of her own?”

“Who?”

“Dunno,” Francine said, shrugging as she slid back into her seat again. “Some new guy, I guess?”

“New? How new?”

Francine shrugged again. “Did you see that email the other day? About the promotions?”

“Oh. You think it's that guy? The one who is her new assistant?”

“Seems obvious, doesn’t it? Wasn’t there a story going around a year or two ago about her and another assistant of hers? Uh…Heather?”

“Hillary,” Julie says, nodding.

“You didn’t hear those rumors? Lacy McCarthy swore that she once watched Hillary waddling into Gabrielle’s office. And the girl had a–or so Lacy claimed–diaper sticking up over the back of her pants.”

“A diaper?” Julie says, slightly louder than she meant to. She blushes a little as she leans forward to try that again. “A…diaper? That’s ridiculous.”

“Look, I don’t disagree,” Francine says, shrugging. “I guess that’s why I kind of wrote it off as bullshit when she tried to tell me about it a while back.”

“A diaper,” Julie repeats again, not as a question this time. She mulls the word over, finding it so absurd that’s almost comical.

“Something is going on around here, right?” asks Francine. “You’ve seen the way that Ava-girl clings to Neve like she’s a child. Mr. Yang and Megan? Gabrielle and that new kid?”

“Hrm,” Julie groans. “Something, indeed.”

- - -

Had the can of worms actually been opened, or had the can been opened some time ago and she was only now becoming aware of the…worms that were everywhere (it wasn’t the best analogy, she admits to herself)? Now, it’s all that Julie can think about. She’s seen that meme online–she has no idea what show or movie it's from–with the guy sitting in front of a bulletin board that has all the pictures and pieces of paper connected by red string. She feels like that guy now, whoever he is.

She can’t stop thinking about diapers. For a while, it’s just that it’s so absurd that it amuses her. She tells herself that Lacy McCarthy had been wrong about what she had seen. Nobody is tromping around a building with a diaper sticking out of their pants for everyone to see.

But. Diapers also feel like the missing piece of the jigsaw puzzle she had been working on in her mind for a while. All those weird scents? When she thinks about them, with the context of diapers, they suddenly start to make more sense to her and she’s reminded of why they had been so familiar. It takes her back to her childhood, when all of her younger cousins were in diapers. Every family function had exposed her to the scents of babyhood–baby powder; wet diapers; messy diapers.

Is that it? Maybe people were walking around the office in diapers. She initially laughed that off too, but the more she thought about it, the less willing she was to just dismiss it altogether. If the rumors about Megan being Mr. Yang’s little femmified sex-toy were true, then maybe there was a chance that Ms. Heller had actually been keeping her own assistants in diapers.

That was a kink people had, right? Diapers and baby things? She thinks she has seen that on a TV show once or twice.

There’s something to that new girl too, she’s decided. The one that seems to be working with the executive team, but isn’t specifically anyone’s assistant. She keeps going to this one office–the one that used to be Peter Dubois’s before he left last year. The office had been sitting around vacant for months. Then, suddenly, there were a bunch of renovations done to it. And now it was sealed off, and nobody she asked seemed to know what the room was being used for.

Julie’s been watching this girl and she keeps going into that room. She was pretty sure the girl’s name was…Linda?

Executives and assistants. Martin became Megan. Hillary in a diaper. New guy gets promoted before anyone even knows who he is. Linda and her mystery office. It both does and doesn’t seem connected.

But she wants it all to be connected.

- - -

Hit the snooze button on the alarm clock–only once today. Reheat some leftover mashed potatoes for breakfast. Sit in traffic. Maybe grab a coffee from the drive-thru if…

It’s another day.

Actually, no, it feels like a new day. Suddenly, the office feels like an entirely different place to her. Sure, it’s still a giant bland maze of cubicles and offices, but Julie swears that she can now tap into the underlying tension of this place. It’s everywhere she looks. People winking and nudging. Glances that linger a little too long. Knowing smirks.

But, too, the lack of clues can sometimes seem just as damning. The silence of her coworkers, trying to just get through their own days without meddling in weirder issues that aren’t theirs. She’s pretty sure there’s a lot of that happening around here.

Her eyes catch Francine’s as they stroll across one of the open office areas in opposite directions. Francine’s wry grin suggests that she’s also been taking a closer look at the world around her.

At 10:45, she hangs out near Ted Lemire’s desk with a cup of coffee in hand. She doesn’t know Ted all that well, but they’ve worked together for a number of years now and they’ve seen plenty come and go since. Once in a while he’s good for a minute or two of small talk, and she’s hoping to reach that quota today while keeping an eye on Gabrielle Heller’s office door, which isn’t too far from his cube.

“Busy these days?”

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “I guess. Not any busier than usual. Maybe I’m just always busy. How about you?”

“Oh, for sure,” she says, perhaps not even entirely aware of what she’s saying. “Ain’t that the way things go?”

There’s movement over at the door. It’s opening. That new kid is stepping out. What did that email say his name was? Carter? His cheeks are all red. He looks flustered.

“I heard they were going to bring back soft pretzels in the cafeteria,” Ted says, a smidgen of excitement coming through in his tone. “I guess that’s new and exciting.”

Clark, that’s right. Does his ass look big? Too big? She’s pretty sure that it does. Goddamn, is that kid actually wearing a diaper?

“Right, right,” she says to Ted, unsure of what he’s talking about.

“I actually put a suggestion into HR about the pretzels,” Ted continues. “It was a few months ago, though. So I wonder if they’ve finally gotten enough feedback about the pretzels that they finally had to do something about it, you know?”

She watches intently as Clark sheepishly looks around the office as he closes the door behind him. By some miracle, he doesn’t seem to notice that Julie is gawking at him.

“But, you know what it could’ve been?” Ted says, seemingly unaware that Julie couldn’t care less about pretzels. “It could be that they only check the suggestion box once every few months, right? Like what if it only took one suggestion to make that difference, and I could’ve had pretzels a month or two ago if they had just looked sooner?”

“Oh absolutely,” she says. “Well, it was great talking to you. I’ll see you later.”

She rushes over to the area between the door to Gabrielle Heller’s office and Clark’s cubicle. Doing her best not to look like a complete nutball, she takes a swift sniff of the air. She’s not positive, but she’s pretty darn sure that she catches notes of baby powder and…stale urine?

How does nobody else notice this?

She sees Ted Lemire, lost in his work. She sees Carla Burton, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone instead of working on her computer. She sees Dennis and Rich chit-chatting over to the side, Dennis mimes swinging a golf club as they both laugh and nod.

Maybe, she thinks, it’s the perfect crime. You can get away with anything in plain sight if everyone else is lost in their own little worlds–the little worlds they go to for escape from the ceaseless boredom of office life.

- - -

The harder she looks, the more she seems to find. She swears that she can see bulging pants when she follows behind Clark in the hallway. Ava too. She watches Lyndie, sometimes, herding them around from executive offices to her own mystery office.

And knowing what she thinks she knows, she’s certain that she can identify the days when either walk past her in a diaper that needs changing.

Julie keeps it all to herself for now. She’s not sure what else she’d do with this information. She could go to HR, but she’s not sure what that actually achieves. She’s not exactly offended that these things are happening around her, so she doesn’t want to stir up trouble. And she’s not sure that she wants to tell Francine either, worried about what she’d do with that information.

For now, she just holds onto this information. It’s a strange sort of thrill–having your eyes open to something that nobody else can see.

- - -

“Hello there.” It’s a feminine voice that Julie doesn’t recognize, coming from behind her.

Julie spins around in the already-cramped copy room to find that Linda–the young lady who had recently gotten her promotion and now worked out of a mysterious room–is also here.

“Oh, hi. Linda, right? I’m Julie. I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“Lyndie, actually,” the girl says. She looks to be a few years younger than Julie. Right out of college? In college? “Pleasure to meet you.”

Julie shrugs. “There’s so many people here. I swear, I’ve seen some of the same faces for years and I still don’t know their names.”

“I figured as much,” Lyndie says. “I guess it’d be pretty hard to connect with everyone. Though… I have to admit that I’ve been meaning to introduce myself to you in particular.”

Julie’s head tilts in curiosity. “Me?”

“I feel like everytime I turn around, I see you.”

Julie’s cheeks turn a little pink. She didn’t think she had been that obvious. “Well…”

“I’m not mad about it,” Lyndie says, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’m sure it looks like there’s some pretty crazy stuff going on around here, huh?”

“Maybe,” Julie says.

“I’m curious what you think is going on.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Julie responds, feeling a little cornered. She opts for some diplomatic tact: “Sometimes, when it feels like things are being hidden, people talk and speculate, you know? I’m sure it’s all just normal business though.”

“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” Lyndie asks.

“I mean…”

“I can let you in on our little secrets, if you want.”

Julie’s eyes narrow suspiciously as she leans forward. She doesn’t entirely believe that Lyndie is just going to randomly appear in front of her and give her all the answers she wants to hear, but…maybe?

“Okay?”

“Whatever it is you’ve heard,” Lyndie says. “It’s real. And it’s even fucking crazier and wild than you could ever believe.”

Julie scoffs and shakes her head. “No way.”

“Try me.”

“Megan?”

“What about her?”

“I heard she transitioned for her boss.”

“Oh sure,” Lyndie says, nodding. “Poor thing didn’t even have a choice in the matter.”

“Gabrielle Heller?”

Lyndie laughs. “What did you hear about her?”

“Something about her assistants having to wear…diapers?”

“That’s totally true,” Lyndie says. “Her current assistant, Clark? Contractually, he has to wear diapers for her or else he gets fired. Not only that, but he’s required to fill it too. She weighs it at the end of every workday. If it’s not heavy enough, she sends him back to his desk to work on it a little longer. She even put a cage on his cock too, so the kid can’t even get off now if he wants to.”

Julie grimaces as some skepticism is starting to set in. Now it just sounds like Lyndie is fucking with her.  “That can’t possibly be true.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Lyndie says with a shrug. “Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction. What other burning questions do you have about the great mysteries of our company?”

If only to see how Lyndie will respond, Julie continues:  “That office you work out of? What about that?”

“That’s the new office nursery. It’s where we send the babies when they need to have their diapers changed.”

“Babies? Plural?” Julie asks, rolling her eyes. “How many people around here wear diapers?”

“Oh my gosh, so many,” Lyndie says. “More than you think, for sure.”

“Four? Five?”

“Oh, god no. More like–I dunno–50? 60?”

“60? You’re telling me that 60 people in this office are wearing and using diapers?”

“Easily. We have a whole club, don’t you know? Ask around. I bet you wouldn’t have to ask too many people before you find someone sitting in their own piss. I think we’re having a meeting later, actually. Over at the Build-A-Bear at the mall. You should drop by.”

Julie sighed. “You’re bullshitting me.”

Lyndie laughed. “What? You don’t believe that there’s a secret group of executives who make babies and little girls out of their employees? That there’s people out there on the floor, right now, pooping their pants because their boss told them to?”

This conversation feels like a waste of time to Julie. Was Lyndie mocking her? Poking fun at her quest to understand what was happening in the office around her? She had no doubt that there was at least some iota of truth in the ridiculous stories Lyndie was telling now, but without any actual evidence, she seemed to be in no better place than she was before her conversation with Lyndie.

“Alright, fine,” she finally says to Lyndie. “Forget it. Maybe it’s better if I leave it alone.”

“Look…between you and me? This place is pretty fucked up.”

Julie laughs. “That’s hardly a secret.”

“I’m sorry I was dicking you around,” Lyndie says. “I guess I’m a little protective of the weird place I’ve found myself in. But you and I aren’t all that different.”

“No? How so?”

“Well, we’re both just employees, right?” Lyndie asks. “We’re just doing our jobs and getting paid. My job’s probably a little weirder than yours, though.”

“Yeah,” Julie says, shrugging. “I guess.”

“Do you want to see?”

“See?”

“The nursery. I can show it to you, if you want. Maybe it’d be good to know what you’re missing out on and you don’t have to think about it all the time.”

“So…there’s actually a nursery?”

“Follow me, I’ll show you.”

“Aren’t you afraid that I’m going to tell everyone else?”

“Good luck getting anyone to believe you’ve seen the things I’m about to show you.”

- - -

Another day. Hit the snooze button a few too many times on the alarm clock. Most of her panties are in the laundry bin (and she should’ve done laundry a week ago) so she’s left wearing the ugly turquoise ones. Sit in traffic. Grab a coffee and an overcooked bagel from the drive-thru. Struggle to find convenient parking in the garage, eventually settling for a spot seemingly miles from the elevator. 34 new emails in her inbox that magically appeared between the time she left work the night before (and she had even left late) and this morning. Ted stops by to bullshit– something about soft pretzels. Mr. Yang stops by to see if she ‘needs anything’ (translation: I know you’re busy, but I need you to have finished everything yesterday–maybe the day before that, if possible). Go to lunch, only to be (once again) disappointed by the selection in the cafeteria and settle for another fucking salad from the salad bar.  Finding a free table, though another body plops itself down across from her soon after.

“How are you doing today?” Francine asks.

“Oh, you know. Another day in paradise.”

They talk about the weather and how busy they are in their departments for a few minutes,  working towards reaching the socially acceptable quota for small-talk before they can delve into the real tea.

“I saw that Ava girl in the hallway today,” Francine says. “The girl practically bowled me over, she was walking so fast.”

“Oh yeah?” asks Julie. “Where was she going?”

“That office over on the far side of the executive wing. I think it used to be Peter Dubois’s office? Do you know the one?”

“I think I do,” Julie says.

“They did some work on that room a while ago, I heard. But nobody seems to know what they’re using the room for now. They even replaced the door with one that doesn’t have a window. It’s like they don’t want anyone seeing inside of it.”

“Weird.”

Julie contributes the bare minimum to the conversation to sound engaged, but she’s careful not to sound too interested. This indifference seems to work in getting Francine to switch gears to just complaining about her boss.

There’s things she could’ve said. Hell, there’s so many things she is dying to tell everyone else. Lyndie showed her some stuff, and she hadn’t been lying when she said it was ‘fucking crazy.’

But Julie doesn’t mind biting her tongue. She doesn’t mind keeping the secret for herself. At least she knows now–that was all she ever wanted, to just know. It’s actually a bit of a weight lifted from her shoulders, not having to wonder all the time. She doesn’t have to stalk her coworkers. There’s no imaginary bulletin board with red string that she has to overanalyze. Now, she just does her job, occasionally laughing to herself because she watches Clark shuffle down the hall like he’s got a load in his pants and doesn’t want anyone else to notice.

Nobody ever notices. Everyone else is either too distracted by their job or by the things they do so they don’t have to think about being at work.

Julie notices. Yesterday, when Ava waddled past her desk, Julie let her nose wrinkle in an exaggerated way and asked if anyone else smelled anything. She swore Ava’s face grew bright red as she took off like a jet plane. It was such a satisfying response that Julie thinks she might do things like that more often.

Everyone’s got to keep sane at work somehow.

[D503]

I love that they cleared Lyndie to "leak" the secret to Julie and probably didn't tell the babies that she now knows, even if the babies have possibly  noticed / reported her staring a bit. It's a nice extra dose of humiliation for the babies at work while possibly recruiting Julie or keeping her as the unofficial  shame server (and leaving the babies in the dark).

I wonder if Julie asked Lyndie about the cock cage again after seeing the nursery lol. 

[littlebopeeper]

So Julie is catching visual and olfactory (?) clues.  What about sound?  Aren't these diapers loud?  How much background noise is there in one of these corporate offices?

[Electrically]

Such a great sense of humor 😊

[Babypants]

This chapter circles me back to logistics.  How the heck were they disposing of all these diapers before Lyndie came along?  Is the janitorial staff in the know, and being paid to look the other way and keep mouths shut?  And now, how the heck are they getting the trash out of Lyndie's "office?"  That part of the building must stink to high heaven!

[Daiperboy27]

This story is awesome can’t wait for more! I hope we get to see what happens to Ava in the next chapter that cliff hanger was too much 😩

[thedman]

Wow, just caught up on a couple of chapters, Pizza Girl, daaaaammmmmnnnn, hope we get a couple more with her in them

[quietlyhumiliated]

Thanks, everyone, for reading along with this little intermission. This is the final chapter of this little break, and next week we'll be getting into Season 3. As always, c'mon over and check out my Patreon (link is somewhere around here) if you want either help support my writing, or if you just want to read the next few chapters of this story before everyone else.

 

 

Four: Crybaby

“He’s a nice boy,” Nancy Tamberlin says. “As sweet as can be. Still, he can be a bit much at times.”

Lyndie sits back in her chair a little, almost excited for Ms. Tamberlin to spill a little tea. “How so?”

“He’s clingy, for one. Honestly, I’m not sure if he’s just that infatuated with me or if I’m just the only person he knows all that well, so he hovers around me at all times so that he’s not alone. It can be endearing. But…he can also feel like a barnacle.”

“Is it just that he needs attention?”

“No, I don’t think so. Like, we can go for hours without talking to each other. He just needs to be around me. Honestly, there are worse problems I could have with him. But, you know, he’s just such a…”

“Baby?”

Ms. Tamberlin laughs, nodding. “Yes, exactly. It’s a miracle that he’s gone this long without wearing diapers at the office. Can you believe the boy actually survived high school and college? The other kids must’ve eaten the poor thing alive.”

“He’s a bit…soft.”

“Honestly, Lyndie, he’s a sweetheart. I just wanted to give you a heads up–he’s probably the babiest baby in this entire office.”

- - -

She knocks on his cubicle wall with just enough firmness to stir him from his deep stare into his computer monitor. He slides his headphones from his head and sets them aside.

“Oh, h-hi, Lyndie. How are you?”

“Doing well, thank you, Bradley. And you?”

“G-good, thanks.”

“What are you listening to? Anything good?”

He nervously glances towards the headphones and then the computer, as if to double check that there’s no way for her to see what he was actually listening to. “Oh, uh, just some playlists.”

“Well, I thought I’d stop by and check in on you. Y’know, see if you need to be changed or anything.”

“Oh, I’m, uh, good. Thanks.”

“I really wish I could take your word for it, Bradley. But I kind of need to check for myself.”

“N-not here, I hope…”

“Why don’t we take a little walk over to my office and we can check there, hmm?”

“Sure. Y-yeah, that sounds good.”

He rises from his chair, his pants making an unmistakable crinkling sound as he does. It’s unlikely anyone else has heard it–he’s in a remote enough area of the office. But both he and Lyndie hear the noise, and that’s enough for his face to turn a little pink. He quickly fumbles with his keyboard, trying to lock the screen–but in doing so, he pulls up his music program long enough for Lyndie to see the name of the playlist: 20 Hours of Children’s Sing Alongs.

By the time he successfully locks his computer and looks back to Lyndie, his face is even more red.

“Ready?” she asks, a little knowing smirk on her face.

“Yes…”

Lyndie never has much trouble talking to Ava and Clark. Maybe it's because, at this point, she considers both to be her friends outside of work. Whether they’re having a conversation or there’s just silence, it never feels awkward. But it's different with Bradley. There’s just so much nervous energy to him that she worries a simple question about the weather would cause him to burst into a fit of tears.

Still, as they walk to the nursery, she makes an attempt at small talk: “Have any plans for the weekend, Bradley?”

“N-not really,” he says. She waits a moment or two, wondering if he’ll have anything to add to that, but no.

“What do you usually like to do on the weekend?”

“Not much.”

She takes in a long breath through her nose, doing her best not to get frustrated. Not everyone is a talker, and it’s probably hard enough for the guy to contend with having to wear diapers in the office and having to get them checked, let alone carrying on conversations.

At the nursery, she closes the door behind him.

“Alright, mister. Let’s get your pants pulled down so I can take a look at your bottom.”

“B-but…I’m dry, I promise. Really, you don’t have to check.”

Her eyes narrow and she shakes her head. “I don’t know what it is with you babies and your insistence on lying about the state of your diapers. You’re already wearing a diaper–you’re not saving any of your dignity by trying to convince me that it’s still dry.”

“But…”

“No ‘buts.’ Just show me your diapered butt.”

He does as she asks, carefully and methodically unfastening his belt and opening his pants before shimmying them down his legs until the waistband is just above his knees. She doesn’t have to look too hard to see the telltale sag of the diaper. He’s most certainly wet.

“See?” she says. “Soaked, by the looks of it. Why couldn’t you just say that?”

Tears well in his eyes, with a single droplet managing to escape and slide down his face. “I…I’m sorry.”

“Are you…crying? Bradley, you’re not in trouble. You’re supposed to be using your diapers. I’m just here to help you take care of them.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I just…”

“I know,” she says, sighing a little as she tries to compose herself before she bursts out in laughter at the pathetic creature standing before her. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“Is it bad?” he asks, sheepishly looking down at his diaper.

“Well, it probably can’t hold much more. You don’t want to leak, do you?”

“N-no, I guess not.”

“Alright then. Up onto the changing table, let’s go.”

It’s not the first time she’s changed his diaper since taking on her new position as ‘corporate-babysitter,’ though his squeamish nature sometimes makes every new diaper feel like the first time all over again. She wants to laugh as much as she wants to grab him by the shoulders and give him a good firm shake.

No, no, you’re not supposed to shake babies.

She wonders how long it will take for him to act more like Ava or Clark, accepting diaper changes as just a normal part of their jobs. It’s a little ironic, she thinks, as Bradley seems so much more like a baby in almost every other way. She’s surprised that he wasn’t already wearing diapers when he started this job.

“So,” she says, pulling his pants down his legs, “is this really your first time wearing diapers? Here at this company?”

“Since I was a baby, I guess,” he says. “Why?”

“Oh, they just, uh, suit you.”

“Are you calling me a baby?” Again, his pouting tone almost brings her to a giggle, though she holds on tight.

“I mean…not exactly…”

“People have always called me a baby,” he says. “Or a crybaby. Or a little boy. Well, people call me a lot of things, I guess.”

His pants are off and she begins to pull back the tapes of his saturated diaper as she attempts to prod a little further. “Do you like it when people call you those things?”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to. Sometimes people are trying to be mean.”

“That’s not what I asked. Regardless of whether or not you think you’re supposed to like it, I’m asking if you do like it.”

“Sometimes,” he says, though the answer comes so quickly that he might as well have just said ‘yes.’

She separates his legs and pulls open the diaper, noticing how heavy the front of the diaper feels as she unfurls it. He must’ve wet himself at least twice in this thing.

“Did you get bullied a lot growing up?”

“I get bullied a lot now.”

She laughs. “Do you think that I’m bullying you?”

“N-no,” he says. “I just mean, like, not many people really respect me.”

She’s close to teasing that he would be a hard person to respect while his moist and flaccid penis hangs between his legs atop an opened pissy diaper, but it doesn’t seem like the time. Instead: “Do you want people to respect you?”

“Uh…”

She laughs as she draws a moist wipe from its package and begins to clean the skin in his diaper area. Smooth and hairless–she wonders if this was his own decision or if Ms. Tamberlin had insisted on it.

“Some people are just good at being doormats,” she says. “People try to say things about how everyone should stand up for themselves or whatever, but I don’t think that’s true.”

“No?”

“Gabrielle has a saying, you know? Actually, she never said it to me directly, but she’s said it to Clark a few times and then he said it to me. It’s something like: ‘There are leaders and followers. And each needs the other to exist.’ So, yeah, you’re a follower. But that’s not a bad thing.”

“Are you defending people who bully me?” he asks.

She laughs. “Oh, no, I don’t think so. Who bullies you?”

“Do you know Megan?”

She nods, though the truth is that she actually doesn’t know her all that well. The only executive assistant in this little cult who doesn’t wear diapers, though she seems to have an interesting enough story of her own.

“Really? What does she do?”

“She teases me a lot. Pokes at the bulge in my pants. Calls me a ‘crybaby.’ Or a ‘pissy-pants.’ Or a ‘thumbsucker.’ Well…she calls me a lot of things.”

It probably wasn’t the reaction she was supposed to have, but Lyndie couldn’t help but think that she now wanted to get to know Megan. She sounded fun.

“Maybe she actually likes you,” she suggests.

“Huh?”

Lyndie tucks the used wipes into the old diaper and balls it up before discarding it. She walks to the well-stocked diaper shelf, showcasing a wide assortment of large diapers in many colors and designs.

“Do you have any preferences for the next diaper?”

“No…you can choose.”

“Careful with that,” she says. “I’m always going to choose the most embarrassing option.”

He offers a slight shrug, and she responds with a shrug of her own.

“Okay, fine,” she says. “But I don’t want to hear any complaints about what I pick out for you.”

Her fingers slide across the selection of plump folded diapers on the shelf until one catches her eyes. She believes these are called ‘Princesses’–shades of light pink and darker pink with little feminine faces, tiaras, and unicorns printed across them.

“Wait, no…I’m not a girl!”

She swears that there are tears in his eyes again. “Look, buster, you didn’t want to choose, and so I chose one for you. This is the diaper you’re getting.”

“B-but, Megan…”

“Does Megan actually see your diapers?”

“Not always. But sometimes she tries to pull down my pants. And if she does it again, she…well, she’d never let me hear the end of it for wearing a girly diaper like this.”

“You think?” Lyndie asks. “I mean, maybe she’d find it a little relatable, y’know? Given that she’s also into, uh, girly things.”

“Maybe…”

Lyndie is a little curious about how Megan and Bradley interact with each other. In the scheme of things, she knows the least about the two of them–though she’s quickly getting caught up on him. It’s Megan that still remains a mystery. No diapers, but still considered to be one of the ‘sex toy’ assistants. She makes a mental note to schedule some time with Megan later.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” she says, looking at his face again as she unfolds the diapers. Sure enough, some fresh tears are rolling down the sides of his face while his lip quivers. “What are you crying about now?”

“I’m not c-crying.”

She rolls her eyes. “Are you sure about that, bud?”

“These are, uhm, tears of…happiness.”

She’s not entirely convinced of that, but chooses to roll with it anyway. “And what would be making you happy right now?”

“You,” he says. “This? Just talking and stuff.”

“Ms. Tamberlin doesn’t talk to you?”

“She does… But I don’t think she wants to, like, be my friend or anything. We only talk about business. Or how I can please her sexually. And, uh, I do like doing that for her. But…I guess, I just wish we had something deeper. Like what Ava has with Ms. Beaufort. Or what Ms. Heller seems to have with Clark.”

Lyndie is simultaneously flattered and confused by his explanation of ‘happiness.’ Is he so starved for companionship that some small talk while she changes his diaper is all that’s needed to bring him a little joy? She ponders it further as she slides the fresh pink diaper under his bottom. Maybe there is something to that–Ms. Tamberlin has often said that she had no interest in changing his diapers, and there was something admittedly intimate about this whole process. Maybe she was missing an opportunity to be bonding with Bradley.

She notices the way that he stares up at her as she shakes baby powder into his diaper. The way his cock–completely average sized, if she was to rate it–suddenly grows a little firmer under the white cloud of powder. Goddammit. This boy is probably crushing pretty hard right now. She pretends that she doesn’t notice.

“Th-thank you for doing this for me, Lyndie,” he says.

“Of course,” she responds, overly critical of her own tone and how it might be perceived. Is he going to think that I like him in the same way? She adds: “It’s what I’d do for anyone who needed their diaper changed.”

Still, there’s something about that pathetic puppy-dog look on his face that breaks through the wall of cynicism she usually prefers to stand behind. Though, if she was being honest with herself, that cynicism had started to fade a little since being invited into Ms. Heller’s surreal little world.

“What are you doing for lunch?” she asks, pulling the tapes of his diaper into place so she can seal it shut.

“I brought a sandwich from home,” he says.

She grimaces a little. She finds homemade sandwiches to be the most boring thing one could subject themselves to for lunch at the office. “What if, after you get your pants on, we go and grab some lunch together at the cafeteria? My treat?”

“Oh, I…uh, well, I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not imposing if I ask you to go with me,” she says, rolling her eyes again.

“That sounds very nice. Thank you.”

- - -

Lyndie doesn’t think about it too much in the day or two that follows. Sure, she thinks about it a little–she thinks about how it was nice to have extended a hand to Bradley. Maybe it makes him feel a little better about his place in the office, if he was having doubts about it before. Truthfully, she feels a little better about herself. Maybe this isn’t the position she ever imagined herself being in, but it feels more right to her than most anything else ever has.

And then, early in the afternoon, there’s a timid knock on the door to the nursery. She can guess who it is before she even opens it. It’s a surprise for many reasons, namely that he’s never come to her before–she’s always had to go and fetch him.

“H-hello, Lyndie,” Bradley says, hands folded in front of him as his cheeks glow a slight pink.

“Bradley, hi. In need of a change already? I thought I just took care of your soggy bottom an hour or two ago.”

He quickly leaps into the nursery, closing the door behind him so as to not let this conversation reach any ears it shouldn’t be.

“Well, no, I don’t need a change. Just yet.”

There’s something about the ‘just yet,’ that gives her pause. “So, then, what brings you by, babypants?”

His cheeks blush a little brighter at her playful jab. “I was just, uhm, hoping we could talk for a minute?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“So, like, I don’t normally do this sort of thing,” he says, running a hand through his short hair. “But I was wondering if, maybe, you’d…uhm…help me do something I’ve never done before?”

She grimaces again, imagining him pulling down his pants and holding his dick in his hand. But she decides to give him the benefit of the doubt and at least hear him out before she sends him on his way. “What, exactly, did you have in mind?”

“Well…so, I was thinking about it, right? And…I’m sure you change all kinds of diapers…”

She’s not entirely sure where he’s going with this yet, but she can’t help but crack a tiny smile. There’s something really adorable about watching this boy trying to stammer his way through whatever absurd request he has. “Uh huh.”

“And, like, I know I’ve wet my diapers an awful lot since I started having to wear them again. But one thing I’ve never done before…because, you know, Ms. Tamberlin really doesn’t like the idea of it…”

“Bradley,” she says, holding a hand out for him to stop talking for a moment. “Do you want to poop your pants? Is that what this is all about?”

“I just never have before,” he says with a sheepish shrug. “But I’d never, uhm, want to just barge in here and force you to have to deal with that.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Believe me, you wouldn’t be the first to do that.”

“So…with your permission…maybe I could…?”

Her smile grows a little as she stares down the fragile little boy in front of her. He’s refreshingly transparent–what you see is what you get.

“If you want to poop your pants,” she says, “then you should go ahead and do it.”

“A-are you sure? Because…”

“Bradley, yours wouldn’t even be the first dirty diaper I’ve seen today. Why don’t you take off your pants, relax a little. And when you’re ready, just…let ‘er rip.”

His face turns a deeper red, maybe because of her phrasing, or maybe at the fact that she’s actually allowing for this to happen. He fumbles with his belt for what seems like ten minutes before finally shoving his pants down his leg, revealing the same light green diaper she had put him in an hour or two before–he had been sure to pick his own diaper this time.

No, Lyndie isn’t normally thrilled about having to change another messy diaper. She likes the concept of a messy diaper more than she likes the actual experience of having to clean up after one. She can watch big babies filling their pants all day long, though–she’d never get sick of watching their faces scrunch as they pushed something unbelievably naughty into their diapers like they were 20-something years younger than they actually were. But changing dirty diapers is starting to feel like work. At least she gets paid for it.

But this scene that is starting to play out in front of her now, is very exciting. She’s proud of herself. She’s proud of Bradley. This, to her, feels like validation of her abilities as the ‘babysitter.’

“Go on,” she coos. “You can do it whenever you’re ready.”

“I…I don’t know if I can–”

“You do have to go, yes?” She doubts he would’ve come to her if he didn’t have to.

“Y-yes. Very much so.”

“Well?

“But…”

“But what? I’ve seen plenty of stinky diapers. And I’m asking you to do it. I’m not sure if there’s any reason to doubt yourself now.”

“Yeah. Okay…”

The boy still seems wracked with hesitation, however. She thinks she can guess why–he needs to be told to go. It doesn’t matter how long he’s been holding it or how badly he needs to go now, he needs to be told to release it all into his diapers.

She’s not immediately sure how she feels about this. Thus far, she feels like she’s been acting as the hand of the executive management team–dispensing humiliation and aftercare, but only at their request. This feels different. She doubts that Ms. Tamberlin even knows he’s here right now. And so it’s now her decision when, and even if, he uses his diaper.

If it wasn’t for the painful look of discomfort on his face, she’d be tempted to make him wait a little longer.

“I want you to poop your pants for me,” she says, hoping that the words ‘for me’ really resonate with him. “Fill your diaper.”

In the split second before his face scrunches up and he drops his load into the diaper, he looks happy. Gleeful, in fact. Maybe the happiest she’s ever seen him.

She smiles while watching him grunt, the bottom of his diaper sagging more as the sound of his mess being expelled fills the room.

I could get used to this sort of power.

“Come here,” she says. “Let’s see what you’ve done.”

He takes a deep breath, both to recover from all the energy spent in squeezing everything out of himself and into his diaper, and to brace himself for the inspection of his diaper. Once again, there’s tears streaming down his face. The pathetic little thing is literally crying like a baby because he pooped his pants. How fucking delightful.

She takes great pleasure in watching him trying to walk again–the first time he’s ever had to walk in a messy diaper. After a few awkward and uncertain steps, he settles on an exaggerated waddle in which he leaves his padded ass sticking out in the air behind him. She’s not entirely sure the analogy makes sense, but she thinks of a duckling waddling out of a pond.

Maybe not now, but eventually, she’s going to float the pet name Duckling past him and see how he reacts.

“Well it certainly smells like you filled it up plenty. But let’s take a little peak. Turn around for me?”

He does so, slowly shifting his body around so that the expanded rear of his diaper is right in front of Lyndie. She pulls open the back of his garment, seeing exactly what she expected to see–that’s quite a load.

“Turn around again,” she commands.

He does so, his cheeks more pink than she’s ever seen them before. This time she cups the front of his diaper in her hand. Once more, she finds exactly what she was expecting to find–a firm cock buried in the padding.

“What do we have here?”

“Uhm…well…”

“It feels like someone might like their stinky diaper. Is that right?”

“I…uh…”

“There’s no need to be bashful about it,” she coos. “You like what you like. What if I helped you make the inside of your diaper a little sticky?”

He moans as he begins thrusting his diaper into her hand. It doesn’t take long.

- - -

“Have you noticed anything different about Bradley lately?” Nancy Tamberlin asks, sipping from her steaming cup of morning tea.

“Different?” asks Lyndie. “How so?”

“I’d say he’s more…chipper? Exuberant? I suppose he’s never been an unhappy boy. But there's been a little extra pep in his step the last few days.”

“Interesting,” Lyndie says. She can’t help but grin a little, though she tries not to be so obvious about it.

“Maybe it’s you,” Ms. Tamberlin says, shrugging. “Maybe he just needed a little extra TLC.”

“Maybe,” Lyndie says. “But I don’t think I’ve done anything all that different.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”

Lyndie wears a goofy grin on her face as she makes the walk back to the nursery. It’s been a while since she felt like this. It’s kind of like the feeling she used to have when she was falling in love–but not quite the same. She’s not falling in love. She doesn’t see herself marrying, or even dating, Bradley. But she has power over the boy, and she can’t even begin to imagine the things she can do with that yet.

She finds a small bundle of flowers waiting for her in the nursery. No name on them, but she can guess who they’re from.

Is this dangerous? she asks herself. Am I playing a dangerous game? Playing with this silly little boy like this, someone might get hurt. Worse, he’s someone else’s little boy.

It seems like a problem for another day. For now, she’s going to think about the next time she makes Bradley squat down and fill his diapers for her.

[D503]

They were some great vignettes thanks.

Time for a cage methinks. Duckling will get too uppity otherwise.

[Daiperboy27]

Seems like someone is having fun with there new position 😄

[kirababy]

So many angles and different characters to explore in this story - enjoyed learning more about them.

[quietlyhumiliated]

Into the third season of the story we go. Thanks again for reading and providing your thoughts and feedback! It's all quite important to me.

 

Forty-Two

 

You have [one] unheard voicemail from [Annette Leiland-Ashburn].

===

Who am I?

The question came to mind as our plane began its descent onto the tarmac, marking the official end of the business trip. No more Seattle. No more Kylie. No more fancy hotel suite. Back to reality–though even reality wasn’t all that normal these days.

The brief identity crisis had been triggered accidentally–the back of my hand had simply brushed against the center of my lap, reminding me that my cock was still both locked up and contained within a diaper. In some ways, this was the entirety of my identity anymore–just an accessory in the possession of one Gabrielle Heller.

My palms grew sweaty as I dwelled on it for a few moments–the possibility that I had squandered my opportunities over the last few months. I had been doing well in school, and my hard work had earned me an internship that would’ve made others envious. I had every opportunity to learn and grow within this company–I could’ve picked up skills that I’d have used for the rest of my career.

Instead, I had managed to get myself entangled in some sort of bizarre corporate sex club. I was a cog in a strange machine now, wetting and messing diapers for the amusement of my superior. Among others.

But who was I? Was I just a little baby-doll now? I wasn’t sure that was even a bad thing, were it the case–I just wanted to know.

Ms. Heller’s–Mommy’s–hand landed on my lap at that moment, giving my thigh a gentle squeeze. Perfect timing too, saving me from falling any further down my spiral of self identity woes.

“That’s that,” she said, softly. “You had a good time, yes?”

I nodded. It wasn’t a lie–for all the humiliation I had endured while away with her, I had enjoyed myself.

“There’s plenty of work awaiting us,” she muttered. “I’ve been so busy with you the last few weeks that some work has been slowly piling up. I might actually have to start using you as an assistant.”

“Sounds horrible,” I said.

She laughed. “Ah, don’t fret too much, Baby. I’ll be sure to make plenty of time for you to get your diapers changed. Speaking of. How’s this one holding up?”

I sighed, glancing out the window again to avoid eye-contact. “It’s…not dry.”

“Elaborate on that, please.”

“I feel like I’m swimming in it,” I said. “I doubt it could hold much more.”

“Very well,” she said, smirking. “I guess we know what we need to take care of once we get off the plane, hmm?”

Not long after, my feet were on the ground again. I was home–or home-ish. I had only been gone a few short days, but so much had happened since I left town that it felt like I had been gone for weeks.

Who am I?

I was standing in the family restroom at the airport, naked from the waist down. ‘Family’ sized, my ass–this was a glorified closet with a toilet in it. Mommy was doing her best to change my diaper while I stood–something she was doing a surprisingly decent job with, given the circumstances.

“Not my best work,” she said. “But you’ll be dry until I get you home.”

“Th-thank you, Mommy.”

“You seem distracted, Baby,” cooed Mommy, pulling tight the last tape on my diaper.

“I, uh…it’s nothing.”

“Let’s not pretend that I don’t know you as well as I do. What’s on your mind, little boy?”

“I’m okay,” I said, feigning a more enthusiastic smile. “Honest. I think I’ve just been so overwhelmed the last few days that I’m just a little…”

“Exhausted?”

“Maybe,” I said, nodding. There was a lot of truth to that, even if it wasn’t at the forefront of my mind. The past weekend had sapped a bit of my energy.

She seemed to buy it–or at least she didn’t have anything else to say about it as she opened up my pants on the ground, beckoning for me to step into them. I did, and she proceeded to pull them up the length of my legs. A toddler being dressed by his mother.

“There we go,” she said. “All set. Now then, let’s get our bags and get out of here. The real world awaits.”

Soon after, we were back in Mommy’s SUV. She just started driving, there wasn’t any sort of conversation about where we were going. I hoped it wasn’t the office–though where else would she go while I was with her? I wasn’t ready for that yet. I needed time to recuperate a little. What I really needed was some alone time.

I looked down at my phone, once again seeing the same notification that was there when I got off the plane.

You have [one] unheard voicemail from [Annette Leiland-Ashburn].

I wasn’t sure why, but it made me nervous and anxious. I didn’t like voicemails–I preferred the immediacy of texts. Hell, I figured most people did anymore. Who left people voicemails these days? People who didn’t know me that well. People out of touch. People who had bad news to share.

“Uh, where are we headed?” I asked.

“Home,” she said, flashing a gentle smile in my direction.

“My home? Or…yours?”

She chuckled a little. “Oh, I bet you’d like that, huh? To see Mommy’s house?”

I had never really given much thought to her life outside of work. Outside of me. She always seemed so defined by work and myself that I just assumed that was her entire personality. I tried, for a moment, to imagine what her house would look like. I pictured a decadent mansion. Lots of windows. Everything was gold. No, silver. Everything was immaculate.

“I suppose I’m curious,” I said.

“I ought to have you come by sometime for dinner,” she said. “Though I’m not much of a cook. I’d probably just feed you jarred baby food.”

Now I was imagining myself sitting in a large high-chair in her decadent kitchen, as she spoon fed me from a jar of brown mush. My cock strained a little against my cage–I wasn’t opposed to that actually happening.

“We’re going to your home,” she said, interrupting my fantasy.

“Y-you know where I live?”

“I ordered diapers and had them sent there, remember? I know where you live.”

I tried to remember the state of the apartment when I left for work on Friday morning. Between Evan and I, he was the tidier of the two of us–but he wasn’t exactly Mr. Clean. It was safe to assume that the apartment was not in any condition for hosting Mommy. Hell, if I had a week’s notice, I would probably feel like that still wasn’t enough time to clean for her arrival.

“Oh,” was all I could muster.

“I don’t want to invade your personal space, Baby,” she said. “I’ll just drop you off at the door and be on my way.”

I really wanted to say that I liked that plan, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I felt bound by some sort of mommy/baby code of honor. As if to deny her access to my home would’ve been unspeakably rude.

“N-no, it’s, uhm, cool. You should come in. I’ll show you around.”

I couldn’t believe what I was saying. She hadn’t even asked to come into my apartment, and I was the one inviting her inside.

She laughed again, shaking her head a little. “Cool? I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you say that to me before. I don’t have to see your apartment if you’re not comfortable with it.”

I quickly fired off a text message to Evan: “Hey, out of curiosity, how clean is the apartment? Is it hospitable enough for a surprise guest?”

Again, I had been given ample space to simply tell her that I would be happier if she didn’t enter my home. But, of course, I couldn’t just take advantage of this opportunity.

“I would really like it if you came inside,” I said. I absolutely did not mean this–and I suspected she knew this too. But she craved this sort of awkwardness. She’d want to see me squirm as I allowed her into my home.

Evan: “The apt. seems fine to me. Who is coming over?”

Me: “My boss.”

Evan: “THE boss? The one who treats you like a baby?”

Me: “That’s the one.”

Evan: “Holy shit. Is it weird that I’m excited? It’s like an actual celebrity is coming to our place!”

I sighed and slid the phone into my pocket. That was not the reaction I wanted him to have had.

This is who I am. A pathetic baby who stumbles from one humiliating situation into another. This is who I was, and I wondered if it was who I had always been.

I had a new question for myself: Who was I? Before all this. Before becoming Ms. Heller’s baby. Who did I used to be? And was that any better than who I had become?

“Of course,” Mommy said, “you show me yours and I’ll show you mine. I promise to feed you jarred baby food in my kitchen now.”

I felt another pang of excitement for that. I wasn’t sure it justified the stress of her walking around my home–though I hoped that by the time she was spoon feeding glop into my mouth, I had forgotten all about today.

“Are you nervous?” she asked, filling the void caused by my silence.

“Well, uh, you know…”

“Just be honest with me, Baby.”

“It’s just that I hold your opinion of me in such high regard. And you’d be walking around my home, just judging me and…”

“Baby, I’ve watched you squat and fill your diaper. If you’re content with whatever regard you’ve earned from me then, I think you’ll be just fine if I drift around your apartment for a minute. Besides, believe it or not, I was young once–I remember that early 20s lifestyle. If you’d have seen the state of my bedroom then, you’d have spanked me.”

My cheeks warmed as I tried to imagine the absurdity of Mommy’s bare ass laying atop my lap for once. Goddamn, sometimes I really wish I wasn’t in this cage.

We were in familiar territory again. I knew these streets, and they gave me some comfort. I also knew I had a few minutes before we got to my apartment building.

Now where did I leave off? Oh, right: Who was I?

Besides the penchant for wearing–and using–diapers, I wasn’t sure if there was much difference between who I was now and who I had been before. I was a follower. Someone who had always been waiting for someone else to do tell me what I had to do.

And before Mommy came along, there was someone else making most of my big decisions for me. Someone else who I followed.

My mother–my biological mother. Annette Leiland-Ashburn.

You have [one] unheard voicemail from [Annette Leiland-Ashburn].

I stared at the notification again. It still wasn’t time to listen to it.

We hadn’t been on the best of terms the last few months. We still talked on occasion, though far less frequently than I used to. We used to talk everyday. Every single day–sometimes multiple times per day. She wanted to know what I was eating. She wanted to make sure I was keeping up with my schoolwork. She wanted to make sure I was staying active. That I wasn’t doing drugs. That I hadn’t fallen into a ‘bad’ crowd. I was often surprised that she wasn’t asking me if I had wiped my ass enough.

Then one day, not that long before my adventures with my internship began, I had decided that enough was enough. I was an adult. I had moved away and was now taking care of myself. I didn’t need her to micromanage my life for me. I told her that–or some variation thereof.

She didn’t take it especially well. She had tried to lay down a pretty thick guilt trip on me, stating over and over again that she was just looking out for my well being. For once, maybe for the first time, I held my ground until she backed off.

I did not want to hear what was on this voice mail. It was either bad news or a guilt trip, and I wasn’t in the mood for either.

“This is your building up here, yes?” Mommy asked, pointing to the large brick monolith ahead.

I nodded. “That’s the one.”

I was wondering if my little spat with my mother had contributed to my eagerness to expose my belly to Ms. Heller. I had talked a good game–an okay game, maybe–about being more independent. But Ms. Heller seemed to have shown up in my life right around the time I had a vacancy for a mother-figure in my life.

I almost laughed about it, there in the car. How could I have been so foolish as to not see this until now?

Oedipus complex, anyone?

“You do have a bathroom, yes?” she asked, a playful smirk on her face. “I know you aren’t using it, but your guests might.”

“I, uh, yeah… We have a bathroom.”

“Ah yes,” she said, nodding. “We. You have a roommate, right?”

“Mmhmm. Evan. You’re about to meet him.”

“Are there any conversation topics off limits?”

I was actually impressed that she asked–or even cared. “Well, he sort of knows…everything.”

She laughed. “Poor Baby. Is there anyone who doesn’t know yet?”

Annette Leiland-Ashburn, so far as I know. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“I’ll be nice,” she said. “I’ll only tease you a little bit in front of him.”

“I, uhm, appreciate that, Mommy.”

When she parked, I fetched my bag from the back of her SUV. My heart was pounding. I was tempted to send Evan one more desperate text, pleading for him to be ‘cool.’ I didn’t send him anything. I was the one who needed to be cool. If anyone was going to humiliate me, it’d be me.

“This isn’t a bad neighborhood,” she said, glancing around my street. “And is that a pizza place right down the street? Must be convenient for a young man like yourself.”

I was blushing again, reminded of Pizza Girl. I was almost certain that Mommy had heard part of that saga before, though I wasn’t going to volunteer the rest of that story now. Just don’t order pizza while Mommy’s visiting.

Also, I just couldn’t imagine Mommy eating pizza. I was sure she had. I just couldn’t picture it.

I lead the way into the building, guiding her through the lobby, past the mailboxes, and into the elevator. Once, in this very elevator, Lyndie had made me pull my pants down to show her my soaked diaper. I was pretty sure that one of my neighbors, Ms. Tuttleman, had caught a glimpse of my diaper. I kept that story to myself too.

And it was here, in the elevator, that I began to wet my diaper again. I wouldn’t say it came out of nowhere. It was a state I was starting to call ‘semi-conscious,’ a state where I knew what I was doing, but it wasn’t at the forefront of my mind. It wasn’t even until mid-wetting that I fully realized it was happening in Mommy’s presence. It was a heavy wetting too–everything I had been holding onto since I soaked my diaper in the plane.

We stepped off the elevator on my floor and I waddled to the front door. I was certain that Mommy knew exactly what I had done, though she wasn’t saying anything. She would, of course. Eventually.

I turned the handle to our apartment door and pushed the door inwards. Here goes nothing.

“Mm,” she hummed, smiling as she took a few long strides into my apartment. “This is a nice little spot you have here.”

Her approval was like a drug for me, and this was the hit I needed to ease my nerves. “Thank you, M-mommy.”

I hadn’t noticed Evan sitting in the living room until I had gotten the word ‘Mommy,’ tripping me up. I felt my face warm as I wondered if I’d have avoided saying the M-word if I knew he was there.

“Good afternoon,” Evan said, standing up and stepping towards us.

“This is Evan, my roommate,” I said to Mommy. “And Evan, this is my boss, er, Gabrielle Heller.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Heller,” Evan said, his hand reaching out towards her. She took it and gave it a firm and hearty shake as she smiled.

“Likewise,” she said. “You’re welcome to call me Gabrielle, if you’d like. Or ‘Mommy,’ like Clarky here.”

“Gabrielle, then,” Evan said, nodding politely.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” I asked. “Water? Uhm…I’m not sure what else we have. Orange juice, maybe?”

“Nope,” Evan said, shaking his head. “Drank it all.”

“Water is fine with me,” she said. “So long as it’s not from the tap.”

I was relatively sure we had bottles of water, I’d just need to look for them. From the living room, I could hear Mommy continuing a conversation with Evan.

“Are you a good boy?” she asked him.

“I, uh, try to be,” he said. I could hear respect in his voice, despite the awkwardness of the question.

“A shame,” she said. “You have a cute face. I bet you’d look good in a diaper.”

“That’s more of a Clark-thing, I think,” he said, laughing. “But thank you.”

I retrieved a bottle of water and waddled back to the conversation, eager to cut short this conversation before either of them said anything else that’d make me blush.

“Hrm,” Mommy said, a slightly disappointed groan as she took the bottle from me. “What’s this?”

“Uhm…water?”

“No, not the bottle, silly. You. What did you do?”

I could see that Evan was giggling behind a hand held up to his mouth. I sighed and looked down, afraid of what I might see. It was what I should have expected–major leakage. Either I had wet myself far more than I thought I did, or the standing-up diaper change in the airport bathroom hadn’t sufficiently sealed the diaper. Or both–that was certainly a possibility too.

There were wet splotches in my pants on either side of my crotch. I could only imagine what the back of my pants looked like.

“My word,” Mommy said, clicking her tongue. “Evan, is it hard living with a big baby?”

“You know something? I’m still learning just how big of a baby he can be.”

“I certainly hope you don’t have to start changing his diapers.”

“Me too,” he said.

“Well then, Baby,” she said to me. “Let’s expedite the tour a little so we can get to the bedroom and I can change your little pee-pee pants.”

“Y-yes, Mommy.”

“Actually,” she said, “why don’t you go and get all your clothes for me. Get out all your baby supplies from your bag. I’m going to finish my water and use the restroom and then I’ll join you.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

I shuffled off in my soggy, sagging, diaper and my wet pants. My face had turned bright pink, and I did everything I could to avoid looking at Evan’s face as I waddled past.

In my room, I did exactly as she asked. I unpacked the bag I had brought with me, getting some diapers, wipes, and baby powder out and ready to go. Then I shimmied myself out of my wet pants, casting them into the hamper.

I could hear her and Evan out in the living room talking again. Laughing.

Who am I?

A baby. That’s it. That’s all I am. That’s all I’ve ever been, and it’s likely all I’ll ever be.

Though that question does remind me that I have a voicemail waiting for me on my phone. I figured I might as well cap off this frustrating afternoon with more bad news.

“Hello Clark, it’s your mother. I know we’re not exactly talking right now, but I think it’s time we had a little chat to work through it. I’ve decided that I’ll be coming to see you–maybe this conversation will be better in person, don’t you think? I’m thinking I’ll come up next weekend. Please call me back. Love you.”

It was worse news than I ever could’ve imagined.

Who am I? I knew who I was–I was scared of my mother.

[Babypants]

Ms. Heller's idea of what constitutes invasion of personal space is, to put it a bit mildly, rather different from the run of the mill definition.  It leads me to wonder how a conversation between her and Mom would go.

Nice to have a long chapter to read over lunch.  Thank you.  

[littlebopeeper]

If Clark ends up in the same room with Mom and Mommy, things could get a little confusing, at least at first.  Why do I suspect that Mom will be delighted to see how her little Clarkie has turned out?  

[Daiperboy27]

Uh oh looks like there’s gonna be a Mommy to Mommy conversation while Clark is on his way for a double Mommy spanking READ WHAT HAPPENS NEXT &  FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON NAPPY CHANGE Z!!! BUH DAH DAH DUH DUH DA DA DUUH BUH DA DAH DUH DA DA DA DUH BUH DAH DA DA DA DA DUH DUN DUN DUN …. DUN DUN DUN!!!

[quietlyhumiliated]

Forty-Three

“The bedrooms of young men like yourself always amuse me,” Mommy said as she ventured into my room. “Not that I see them all that often. But when I was a little younger and had more time for dating–I had seen my share. There’s something about this aesthetic... Not quite the teenage-bedroom aesthetic of little boys who still live with their parents. But not quite an ‘adult’s’ room either.”

I grunted a little–trying to offer some sort of response, though not fully invested in this conversation either. I wanted to be. I had dreams about Mommy coming and visiting my actual bedroom in my apartment. And there she was, getting a candid glimpse at my room–before I had the opportunity to clean it up and organize it. There was a dirty pile of clothes that needed to either be washed or crammed into the hamper. A few empty plastic water bottles on my dresser that needed to be taken to the recycling bin. And I was almost positive I was catching a whiff of a stale diaper that I had left in the trash can prior to when we had left for our trip.

“This isn’t bad though,” she said, continuing her lap around the room. “I’ve seen far worse. But…” She bent over my little trash can at the side of my desk, peering into it while waving a hand in front of her face. “I’m afraid it does smell like a little baby lives here.”

Even though I wasn’t completely engaged, I had heard enough that my cheeks began to turn pink. I sighed, trying my best to set aside my anxieties about my mother’s message. I wasn’t even sure where my phone was anymore–after hearing the voicemail, I dropped it and I was pretty sure it had slid off the bed entirely. Since, I had just been lying there in my shirt and wet diaper, in a state of shock as I awaited my change.

“I’m usually pretty good at reading your facial expressions,” Mommy said as she wandered back to my bed. “But I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this one before, Baby. Have you seen a ghost? Or are you just smelling that old diaper too?”

“I-I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m a little distracted.”

“Maybe if we threw this diaper in a dumpster we’d both be able to concentrate a little more…”

“No, I… It’s not the diaper.”

She sat down on the end of my bed, gently placing a hand on my ankle. “Are you okay, Clark?”

I never doubted that she cared about me. It was sometimes easy to forget it though, amidst all the humiliation she expertly peppered into my life. But I could see sincerity in her face in that moment, and it was exactly what I needed. I took a deep breath and nodded.

“Sorry,” I said again. “I, uh, just got a message from my mother. And we don’t really talk much these days, but…” I didn’t really complete the thought, and my voice just drifted off.

“Your mother?” asked Mommy. “I’m not sure that you’ve said much about her. I hope her message wasn’t mean or hurtful.”

“No, no. Not at all. Kind of the opposite, really. We’ve had a rough few months, but now it sounds like she wants to work things out. I think.”

“Well that doesn’t seem like a bad thing, Baby.”

“She wants to come up and see me. Next weekend.”

Mommy thought about that for a beat before laughing. “Ah, I see. And you’re nervous that–what–you’ll pee your pants in front of her?”

“I know you’re joking,” I said. “But that’s exactly the sort of thing I’d do. I absolutely cannot have her find out about this. Any of this.”

Ms. Heller began to open her mouth, but instead she just clicked her tongue and shut it again. I imagine she had things to say on that. Maybe experiences she’s had, or things she learned. But just as she could read my face, I could read hers. She was holding back. Biting her tongue. There were some situations she didn’t want to insert herself into, and I respected that.

“That sounds difficult,” she finally said.

“I guess I’d be anxious enough about her coming to visit. But on top of that, I have to hide this entire weird world from her.”

“Do you think it’ll be that hard to do?” she asked.

I shrugged.

She reached for the clean diapers, snagging one of them. “One thing at a time, that’s what I always say. RIght now, let’s get your pissy diaper taken care of.”

“Y-yes, Mommy. Good idea.”

She stood up, circling around the bed so that was standing at my side. Then, her hands were on my diaper, forcefully pulling at the well-adhered tapes. I had no doubt that, from the living room, Evan could hear those tell-tale sounds.

Mommy was right, though–as she had a tendency to be. The further she got into the diaper change, the easier it was to release some of that anxiety I had been holding onto. My problems hadn’t been solved–and I had no doubt that they’d return in full force later–but this was at least a brief reprieve from them.

“I can feel the tension in your body,” she said, taking a baby wipe and slowly sliding it across the bare skin where my pubic hair once was. “You poor thing, you’re all knotted up.”

I sighed, letting myself sink deeper into my bed. I needed to start paying attention, because this moment was something I had fantasized about on more than one occasion–Mommy changing my diaper in my bedroom.

“Here’s what I’ll say about your room,” she said, looking around my room again as her hands gently massaged my pathetic chastity cage. “It’s not exactly a baby’s room, is it?”

“Well, uhm… No, I suppose not.”

“A bed? Babies can just roll right out of that. Have you considered getting a crib instead?”

“Well…”

“And if your bed was replaced by a crib, you’d probably need a place to easily have your diapers changed. So maybe you could get rid of that desk over there and replace it with a changing table.”

It was working. Whether she was being serious or not–and I honestly had no idea–I was looking around my own room now, imagining her recommended changes.

“And you need more diaper storage,” she continued. “I mean, you must be well-aware of how many diapers you go through in a day, right? And where are you keeping them now?”

“The, uhm, box in my closet?”

“I don’t care for that,” she said, shaking her head. “For something so important to a baby like yourself, why are you just hiding them away and making them harder to get to? I’m thinking you should empty out some of the drawers in your dresser. I mean, do you even wear underwear anymore?”

“N-not often, no.”

“Right. So we might as well be practical. We’ll fill those drawers with diapers. And then the big-boy underpants can be relegated to a box in the closet instead.”

Would this ever actually happen? I had no idea. But I was buying everything she was selling, and it was a pleasant distraction. Her hands–one still on my cage, while the other casually massaged my scrotum–certainly helped.

“Doesn’t that sound nice?” she cooed.

“Mmhmm.”

“Silly me,” she said, looking around the room. “We forgot one of the most important parts of a diaper change. Where’s your pacifier?”

“Oh, uh…” My face got a little redder as I tried to remember where my bag was.

“Nevermind,” Mommy said, plucking one off the top of my bedside table before sliding it into my mouth. “Found one.”

I wasn’t sure which was more embarrassing–that I had multiple pacifiers just lying around now, or that this pacifier had been sitting out in plain view on my bedside table all weekend for anyone to see. Not that I believed anyone had been in my room while I was away–Evan wasn’t that sort of person, so far as I knew. But it was just the principle of it–it was yet another step towards me just becoming a literal infant, with baby supplies just lying out in the open at all times. Maybe Mommy was onto something with her suggested room-makeover tips.

I suckled on my pacifier as I looked up at her smiling face. The latex bulb never failed to help sooth me.

“That’s a good boy,” she said, kissing my forehead. “Now then, let’s get you into a fresh diaper, yes?”

Her hand slid a little deeper between my legs, giving my backdoor the slightest tickle. It sent ripples through my entire body. I craved more. But her hand was gone just as quickly–it had been just a tease.

“Such a little buttslut,” she said. “I love it.”

For a moment, my mother’s possible trip to come see me was the furthest thing on my mind. I sucked on my paci as she pulled away the bloated old diaper and replaced it with a thick slab of padding. Aside from smelling the cloud of baby powder she shook into the new diaper, I was pretty oblivious to most of her process until she was finished–instead just enjoying the bliss of helpless infancy.

“There you go, Baby. As good as new.”

“Thank you, Mommy,” I said, pulling the pacifier from my mouth.

“Of course. But, I’m going to need you to do something now.”

“Y-yes?”

“Your room already smells like a stinky diaper. How about you take this diaper and that old one from your trash can outside to the dumpster.”

I sighed. I wasn’t thrilled about having to carry around some old diapers, but I was always a fan of being given tasks. And there was something especially thrilling about having Mommy in my own home, giving me commands on how to take care of it better.

“Yes, Mommy.”

She pulled out the wadded up diaper from the trash can and set it on the bed next to the bundled up diaper she had just changed me out of.

I slid off the bed, grabbing one of the empty plastic shopping bags I kept in one of my desk drawers–I usually kept some on hand for disposing of dirty diapers, though I couldn’t remember why I hadn’t thought to use one for the one in my trash can–and tossed both of the piss-heavy packages into it.

“Hold on, Baby,” she said as I began walking towards the door with my heavy sack of shame.

“Hmm?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Pants. I wondered how far I would’ve gotten without them if she hadn’t stopped me. Would I have walked out into the hallway in just a diaper, carrying a bag of used diapers?

“Thank you,” I said, face flushed as I grabbed my pants off the ground and pulled them up and over my thick diaper.

“Run along, now,” she said. “When you come back, we’ll say our goodbyes, as I should probably be on my way soon.”

I was practically escorted out of my apartment, bag in hand, before the door was shut behind me. It was fine. No big deal–I had taken diapers to the dumpster plenty of times before. And wearing diapers as often as I had taught me that most people just didn’t care what you were doing unless you were going out of your way to attract attention.

There was a time, not long after I moved in, when I was trying to take the stairs as often as possible. That quickly wore off. I was on the 5th floor–there was no way in hell I was walking about all those flights of steps if I didn’t have to. And in a diaper? Forget about it.

To my dismay, when the elevator opened, I found it was already occupied by a young woman. I had seen her before, maybe once or twice, but I knew nothing about her beyond that she also lived in the building.

For a second, considering my thin bag of dirty adult diapers, I was tempted to stay in place in the hallway and just wait for the elevator. But that felt too weird. This woman would take offense to that, I thought. She’d wonder if there was a reason I didn’t want to be in the elevator with her. So I stepped inside, doing my best to keep my plastic bag either at my side or behind me so she couldn’t see it.

“Hey,” she said, offering a slight nod.

“Good afternoon,” I said as the elevator doors closed. It would be a quick trip to the lobby.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you around before,” she said, shrugging. “You live here long?”

“A while,” I said, avoiding the temptation to tell her I’ve seen her before.

“Nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m Lauren.”

“Likewise,” I said, giving her a friendly wave with my non-diaper wielding hand. “It’s always nice to know the names of some of your neighbors. My name is Clark and–”

Plop.

Ding.

It all seemed to happen at once–the elevator doors opening because we were on the first floor; the handle of my plastic bag snapping; my two sodden diapers tumbling out of the torn bag onto the floor of the elevator; me looking up to see another guy, about my age, waiting to step on the elevator.

Lauren and I bent down at the same time. Bless her friendly heart, she just wanted to help me pick up what I dropped.

“N-no,” I said, frantically grabbing at both diapers. “I’ve got these.”

One diaper–the smellier one that had been lingering in my room the past weekend–was just out of my reach. I watched, as if in slow motion, her hand reaching for it. It was only when her hand touched it–she actually touched it–that she paused and realized what it was she was grabbing for. Her hand retracted and she straightened herself out. I propelled my body forward that list inch to grab it myself, and when I stood, I was clutching both diapers at my chest like they were precious gems.

I opened my mouth to say something to her. I had no idea what I was going to say. Thank you for trying? Sorry you had to see that? Touch that? It was probably for the best that she walked out of the elevator without saying anything else to me. I hoped I never saw her again.

I had no idea if the man boarding the elevator had seen what she had, and I had no intention of finding out. I plowed past him and straight out the front door, walking around the corner of the building as quickly as I could so I could toss my diapers into the dumpster. Each one bounced off the thick metal walls with a harmonic BONG. I sighed, taking a moment to compose myself in the alley where the dumpster was. I couldn’t even do the most basic task without finding a new and creative way of humiliating myself in front of a stranger.

Who was Lauren? The kind of person who’d run and tell everyone what she saw? Or would she respect a stranger’s privacy in what was, obviously, a humiliating accident?

And, you know, maybe she didn’t actually recognize the object she had touched as a diaper. Right?

I sighed again. And then I laughed. Why wasn’t I just expecting this kind of nonsense at this point? This was my life now.

It seemed as good a time as any to try and reach out to my mother. I knew Mommy was still waiting for me in my apartment, but I didn’t think this call would take long. Besides, if the conversation went south, I was already feeling pretty bad about myself–it couldn’t bring me much lower.

“Well, would you look at who decided to call his Mommy.”

It made me cringe a little, hearing her call herself ‘Mommy.’ She did that from time to time–it was a joke, I think. Little did she know, someone else in my life was using that name too.

“Hi, Mom.”

“I’m a little surprised you called back so soon, if I’m being honest,” she said. “You usually like to stew on these sorts of things for a few days.”

“I had a minute,” I said, quickly adding: “but just a minute.”

“Oh, of course. A big important boy in the city. Must be living the life, huh?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Well? You can carve a day or two out of your jam-packed schedule for your Mommy, right?”

She had to know that I hadn’t called her ‘Mommy’ in 20 years, right? If it was a joke, I didn’t completely understand it.

“I, uh…”

“Look, sweetheart, I don’t really want to take ‘no’ for an answer, okay? What I’m really asking is that you make sure your schedule is cleared so that I can come up and spend some time with my baby boy.”

Baby boy. Jesus.

This was my mother in a nutshell–effortlessly railroading me into oblivion. I should have known–her inevitable arrival was already a foregone conclusion. She just wanted to make sure that I knew she was coming.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m free this weekend.”

“Splendid. I’m thinking I’ll come up on Saturday morning. We’ll get brunch?”

It was posed as a question, but it wasn’t a question. Still, I had to pretend that it was: “Yes, that sounds good to me.”

“Perfect. Well, I’d love to chat more, but it sounds like you’re in a bit of a hurry?”

“Y-yes,” I said.

Or, at least, that’s what I had wanted to say.

What I actually said to her was: “Y-yes, Mommy.” It had come out of me automatically–a habit that had already been ingrained in me from my time spent with Ms. Heller and answering her questions.

She laughed–a sort-of girlish giggle. “Oh my, Clark. You haven’t called me that in a long time. I rather like it.”

“Good,” I said. “Great. Well, I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

“Love you, Clark.”

“Love you too. Mom.” I emphasized ‘Mom’ as much as I could–hoping to signal that I wasn’t about to make a habit of calling her ‘Mommy.’

It didn’t matter, the call had ended and my mother would walk away from that call thinking whatever she had wanted to think anyway.

I was probably right to have called her at this moment, though. If I was going to embarrass myself again anyway, I might as well have kicked myself while already down.

On my way back to my apartment, I spied Lauren standing on the corner not far from the apartment building. She was talking on her phone, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I was walking near her. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she was laughing pretty hard.

I might have been wrong, but I felt pretty confident that I knew what she was laughing about.

Back in my apartment, I found Evan and Mommy chatting again. No snide smiles or laughter this time–just mundane chatter about what Evan was doing with his life. Upon seeing that I was back, she quickly excused herself and returned to me.

“Good boy,” she cooed. “A clean baby is a happy baby.”

I had been debating on whether or not I’d tell her about my embarrassing elevator incident, and I had decided that I’d tell her. But not now–not in front of Evan. He didn’t need any more ammunition on me than he already had.

But there was something else to discuss: “My mother is coming next weekend.” I said it loud enough that Evan could hear it too.

“Ah, I see,” Mommy said. “And what do you need from me?”

I appreciated that she asked. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But I might need a little break from, uhm…this?”

She laughed, brushing my cheek with the back of her hand. “Oh, silly Baby. You won’t get a reprieve from me. If I want to keep you in diapers this weekend, then you may just end up wearing diapers while you spend time with your mother.”

I did my best to nod and not look too shaken up by her answer. But I was devastated. My heart was shattered and my guts were tied in knots. Stuck between a rock and a hard place–and I wasn’t sure which of those was ‘Mommy’ and which was my mother.

“Sure,” I said. “O-of course.”

“Very well, then,” she said. “I should be off. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“You have a good night,” she said, leaning forward to kiss my head. “Don’t be too troubled about this weekend. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Easy for her to say.

[kirababy]

why do i get the sense, that we have not seen the last of lauren.   Will Mommy bump into her on her way out?  Perhaps she is still on the phone discussing the scene she just witnessed with our hero?

[Daiperboy27]

Oohhhh this is sooo exciting either it’s going to be one of those grand reveals or he somehow makes it through (if that’s the case I would be very Impressed!). Also a little tid bit I once did the exact same thing Clark did & called my Mom Mommy out of habit from reading stories like this, wasn’t a big deal though we had a good laugh about it afterwards! 🤣

[D503]

So many possibilities...