Doing Business [Season 4] [Parts 80 + 81 posted on 5/4/2024]

[littlebopeeper]

Clark was so passive, and now suddenly he's coming out of mommy's shell.  Ava, Megan, anal self gratification.  It will be interesting to see whether dinner with mommy yields a clash of wills, or whether this was all just a flash in the pan.

One lingering question, and it's curiosity.  Are they still doing these internships for course credit in their university program?  If the latter, don't they have to do reports?  Are they doing other courses, which we are not seeing?   I ask because the idea that Clark would have the weekend free is wildly at variance with my experience in one of these programs.

[quietlyhumiliated]

On 8/22/2023 at 4:08 PM, littlebopeeper said:

One lingering question, and it's curiosity.  Are they still doing these internships for course credit in their university program?  If the latter, don't they have to do reports?  Are they doing other courses, which we are not seeing?   I ask because the idea that Clark would have the weekend free is wildly at variance with my experience in one of these programs.

Good question. I decided to let those details slip into the background for now. Lyndie and Clark are both still students. It can be assumed that whatever obligations they have to their university are being handled 'off camera.' 

We'll get back into some of the school stuff eventually, within the story itself.

[quietlyhumiliated]

Fifty-Four

Less than a day until my mother’s arrival. Not that I care anymore...

Who was I kidding? Of course I cared. I was just taking a break from caring. I’d care again later, I was sure. Hopefully well after I enjoyed my night with Mommy.

“Are you about ready to go?”

“Y-yes, Mommy. Ready whenever you are.”

“I just have a few small things to take care of before we go,” she said from behind her desk. “But it won’t be long. In the meantime, how’s your diaper?”

“It’s, uhm, not dry.” I opted to leave out the detail of how it was also ‘creamy.’ I’d file that away in the same secret folder as my night out with Ava.

“Should I send you to the nursery?”

I had just come from there not that long ago. I wondered if Thomas was still there with Lyndie.

“If you think it’s necessary,” I said, my cheeks glowing a little.

“I can’t expect Lyndie to do all my dirty work,” she said. “We can take care of this one when we get to my house. Unless you think you’ll leak before then. Or, contaminate it further…”

“N-no,” I said, shaking my head. “I think it’ll hold up.”

“Are you sure?” Mommy asked, her lips curling into a playful smile. “You’re not going to make poopies in your pants while you wait?”

I wasn’t sure if she was asking me to mess my diaper, or if she just wanted me to hear the words and be humiliated. If it was the latter, her plan was certainly working.

“I don’t think I could do that right now.”

“Aw, a shame. I was hoping I’d have to escort you out of the building while you left a scent trail behind you.”

“Sorry…” I still had no idea if she was just teasing me or not.

“I heard some interesting news today,” Mommy said, not looking up from her computer as her fingers quickly tapped away at her keyboard. Her expression had changed some–her grin had faded and she looked a little more serious.

“Interesting?” I wondered if she had found out about Thomas and Lyndie. Or Bradley and Lyndie. Or Ava and me. Or…maybe there were more secrets around here than I thought.

“You may know about this already, considering how close you babies seem to be these days.”

She paused long enough for me to swallow hard, my brain struggling to predict what she was going to reveal.

Mommy continued: “Neve informed me this afternoon that little Ava has submitted her two-weeks notice.”

My heart sank. Even though Ava had told me that this was her plan, I had still held out hope that she wasn’t going to go through with it. The knowledge that it had actually happened seemed to hit harder than if it would have been a complete surprise.

“Oh,” I said, a slight warble in my soft tone. “I didn’t know.”

“She didn’t tell you?” Mommy asked. Implication: “You aren’t close enough to know these sorts of things?”

“She…” I didn’t want to say too much, but I wanted to defend the level of friendship that Ava and I shared. “She mentioned that she might. But I didn’t think she was going to.”

She nodded. I was afraid that she’d next ask me why I didn’t tell her about it. To my relief, that wasn’t her question. “Do you know why she’d want to leave?”

“Well, I…”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said, cutting me off. “I shouldn’t ask you. This is Ava’s question to answer, not yours.”

I nodded, grateful that I wasn’t forced to answer that query.

“Does this mean that Ms. Beaufort would need a new assistant?”

“If she wants one,” Mommy answered, shrugging. “It’s not easy finding assistants who can be molded into perfect little babies.”

My face reddened again. “It didn’t seem that hard to find me.”

“You were quite the surprise, little Clarky. I just about stumbled into you in the hallway in front of my office. I don’t think we’ll ever have that sort of luck again.”

I briefly considered the possibility that there were other would-be babies in the office building. People who didn’t yet know how happy they’d be peeing in a diaper, or suckling their thumb. That red-headed girl in advertising, maybe. She had that look about her. Or that guy from IT with the glasses. I’d have been more surprised if he wasn’t dressing up in something kinky when he got home from work.

“It’ll be sad to see her go,” I finally said.

“I’m sure the two of you will stay in touch, yes? You seem to be getting closer.”

Was that an observation, or was she insinuating that she knew more than I had told her? I tried not to let myself get too paranoid about it. We were eating lunch together most days. That’s what friends do. Anyone could have observed that.

“I’m sure we will.”

“Please try not to be a pouty-puss all night,” she said, glancing away from her computer long enough to look at my face.

“Oh,” I said, not realizing how disappointed I must have looked. “N-no, I’ll be okay. I just wasn’t expecting that news.”

“I understand,” she said. “But, if you don’t mind, I’d like to distract you from all these real world problems tonight.”

My heart started beating faster. “Y-yes, Mommy. Please. That’s what I was hoping for.”

“I figured you’d be on board with that. I could use a distraction or two myself. Now then, are you going to poop yourself or not?”

“Were you serious about that?” I asked.

Her magic was already working. Ava’s departure was already being pushed to the backburner. My mother’s visit was very far out of sight. Thomas who?

“If baby’s tummy doesn’t have anything in it, I wouldn’t stress too much about it. But if you can? I’d encourage it.”

“I’ll, uhm, see what I can do,” I said.

“Good boy.”

My heart pounded as she went back to typing. In a moment, she reminded me of the building lust I was feeling just before coming to her office. The insatiable need that took me to the restroom so I could finger my ass and blow a load in my wet diaper. The diaper I was still wearing. I wondered if she’d be able to tell, later, that I had done that. Would there be traces of my sticky mess? Would the diaper smell different? And then what–I’d have to explain what I did. Because if she asked how I had managed to make my diaper so gooey, I’d probably tell her.

I tried pushing on my bowels a few times, hoping to awaken something in my digestive tract. There seemed to be no response. Probably for the best. I was slipping back into that desperate headspace again, and messy diapers seemed to push me a bit too hard while I was at work. If my recent experience with the executive team in Mommy’s office had been any indication.

I took a seat while I waited for Mommy to finish her work. Sitting in my dirty diaper set off another chain reaction of tingles and pleasurable aches. I felt another burst of pee trickle out of my cock. I didn’t even know I had to go–it just happened. It felt good–not just the extra bit of moisture added to my soaked diaper, but having been pushed to the point where I started using my diaper without thinking about it. This was exactly what I needed–to turn my brain off.

“You’re awfully quiet over there,” Mommy said from her desk. “Thinking naughty things, are you?”

I couldn’t have lied if I wanted to. “Y-yes, Mommy.”

“Good boy. Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“Oh, uhm…”

“No need to be bashful, Clarky. You should be able to tell Mommy anything.”

I should, shouldn’t I? There were things I hadn’t told her yet. I think? It was getting hard to think about those sorts of things.

“I wet myself again,” I said. “Just a little.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“I didn’t know I was doing it until it was too late.”

“Ah,” she said. “I see. Someone’s turning into a little baby?”

“Uhm…”

“Why don’t you put your thumb in your mouth and suck on it for me,” she said. “You know how to do that, don’t you?”

Oh yes. I could handle that. I nodded enthusiastically, quickly slipping my right thumb into my mouth. I didn’t have to think about sucking on it, my body automatically knew just what to do with the thumb. Any decorum I might have had was gone now, as the room filled with the noisy slurps of my suckling.

“I do love that sound,” Mommy said. “Keep it up for me, Baby.”

I did as she asked, mindlessly sucking my thumb as she finished her tasks. The longer it went on, the deeper I felt myself slipping. I was shrinking. At this rate, I’d need her to carry me out of the building.

“I think that should do it,” Mommy eventually said, standing up from behind her desk.

I felt like I was snapping out of a trance. How long had I been sitting there, wholly focused on the hypnotic rhythm of my thumbsucking?

“All, uhm, done?” I asked, needing an extra second to remember how to speak in sentences again.

“All done,” she sang. “What do you think? Shall we be on our way?”

“To our, uhm, dinner date?”

She laughed–one of those slightly harder-to-come-by laughs that felt a bit more candid and genuine. “Silly boy. Don’t think of this as a ‘date.’ Dates are all about getting to know someone. Courting. We’re not courting, right? I’m already your Mommy.”

“T-true…”

“This is just quality time. Bonding time.”

I was tempted to ask if she actually could just carry me out of the building. Had I asked–and had she been capable of doing it–I’d have happily sacrificed whatever scraps of my reputation were left with the rest of the staff in the building. Let them see who I truly was–the giant baby.

Instead, after we got our things together, I quietly followed her out of her office, through the expanse of cubicles, and into the elevator. The silence in the elevator seemed especially awkward to me–though I didn’t see any signs of discomfort on her face. Perhaps it was just me.

Still, I felt the need to break the silence: “So, uh, what’s on the menu?”

“Oh,” she said, grinning with amusement. “You didn’t believe me when I said I’d just feed you from some jars of baby food?”

“That’s fine by me,” I said. It was kind of true–I could see the act of her spoon-feeding me making up for how disgusting jarred food would be.

“You don’t have to lie, Clarky.”

“N-no, I’m serious,” I said. “I think it sounds good. Well…not good. I think I just want, uhm…” I figured I might as well just tell her the truth. “...I think I just want you to feed me.”

“That is most certainly the plan.”

“Good.”

“You’ll need a bib.”

“I don’t have a…”

“I got you a bib, Baby. You’re going to love it.”

I felt my cheeks warming–though, these days, I felt like I was blushing so much that the default state of my face was just pink. I’d be more surprised if I wasn’t feeling any sort of humiliation at all at any given moment. And I hoped such a day would never come.

Out of the elevator and back into Mommy’s SUV in the parking garage. It had been less than a week since the last time I was here–coming back from the airport. Time was strange–sometimes that felt like just yesterday. Sometimes it felt like it happened weeks ago.

The inside of the passenger-side door had a small compartment to hold things like a cup or…whatever else a passenger needed. There, at the bottom of the otherwise clean plastic cavity, was a wrapper from a piece of candy. That might have been from me–either going to or coming from the airport. I didn’t remember eating candy in her car. And so it could’ve been from some other passenger. A friend or colleague. A family member. Or…I wondered if it belonged to Hillary, who may have once sat in this very seat as Mommy took her someplace.

“Do you miss Hillary?” I asked. It was a bit more forward than I had intended for it to be.

“Hmm,” Mommy replied, the hum of someone who wasn’t expecting such a complicated question.

“Sorry…maybe that’s none of my business.”

“I wonder if it’s how a mother feels,” she said. “A, er, mother of an actual child, I suppose.” But she shook her head and groaned, not liking the sound of that either. She then started over again: “A parent knows when it’s time to let their child grow up and move on to do their own thing. I’m happy for her.”

“But do you miss her?”

“I do,” she said. “But not the baby. I miss her, as a person in my life.”

Mommy didn’t look sad–sadness wasn’t an emotion I could even picture her expressing. But there was some wistfulness in her face as she stared ahead and drove.

“Do you think that, one day, I’ll grow up?” I asked. “Move on?”

She laughed. “Clarky, I swear, you’re the cutest fucking thing.”

“But…”

“Yes, I think one day you’ll ‘grow up.’ One day you’ll outgrow your diapers, and your position as my assistant. You’ll meet some nice woman who will spank your bottom and make you happy.”

“Well….you spank my bottom and make me happy.”

She laughed again. “I think you know what I mean, Baby. Just promise me one thing?”

“Yes?”

“Do keep in touch with me when you’ve moved on. I like to see how my babies are doing.”

“Does Hillary…”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

And that’s when I saw sadness on her face. There was no way of knowing the specifics–and I certainly wasn’t going to ask–but I could easily speculate. She felt she had something special with Hillary, the same kind of special thing that she was building with me now. And then, one day, Hillary was gone–off to marry ‘some guy from Connecticut,’ as I recalled.

I was tempted to feel bad for her, but I was sure she’d be the first to tell me not to bother. Why would I feel bad for her? Because she was unmarried and had no children of her own? I was certain that she saw those as good things. No, she was living her best life with her ‘adopted children’–the ones she kept in diapers.

“I’ll always keep in touch,” I said. “That’s a promise.”

“You’re a sweet boy, Clarky,” she said, placing her hand on my lap.

I couldn’t say whether it actually came to me at that moment, or if I had come to the conclusion earlier, but just lacked the ability to put the feeling into words. But as I felt her hand on my lap, gently patting my thick diaper, I contemplated how there was the family you were born into, and the family you created for yourself. Mommy may not have been my biological mother, but in a relatively brief time, she left a mark on my life that I knew would be as important as any that Annette Lieland-Ashburn had.

And I wondered: How do I show Mommy how important she is to me?

The answer wasn’t all that mysterious. At almost that exact moment, I felt a familiar pang in my guts–that warning that, sooner or later, my bowels were going to need my attention.

As strange as it was–this was our love language.

It wasn’t hard. In fact, I’d say that it was easier than it had ever been before. I simply lifted half of my bottom up off the seat and pushed.  Almost immediately, a soft wet mound of mush was forced into my padding with a squelching SPLORP. The diaper expanded wherever it could, and I suddenly found myself sitting in the warm mess.

Mommy turned to me, laughing in disbelief. “D-did you just…”

I was tempted to apologize, but why would I? I wanted to do this. I wanted to poop my pants for her. This was what babies did, and it would now be up to her to clean me up–as a Mommy did.

“I had to go, Mommy.”

A single, joyous, “Ha!” burst from her lips and she shook her head. “Sweetheart, that smells atrocious.”

“I, uhm, did it for you.”

She laughed again, almost cackling like it was the funniest thing she had ever heard in her life. There were tears streaming down her face–happy tears, I guessed, based on how she laughed.

“Well that was a wonderful gift,” she finally said, her hand gripping the swampy diaper between my legs. “An awfully smelly one, but one that I’ll cherish regardless. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Mommy.”

“We’re almost to my place,” she said. “A diaper change wasn’t the first thing on my agenda, but I think we’ll have to make it a priority.”

I nodded.

“And a bath too,” she said, squeezing my padding again. “You’re definitely going to need a bath.”

 

Fifty-Five

I wasn’t sure where we were.

This wasn’t completely unexpected. Outside of the part of the city that held my apartment, the office, and my school, I knew next-to-nothing about the greater area. I didn’t grow up around here. I don’t have a car. I have no reason to be outside of my little bubble.

And so here, in the driveway that leads to the McMansion that Mommy called home, I’m unsure if we’re in the city, the suburbs, or if we’re in another state. All I knew is that I was here, and here was where Mommy promised to change my absolutely obliterated diaper.

“We’re home,” she sang.

I’m tempted to over-analyze the fact that she didn’t just call it her home. ‘We’re home,’ almost implies…it’s our home?

I’m pretty sure that I’m overthinking it and I allow the thought to slip away. It’s not hard–the stench of my loaded diaper is so thick in the car that it’s hard to think about much else. Not even opening the windows seems to have helped all that much.

The garage door lifted as we approached it, and after the SUV entered, the door closed–seemingly by itself, as I didn’t see her press any buttons within the car.

“Is…your car going to smell like this for a while?” I asked as she unbuckled her seatbelt before reaching over and unbuckling mine for me–as if it was something I wasn’t capable of handling on my own.

She nodded. “Probably.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said, smiling. “Such is life with a child. I have a friend–Rachael–and her daughter has been out of diapers for two years. I swear, her car still smells like a dirty diaper.”

“Maybe Rachael is pooping her pants too,” I awkwardly joked.

“That’s a good point. Maybe I’ll ask her next time I see her.”

“I…I wasn’t being serious…”

She shrugged, “Better yet, I could have you ask her if she’s pooping her pants. Preferably while I have you on your back and your own dirty diaper is getting changed.”

I felt like I should’ve seen how easily she could’ve turned that joke around on me. But now, my caged cock was pulsating as I thought about that scenario–getting my diaper changed in front of her friends while they pointed and laughed at me.

I hated that I wanted that so badly.

“Seriously though,” she said. “Sweetheart, you need to get out of the car. You smell horrible.”

“Oh, right,” I said, shaking my head as I was pulled out of my daydream.

She laughed to herself as she walked around to my side of the SUV, helping me out of the vehicle like I was an actual toddler. I didn’t stop her–in fact, I actually found myself using her body to support me like I needed the help.

“Did you like that little scenario?” she asked. “Getting your diaper changed in front of my friends?”

“Uhm…” I was tempted to just not answer, but I needed to know: “How did you know?”

“I can read you like a book, Clarky. Mind you, it’s not a very complex book. Lots of pictures. But just say the word and I’ll give Rachael a call. Maybe Josephine or Alanah. Hell, I could probably get Neve down here too if I asked.”

I had no idea if she was bluffing or not. I hoped that she was–I couldn’t imagine her friends being ecstatic about watching a grown man get his poo cleaned out from his bottom. Though, with Mommy, one could never really tell.

I figured it’d be best if I played it safe: “No, Mommy. I don’t think so.”

“Aww, a shame,” she cooed. “Maybe next time. Alright then, come along, Stinky. Let’s get you cleaned up.

While the car had been in motion, I had convinced myself that I was doing everything I could to minimize the spread of my mess in my diaper–doing my best to stay on the side of my ass so I wasn’t just sitting directly on my load. But as I waddled around in the garage, it seemed like my efforts hadn’t done all that much. The padding felt plastered to my skin now by a thick and sticky layer of my own mess. It felt disgusting, but it also felt deliciously naughty.

I took a moment to look around the garage. I could see this being the theme for the night–scanning everything thoroughly in an attempt to learn more about who Mommy was outside of work and when she was by herself.

For one–it was immaculately clean. I thought about most of the garages I had ever been in my life–the garages of friends and family members, mostly. Maybe never ‘grungy,’ but there was always this worn-in quality to them–spaces where work was happening. Things got fixed and built in garages. The things that got stored in garages were the things you didn’t bring into the house. It was a place for tools and muddy boots.

But Mommy’s garage almost felt entirely unused. There were things here–plastic storage bins neatly arranged on a shelf, a bicycle hanging from hooks on the wall, and there was a plastic kayak leaning up in the corner. Either she didn’t use the garage much, or she was just extremely fastidious about its appearance.

“Come, Baby. Let’s take care of your bottom before you start to overflow.”

I waddled to her side and she opened the door that led into her house. At once, there was just so much to see and take in. Coupled with the sensation of being towed behind Mommy by the hand while my diapers smelled and sagged, I was feeling overwhelmed to the point where I just couldn’t focus on much.

“It’s so big,” I said. The most basic observation possible, but I felt like I had to say something.

“Too big, probably,” she replied. “When you get power and money, you start thinking that you need the biggest and best version of everything. But I only use, like, three or four rooms in the house. I feel like there’s rooms I only step into once or twice a year.”

“Seems like a, uhm, good problem to have.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps. And, you know, there’s rooms that have purposes–I just haven’t had reasons to use those purposes yet.”

I was curious. “Oh?”

“I’ll show you. Soon. First things first, let’s get you out of these silly adult clothes. There’s no reason to pretend you’re a big boy now.”

“Even my…”

“Anything that’s not your diaper should be removed,” she said. “Would you like some help?”

I nodded, though I didn’t want help–I needed it.

She was already pulling at my clothes before I finished nodding–clearly already aware that I couldn’t handle this on my own. My button down and tee were the first to go, pulled up and over my head before being set aside. Next, she lowered herself to my feet and began untying my shoes. Looking up, and seeing that her head was level with my caged cock, she giggled to herself.

“Is this hard to watch, Baby? Mommy being so close to your dicklette, and yet you’re all locked up and rendered useless?”

“Y-yes, Mommy.”

“Well, even if you weren’t locked up, I doubt I’d be putting my mouth on that thing now. It smells even worse down here than you think it does.”

“Oh…”

“Are you a smelly little baby?” she cooed to me in a tone that was equal parts condescending and sugary-sweet.

“Uhm…”

“Go on,” she said. “Tell Mommy that you are. I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m a smelly baby,” I said to her in a hushed tone, cheeks bright red.

“Oh, come now. I know you can do better than that, Clarky.”

I had been on the verge of slipping into that infantile headspace since I loaded my diaper in her car. And as each bit of clothing had been stripped of my body, I found myself getting closer and closer to just succumbing to it altogether.

“I…made poopies in my diaper, Mommy.” It came from my mouth much easier than I had expected it to. Even the tone felt perfectly juvenile.

“Aww, you sure did, Baby. Let’s get these pants off so we can have a closer look, huh?”

I nodded as she unbuckled my belt and pulled my trousers down my legs. I stepped out of them once they reached my ankles–leaving me in only my abused diaper.

She was on her feet then, orbiting me so that she could pull open the back and take a look in. But just the act of pulling the diaper away from my waist seemed to indicate the extent of the disaster contained within. It took a good tug to actually pull it open, and I could actually hear the sound of it peeling off my ass.

“Wow,” she said. “Another for the record books. Actually, I’d like to take a few pictures of this.”

“W-wait..”

Snap. Snap. Snap. I could hear the sound of her phone’s camera as she held open the back of the diaper.

“Don’t worry yourself,” she said. “These are for Mommy to look at later.”

I wanted to believe her–I think I did believe her. But now these pictures existed, and they existed in a place that I couldn’t control them. It made me nervous…but it also made me a little excited.

“On your hands and knees, Baby,” she said. “Before we do anything else, we need to get you cleaned up. Follow me.”

I was on the ground in an instant. Crawling behind her, in this entirely new-to-me place, made me feel infinitely small. From this angle, everything looked enormous and alien. I didn’t know where I was, or where I was going. All I really had was Mommy as an anchor point. I just had to follow her slender legs.

“We’re going to go up the steps,” she said, pointing up a large flight of hardwood steps. “If you need to, you can hold Mommy’s hand.”

I immediately reached up and grabbed her hand. Step by step, she slowly led me towards the next floor. By the time we reached the top, my balance was a little out of whack and I tumbled backwards onto my ass with a sticky-sounding SPLORP. Mommy just laughed and shook her head.

“You’re just a helpless little thing, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, Mommy.”

“Come along,” she said, pulling me by the hand up and off of my ass. “Just a little further, baby.”

Were it another time, and if I was here under a different context, maybe she’d be giving me a tour of our house as we traversed it. She’d point to each door that we passed and describe the purpose of the room. Maybe she’d have little anecdotes about furniture, or how a room ‘came together.’ But those discussions would be for adults. Not babies like me. Nobody talked to toddlers about the feng shui of a room.

It wasn’t until I noticed that the polished hardwood floors of the hall gave way to colder stone tiles that I realized I had followed Mommy into a new room. A bathroom, and a rather spacious one at that. A glass walled shower stood in one corner, while a large tub sat in the opposite. No amount of infantile headspace could keep down the excitement of my inner-apartment-dweller, who couldn’t believe that someone would have both a shower and a bathtub instead of an all-in-one unit shoved into a cramped bathroom.

“On your back, little one,” she cooed.

“But…” The tiles were already cold on my hand. I couldn’t imagine how they’d feel on my back.

“If you can withstand the discomfort of a full diaper, I think you’ll survive my chilly floor.” She was turning the bath water on as she spoke, and I could already see wisps of steam rising from the tub. “Besides, you’ll be warm soon enough.”

I rolled over onto my back, automatically assuming the ‘diaper-change’ position–legs splayed and slightly lifted off the ground, as to give Mommy all the access she needed to my diaper. The floor was every bit as cold as I expected it to be, and I felt myself twisting and contorting as I tried to acclimate.

“I’ve seen a number of your dirty diapers by now,” she said, kneeling down between my legs. “But this might be the first that I’m a little nervous about.”

Were I of a more ‘adult’ headspace, I’d have likely agreed. As it was, I just kicked my feet playfully, needing her to touch my diaper. Needing her to touch me.

She methodically pulled each tape back with a RRRRIP that echoed through the bathroom.

“Let’s see what we got here, hmm?”

She opened the sides before carefully grabbing the front of the diaper, slowly pulling it towards her. I couldn’t stand to look–I had to close my eyes.

“Oh my,” she said. “This isn’t just a disaster. This is…art. This is a masterpiece.”

I was proud of that.

Snap. Snap. Snap. The sound of more pictures being taken. I couldn’t help but get excited by that sound once more. The sound of more moments taken from me that I would no longer be able to have any control over. It felt like such an honor to have pictures of my filthy ass and open diaper taking a small bit of storage in Mommy’s phone.

“As tempting as it is to just dunk you into the tub, I think you’d just be a stinky tea bag in there–you’d cloud that water up immediately. We’ll have to clean as much of this up as we can before I toss you in the tub.”

Sure, whatever. I was just along for the ride. She could do anything she wanted to.

For the next few minutes, I just laid back and let it all happen. I could feel the swipes of the moist baby wipes as she cleared my skin, one small area at a time. Eventually, I realized that my thumb was in my mouth and I had been suckling on it. This realization didn’t stop me–if anything, it caused the suckling to intensify.

I was consumed with want. Need, maybe–though I could no longer find the line that separated the two. I simply…desired. It was a burning throughout my body. It was an ache in my crotch. A hunger in my tight asshole. I didn’t care what it was–she just had to give it to me.

“Hngg,” I moaned as her fingers stroked my backdoor.

“Mommy hasn’t forgotten what you like. Does baby need some attention down there?”

“Yeth,” I muttered, pathetically through my thumb. “Yeeetttttthhh.”

She giggled again, letting the next stroke her fingers slip in a tiny bit deeper. It sent tremors through my body.

“Now, now. I shouldn't overstimulate you. You just got here, and we have a whole night ahead of us. Can’t have you dripping out of your cage now, can we?”

Honestly, I was surprised I hadn’t yet exploded. These days I was worried that a gentle breeze could get me to spurt in my diaper.

“Oh, well, you are dribbling a little,” she said, wiping off the tip of my cage. “But just a few droplets.”

“Uhhm,” was my only response–a meaningless moan that served only to try and release a little bit of the pent up sexual steam I had collecting inside of me.

“That should do it,” she cooed. “Come, Clarky. Give me your hand. Let’s get you into the tub.”

She helped me up and escorted me to the enormous white tub, which not only looked to be filled with hot water, but with a thick layer of bubbles sitting atop it.

“What baby doesn’t like a bubble bath?” she said, likely catching the delight on my face.

While I was sure that I had experienced a bubble bath in my life before, I simply had no memory of it actually happening. I had no idea how badly I wanted to splash about in the big foamy bubbles until now.

“In you go,” she said, playfully slapping my bottom. “One leg at a time.”

The hot water would’ve likely surprised me no matter what. But after crawling around in only a diaper–any after my time spent on the cold tile floor–it felt like dipping my legs into molten lava. I watched the water carefully, curious to see if it’d turn red with blood as my legs dissolved into nothing. They didn’t, thankfully. And by the time my feet were at the bottom of the tub, I was finding immense comfort in the hot water.

“That’s it,” she encouraged. “Now go ahead and just sit down.”

The bathtub was even bigger than I had realized. The deeper I sank, the more room I realized I had. There was more than enough room for Mommy in the water as well. Hell, there was probably enough room for Mommy and her friend Rachael. Or Neve. Or Lyndie. Or Ava. Or Megan. Or…

That sense of desire was just so overwhelming. I could barely think straight.

“Oh I wish I could join you,” she said. She had to have been reading my mind. “But I just don’t think I want to sit in baby’s dirty water. Maybe another time.”

“Mmmmf.” A disappointed grunt.

“But don’t you worry. I’m still here to wash you up,” she said.

In this world that we had created, everything was a tease. Every move we made, everything we said–it was all to get a rise out of someone. Sometimes ourselves. And I suppose that’s why this bath felt so different. I was just a little boy in a tub of foamy water, and she was simply taking a washcloth and gently running it over my skin, one area at a time. I supposed that there was some inherent element of sexual tension to it–just given the roles we had adopted–but the moment didn’t actually feel all that sexual. It just felt nice. A mother giving her child a bath.

“I’ve been wondering if I owe you an apology,” she said, squeezing the wash cloth above my back so that hot water trickled down my exposed skin.

This seemed to coax me out of my little headspace a bit. “How so?”

She sighed. “Someday, you’ll be paying far too much money to a therapist to try and understand this part of your life.”

“Therapy is good for you,” I offered. “And maybe I’ll be working for a company with good benefits and my co-pay isn’t too bad.”

She laughed, rubbing my back with the palm of her hand. “You’re in the prime of your life, Clarky. And I’m keeping you in diapers for it.”

“I’m happy,” I said, nodding. “Stressed some days. But happy.”

“Hrm,” she hummed to herself.

“Mommy, are you happy?”

“Sometimes,” she said. The answer came so quick that it felt a little more honest than she had intended. She laughed to herself, as if she realized that she might as well elaborate now. “I would say I’m happy most of the time. But happiness isn’t really something you should measure with quantity. The quality of that happiness is important.”

“Do I…not make you happy enough?”

She leaned forward and kissed me on the head. “You make me plenty happy, Clarky. You’re too good for me, if anything.”

“What would make you happier?”

“Oh, it's probably not too hard to see. Just look around my big empty house. Look at my empty ring finger. The lack of framed pictures of spouses and children here or in my office.”

It felt like a silly question, but one I wanted to ask anyway: “Do you want those things?”

“I’m honestly not even sure anymore,” she said. “That’s the worst part. I can daydream about finding the perfect husband and having the perfect kids. But the reality is that most men aren’t all that great. And children? That feels exhausting.”

“How about me?” I asked, hoping my tone sounded as playful as I wanted it to be. “Aren’t I a good man? And a good baby?”

“You’re certainly the exception,” she said, nodding. “But that’s only because I’ve been raising you right.”

“Maybe you just haven’t met the right guy yet,” I suggested.

“We’re running out of time for him to show his face,” she said.

Then, she stood up and began to peel off her top. I opened my mouth, ready to ask what she was doing–but decided to just wait and watch. Just as she had stripped me of my clothes not that long before, she methodically removed all of her clothing, revealing more and more of herself until she was completely nude.

I could never get enough of that view. She looked resplendent. A goddess.

“Fuck it,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

She spun on her heel and left the bathroom. It was a pleasure to watch her move while in the nude like this. Her limbs just seemed to glide effortlessly, like a well-oiled machine. A minute or two passed once she left, and then she was back, with a few items in her hand that I couldn’t make out. She placed them on the far edge of the bathtub before stepping into the water herself.

“Room for one more?”

I slid back in the tub, though there was already more than enough room for her. One leg at a time, she eased herself into the water before sitting down at the bottom, the water consuming her body before resting just below her voluptuous breasts.

“Let’s have some fun tonight,” she said, grasping the items from the edge of the tub. She held them out towards me in her hands. “But you don’t have to make a choice tonight. We can enjoy both of these things.”

“What are these?” I said, pointing to the small red objects that looked like candy.

“Edibles,” Mommy said. “Though if you’re not a fan of cannabis…”

“No,” I said, nodding. “That sounds good.”

And the other object in her hands–well, I knew what that was.

It was the key to my chastity cage.

______________________________________

Hello, dear reader. Just a reminder that I also operate a Patreon, where I share new short stories every week--stories that aren't available anywhere else. And, if you like the story that you're reading here, you may be interested to know that the next 5 chapters of Doing Business are available on my Patreon right now - accessible before they're posted anywhere else. No pressure, of course. But your support does go a long way in making stories like this possible.

[Babypants]

Two chapters for the price of one!  Thank you.  It's hard to believe that she daydreams about the perfect husband and perfect children.  They don't exist, and she is surely old enough to know that.  From a distance, she looks like a woman who doesn't know how to compromise, and that would be a fatal flaw in any relationship.  Does she have a sufficient sense of her own character flaws that she is consciously avoiding entering a relationship that she is too immature to make work?

She's an interesting woman all the way around-- and if Clark had his head in the game, he would be drawing some important conclusions from the state of the garage.     

[christi]

Nice addition and I really like where this seems to be heading.  Thanks for sharing.

[littlebopeeper]

I'm beginning to feel sorry for Ms. Heller.  What you have described here isn't a home because there's no love.  It's just a place to change her clothes for another day at the office.  The empty rooms and the sterile garage read like a metaphor for an empty life.  For all of her success, she has made a lot of bad choices.  Hope Clark is able to help her change her priorities.

[aldl4811]

Oh heck yea, love the ending of this one!

[quietlyhumiliated]

Fifty-Six

I reached out to grab the key from her hand, but she was quicker than I was, and her fingers clasped around it tightly as she pulled it away from me.

“Nuh-uh,” Mommy said, shaking her head as she grinned. “I’ll let you have that when you’re good and ready for it.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Mommy, I’m very much ready right now.” I was tempted to continue–to explain that I’ve considered myself ready since she had first locked my cock up–but I assumed she knew this already.

“You’ve waited this long,” she said. “What’s just a teeny bit longer?”

Under the water, her soft feet were between my legs, one on either side of my cage. They gently batted at my balls like she was a kitten, playing with a ball of yarn. I liked this too, of course. If she just wanted to play with my testicles with her feet for a few more hours, I was down for that.

We had each taken one of the edibles just a few moments earlier. It was like a piece of gummy candy, but the taste wasn’t what I was expecting. It tasted like, well, weed–with a hint of cherry, perhaps.

It probably wouldn’t be much of a surprise to anyone if I said that I had limited experience with cannabis in any form. I imagined that if anyone else had approached me with an edible and asked me to just take it, I’d have a long list of questions and concerns. But I trusted Mommy’s judgment, and I downed the thing without any hesitation.

“It’ll take a while for its effects to kick in,” she said.

“How will I know when–”

“You’ll know,” she said, interrupting me. “In the meantime, maybe we just enjoy the warm water and bubbles.”

“Uhm…Mommy?”

“Yes, Baby?”

“Before? When you were, uh, washing me? I couldn’t help myself and I, uh, peed in the tub. Just a little bit.”

“Ha!” She kicked her head back and seemed to sink a little deeper into the water. “I thought you might. Well, would it delight you to know that I’m peeing in the tub…right now?”

“R-really?”

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, Mommy,” I said, likely sounding a bit too excited. “I don’t mind at all.”

“I figured as much.”

Did the water actually feel warmer? No, that seemed impossible, though I had it in my head that she somehow did just increase the temperature with just her pee. Still, it was a delightful thought–that both she and I were marinating in the tub together. Soaking in each other’s piss.

“Mommy, may I ask you another question?”

“Mm,” she moaned towards the ceiling. “Of course, Baby. What is it?”

“Who was your assistant before Hillary?”

“Ah, that would have been Stuart.”

“Was he a good baby?”

Mommy scoffed. “No, not really. The little sneak would always try to take off his diapers. I used to have to wrap a layer of duct tape around his waist after putting a fresh one on him. Made changing him an absolute chore–but it was the only way I could make sure that he kept them on long enough to use them in the first place.”

“What happened to him?”

“It was a mutually agreed upon separation, I believe. He was interested in furthering his career, and I was just about exhausted from all the spankings I had to give him.”

“Does he keep in touch?”

“For a short time he did, yes,” she said. “We drifted apart. I didn’t take it personally. Life happens, you know? Everyone grows up a little, and the things that used to mean a lot to you suddenly don’t seem as important.”

I’m tempted to dig a little deeper. Who came before Stuart? Who came before that? But I don’t know what good any of those answers do me. One day, I’ll be just another link in that chain. Someone else might one day be asking Mommy to tell them about me.

“I like that you take an interest in me and my past,” Mommy said to me.

“I want to know everything about you.”

“Everything? Oh, there’s probably a few things about me you don’t need to know.”

I shrugged. “It’s all been interesting so far.”

“Why don’t you tell me something about yourself, Clarky. Something I don’t already know.”

“Oh, uhm…” I wondered if I had anything interesting to share. I racked my brain, but couldn’t come up with much. At best, I could talk about how I cheated on a history test in middle school by writing down all of my notes on an incredibly small piece of paper that I kept in my shirt sleeve. Somehow, I doubted that was the sort of thing she wanted to hear.

I considered telling her about my time with Ava the night before. But I opted to keep that to myself for just a little longer.

“Is it that hard to think of an interesting fact about yourself?”

“It’s harder than it should be.”

“That’s one of the reasons we’re together,” she said. “I’m giving you experiences. Someday, someone you care about will ask you to share an interesting story about yourself. And you can regale them with the tale of how you and your Mommy shared a bathtub full of pee.”

“Well…the bathtub isn’t just pee.”

“Sure, sure. But the person you tell this story to doesn’t know that.”

“That might be too much pee,” I said. “Even for me.”

“You think? Because it sounded like a fun idea to me. If I ever make the pee-tub a reality, you’re saying you won’t join me for a dip?”

I laughed, unsure if this was a joke or if she was serious. “I suppose I’ll make up my mind when I see it for myself.”

“I’ve seen your work, Baby. You talk a good game. But when a tub of my pee is in front of you, your eyes will grow big and you’ll dive in–headfirst.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” I said.

“I do love when you’re cheeky.”

The conversation slowed a bit after that. Her legs remained between mine, and it felt good just to be touching like this beneath the water. Between the soft lighting of the bathroom, the stillness of the bathwater, and the perfect quiet of her home, I felt myself being lulled into a near-catatonic state.

It was hard to say how long this lasted. Minutes, maybe. But suddenly the water seemed a lot cooler than I remembered it being, and I suspected that I must’ve drifted off for a little bit.

Mommy, on the opposite side of the tub, was opening her eyes too. A smile was spreading across her face.

“How are you feeling, Baby?”

“I feel…” Before I could say the word ‘fine,’ I realized that the world was starting to look a little different around me. Everything seemed…further away? But when I focused on any single point in the room, I felt like I could draw it closer to me with my mind.

This must be that edible, huh?

She laughed–this girlish squeal unlike anything I had ever heard from her before. “Are you feeling what I’m feeling?”

“I think so.”

“We should get out of the tub,” she said. “It’s getting cold. And we’re going to turn into little prunes.”

I realized that, at some point, my legs had become entwined with hers. I pulled my legs away, allowing for both of us to stand up. I couldn’t help but blush again, seeing her phenomenal body glistening before me while my boyish husk stood there with a cage dangling in front of me.

“Do you think I need a diaper?” I asked.

“Are you going to poop in my bed?”

“No…I doubt it.”

She laughed again, another girlish giggle that felt a bit more candid than I was used to.

“A shame,” she said, finally composing herself after a moment or two. “Wouldn’t that have been fun?”

I couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not.

“We’ll go to my room,” she said.

“Please.”

“I’ll unlock you, and you’ll have to fuck me.” Even the way that she was talking to me felt different. I wouldn’t say that it was any more commanding than it usually was–but it felt more direct somehow. Like we were on an entirely new wavelength together, a place where only she and I existed, and this was just how we talked to each other here.

“Of course.”

“And then I’m going to give birth to you,” she said, nodding. “And you’ll officially be my baby.”

I had no idea what that meant. But in my slowly-building haze, it was still the greatest idea I had ever heard.

“Y-yes please.”

“Come, follow me.”

I have no fucking idea where we are, and no idea where we’re going. She’s holding my hand tightly and pulling me behind her. Her energy feels so different. It’s not bad, and it’s not even ‘better.’ I find it to be thrilling. I wonder if she sees me any differently.

I find myself focusing on random details of her home as we pass by them. There’s a painting on the wall–something abstract with big blocky splotches of green and purple paint. I felt like I got it. I couldn’t put the feelings into words, but I felt like I could comprehend the emotions the artist was trying to convey. Something about the duality of society?

“Are you okay, Baby?”

“This painting…”

She laughed and put her hand on my shoulder. “Try not to get too lost in that one. I just bought it because it looked cool.”

My eyes followed the wood grain patterns on the floor as we walked.

“Are you still here with me, Clarky? Are you still on Earth?”

I laughed. “Yes. It’s just a slightly different version of Earth from the one I’m used to.”

“Is it better or worse?”

“Better, I’d say. Is the real Earth this pretty?”

She laughed, squeezing my hand a little tighter. “You are such a delight, Baby.”

I don’t feel incapacitated in any way, shape, or form. I don’t feel like I’ve lost any agency or that the wrong senses have been dulled. Perhaps, if any of those things were true, I wouldn’t know. But I felt confident that Mommy’s treat hadn’t impeded me–it had just enhanced everything.

Another thing I was trying to adapt to was my lack of a diaper. I had been wearing them so often that it suddenly felt strange to go without. Had it really been that long since I had moved around this much without wearing a diaper? My legs had fully acclimated to walking while factoring in the added bulk of padding. Now, I was back to walking awkwardly–my legs unsure of what they were supposed to be doing.

“Come,” she cooed to me, ushering me into a room.

The bedroom was stunningly simple. The massive bed was the centerpiece of the room, and there was little else in terms of furniture. I assumed that some of the doors here went to walk-in closets–some of which, I was willing to bet, were larger than the room I slept in at night.

“I can admit they’re impractical,” Mommy said, plucking one of the many decorative pillows off the top of the bed. “But I do love the way they look. How basic of me.”

“You take them off the bed every night?”

She chuckled to herself, almost like she was just realizing the absurdity of that herself. “Not every night. They’re usually only on my bed twice a week–the days that Marnie comes by.”

“Marnie?”

“She stops by twice a week to clean for me,” she said. “A cute girl–about your age. I’d love to see her in a diaper too, but she doesn’t strike me as the type who’d like it.”

I wondered if this was how Mommy looked at everyone–instantly deciding whether or not she wanted to see them in a diaper.

“I had this sinful thought the other day,” Mommy continued. “How naughty would it be if Marnie was to catch me wearing a diaper?”

I felt second-hand embarrassment, and my cheeks blushed for her. “That’d be, uhm, quite naughty.”

“I’d never do such a thing, of course,” she said, shrugging.

I doubted that, just a little. This was the same woman who dragged me to a restaurant with a vibrator in my ass. And the same woman who made me walk around the office in a dirty diaper. Still, I hoped that was a hard limit for her.

There was still something I wanted to follow-up on, though. “Do you want to wear a diaper, Mommy?”

“I didn’t think I did,” she said. “But I’ve been thinking about it since I brought it up in Seattle.”

“You should,” I said, nodding. “It’d be really, uh…” I stopped myself, nervous that I was sounding far too enthusiastic.

“It’d be what?” she asked, a teasing smile on her face as she continued to take the decorative pillows from the bed. I wondered if she had a place where she put them, but to my surprise, she was just tossing them in a pile on the floor.

“Cute. It’d be, uhm, cute, Mommy.”

She laughed. “Noted.”

Mommy threw herself onto the bed, her ravishing body landing on her side–a pose that felt ripped out of a porno-mag. I still couldn’t believe the version of Mommy I was seeing tonight. So frisky and spirited.

“Come here, little boy.”

I crawled up onto the bed, wiggling my way over to her. Her other hand–the one that hadn’t been pulling me to her bedroom–remained tightly closed, I noticed. It was still holding the key.

“Do you want this?” she asked, holding her hand out towards me.

“Y-yes, Mommy.”

“How badly do you want it?”

I couldn’t even use words to express my want, and I just sighed as I shook my head.

“I have a feeling you’re going to cum rather quickly,” she said.

“M-maybe…”

“I won’t be mad if you do, Baby. The question is: Where would you like to be when your stiff little cock finally gets to explode? Do you want to be in my mouth?”

I felt tingles throughout my body as I tried to imagine what that would even be like.

“Or…do you want to be in my pussy when you erupt, Baby? Maybe my tight little asshole?” She laughed to herself upon saying this, like it was so naughty of an idea that she couldn’t even contain herself. “Let’s not be silly, of course. Your cream would be all over the place by the time we actually got you in the backdoor. A goal for another time, perhaps.”

“Uhm…” I truly had no idea how to respond. Did she actually expect me to say what I preferred?

“First things first, let’s unlock this little cage.”  She reached towards me, grasping the bundle of my caged cock and my balls with one hand while her other slowly approached with the key.

Thisishappening. Thisishappening. Thisishappening.

The room was so silent that I could hear every groove of the key slip into the lock. Click, click, click, click. All she had to do now was turn the key. My body became infinitely still and I held my breath. My ability to continue living required her to turn that key.

But then she began to pull it out of the lock. Click, click, click, click.

“I’m just teasing,” she said, flashing me an enormous grin. “You should see the look on your face.”

The key went back in. And then, one final noise as she turned it. Ch-chunk.

“Hold still, Baby. Let Mommy get this completely off of you.”

I could feel myself growing already, and by the time the cage was free from my body, I was already fully erect. And it felt…alien to me. I had reached a level of complacency with chastity where I no longer really felt my penis anymore. It was just sort of there, buried in stainless steel. Pleasure and arousal were defined by a general aching in my groin, and I had begun to forget what erections were even like.

I remembered now. Oh Lord did I remember. It was like having a limb reattached after having gone without for a long time.

Oh wow, I remember feeling this way.

“Wasting no time I see,” she said, the back of her hand petting my shaft.

“I…I want you, Mommy.”

“I know you do, Baby. But do you think I can trust you to please me first? If I sit on your face, do you promise not to just spurt everywhere when you begin to taste me?”

I wasn’t sure I could make a promise about that. And yet I answered: “Of course, Mommy.”

“Very good. On your back, then. Open wide.”

And then she was on my face. She’d been here before, of course–I knew just what to do. Perhaps I knew too well, as I let my mouth go into autopilot–licking and slurping from her body. The last time I had done this, I used both of my hands to support her atop me. This time, however, I was attempting to do the job with just one hand, as I let my other grasp at my firm cock. I didn’t want to do anything foolish like stroke myself to completion before she had her way with it–but I was so eager to visit with my old friend that I couldn’t help but grab it and hold on for dear life.

“It was a mistake to have unlocked you,” she said, abruptly stopping her body’s gyrations against my face.

I didn’t have the ability to respond, though perhaps her body’s proximity to my brain was enough for my telepathic question to get through to her: “Why?”

Either she received that message, or she knew I’d ask that question: “Because you’ve lost some of the fire you had when you were locked up. All you had to focus on was me, you know? And now? Well…where’s your other hand, Clarky?”

Sheepishly, I began to pull my hand from my dick.

“No no,” she said. “Leave it there. We both learned a lesson tonight, didn’t we? In the future–if I ever choose to unlock you again–it won’t be until after I’ve gotten all the pleasure I need. Go on, now. Finish what you’ve started with me. We’ll focus on quality the next time we do this.”

I left my hand on my cock as I continued to eat her out, her body’s tempo returning.

I did feel as if I had learned a little life lesson in this moment–the importance of devoting my full attention to whomever’s pussy I was devouring. Were it Ava atop my face–oh, what a thought that is–I suspected she’d be too polite to say anything to me. Mommy could always be depended on to keep me in my place, though.

A moment or two later, both of my hands were on Mommy’s ass, holding her in pace as her grinding intensified. I couldn’t remember taking my hand off my cock, but I was happy I had. I was suddenly finding myself in the zone–exactly where she had wanted me to be in the first place.

It was easy to get lost in her rhythm. Even easier considering the hazy high that still had a hold on me. Part of me was doing my damndest to bring her the best orgasm she had ever experienced in her entire life–high-me truly believed I was capable of such a thing. The rest of me was out of my body. Perhaps out of this world.

I couldn’t say where I was. Someplace dark and wet–yet I found this to be rather comfortable. I wanted to stay here forever. I felt like I could just…curl up into a tiny little ball. Just a warm and secure little baby.

Oh, wait. Had I managed to somehow crawl into Mommy? Was I inside of her? Was I in her womb?

I laughed, sort of. Really I just made a slobbery mess of myself as my lips vibrated against her pussy. My tongue was still hungrily devouring her–outside of her body, I assumed.

As best as I could tell, I was somehow both inside and outside of her at the same time–and this made complete sense to me. It was a pleasure and an honor to experience Mommy like this.

“Don’t let me out,” I said to her. I might not have actually said, I might have just thought it very loudly.

To my surprise, I got a response. “Would you like to stay here forever?”

“If you don’t mind…”

Hoo boy. I doubted any of this was real, and so I had to assume that the cannabis was just doing a spectacular job on me.

“You…what are you…” Mommy was somewhere, trying to say something to me in between little gasps and breathy panting. “Fucking hell, Baby… How are you–ooph–doing this?”

It sounded good, whatever it was I was doing. I sent a message to myself–the part of me that was on the outside: “Hey, make sure you keep that up.”

“Yeah, you got it,” I replied.

“Oh fuck,” she said. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

I had heard Mommy climax before, and this sounded different. I wondered where she was right now. Was she atop my face? Atop someone else’s face? Was she on Earth?

“Ohhhhh!” she exclaimed. There were a series of high-pitched squeals coming from her mouth now as her back arched and I felt her squirt into my mouth. I had never tasted anything better in my life.

The bit of me that was inside of her was disrupted. I was being pushed out. I was being…birthed?

Suddenly, she was lying next to me on the bed, rapidly taking as deep of breaths as she could manage. Her fingers lazily stroked my wet face.

“There,” she said, her voice so soft that I could barely hear it. “You’re mine now. My baby.”

“Good,” I replied, the response sounding so breezy that I could’ve been affirming just about anything.

“Ah yes,” she laughed, as if my voice had reminded her that I was still next to her. “We needed to, er, take care of you too, yes?”

Please please please please please. “If you’d like.”

“Oh, I’d very much like to. Just…give me a moment, dear. You just about caused Mommy’s head to explode.”

I’m far too polite to ask for details, either now or later. But I would’ve loved to have known where that climax ranked among the best she’d ever had.

“Come here,” she said. “Come crawl between Mommy’s legs.”

I was there so fast that I could’ve sworn I had teleported.

She reached forward, grasping my cock in her hand–she was very careful with it, treating it like it was just a fragile baby bird.

“Do you want to put this inside of me?” she asked, giving my shaft a mild squeeze.

“Y-yes, Mommy,” I said. “Please.”

“I want you to cum inside of me. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Yes,” I said, my head eagerly nodding.

“Show me. Show me what a good boy you are.”

And then I’m inside of her. I’m not entirely sure how I got there–if I had just slid myself in, or if she had guided my cock into her throbbing wetness. All I knew was that I was there.

One. Just one single thrust. One gloriously blissful thrust that all future thrusts of my cock would be compared to. And then I came inside of her.

She moaned, but she was laughing too. Meanwhile I was moaning and carrying on like I just had the greatest sex of my life. I collapsed atop her, my hand grasping at one of her exposed tits pathetically. It was a truly incredible climax. I just wished I had earned it.

“Oh, poor boy,” she cooed into my ear. “Was that it? Was that all you had for me?”

“I…I think so…”

“That’s a shame. I’d say ‘better luck next time, but…well, maybe we’d be better off if we just kept that little thing locked up. What do you think?”

“Yes, Mommy,” I whispered. “P-please.”

While I had never felt more pathetic than I had in that moment–and I say that as someone who had thought I had already reached the most pathetic point in my life multiple times over the last few weeks–her gentleness with me had kept me at ease. It might have been the only thing preventing me from having some sort of infantile crying session.

“You did good,” she said, stroking my back. “As good as a big baby could be expected to do. And didn’t that feel good?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’m proud of you.” I wasn’t entirely sure why she’d be proud of me, but I didn’t question it. I needed to hear that so badly.

“We still need dinner. Are you hungry? Or…did you have too much to eat already?”

“Oh, uh…” I laughed a little, catching her little smirk. “I could eat.”

“Good. Be a good boy and clean me out with your tongue, won’t you? And when you’re done, maybe we’ll actually think about dinner.”

[christi]

Well done, thanks for sharing!

[quietlyhumiliated]

Fifty-Seven

My uncaged climax had delivered hits of oxytocin and dopamine stronger than any buzz Mommy’s edible was capable of. And for a while after, I suspected that my little trip had reached its end.

But as I felt Mommy stuffing my shrunken dick back into the cage so she could lock it shut again, the room still seemed to shift around us in unnatural ways. While the post-climax bliss began to fade, the cannabis began to rear its head again.

“You didn’t poop on my bed,” she said. It sounded like she was proud of me, but I wasn’t entirely sure.

“All pooped out,” I muttered.

“That was quite a load earlier,” she said. “I’d be concerned if you had anything left in you.”

She rolled herself off of the side of the bed and opened one of the bedroom’s many doors, vanishing within the dark walk-in closet for a moment before returning with a cardboard box.

“I keep a box of baby supplies in almost all the rooms of the house,” she said. “Experience has taught me that you should never be too far from a fresh diaper.”

I believed that. Surely, I wasn’t the first big baby to step into her home.

“I really ought to have a nursery,” she continued. “I certainly have the space for one.”

“Maybe you just don’t have babies staying over enough,” I offered.

“That’s a good point. I suppose I’d have a need for one if I had a baby living with me full-time.”

She wasn’t looking at me when she said it, though I could just about hear the implied wink. It made my heart race a little. Was she actually hinting at the possibility of inviting me to stay here? I couldn’t process a request like that–not now.

I kept my mouth shut and hoped we’d move on to another conversation.

And that seemed to work. “I wasn’t kidding about the baby food,” she said, unfolding a new diaper to slide under me. “I have plenty in the kitchen, just waiting for a hungry mouth.”

I nodded, willing to accept that as my dinner if that's what she wanted.

“But I would need to get dinner for myself–and I’m certainly not going to cook for myself. Do you like sushi, Baby?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Perhaps I’ll feed you some with chopsticks.”

“Please?” That sounded much better than baby food to me.

She dusted me with powder before wrapping me up in the diaper. In just a moment, it was like the last little while hadn’t actually happened. I was already struggling to remember what it felt like to hold my hard cock in my hand, or to move around without a diaper on me.

“Do you remember how to get to the living room?” she asked.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Not a clue.”

“As helpless as a toddler,” she smirked. “Alright then. Can you wait here for me, then? I’m going to freshen myself up and then I’ll take you downstairs.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Good boy,” she said, picking up the box and walking towards a different door than the one she used to get the box from initially. Opening the door, I could see that it was another bathroom–which she entered while holding the box, closing the door behind her.

I did wonder, for just a moment, why she was carrying the box with her into the bathroom. If it had been in a closet before, why not take it back there? Why not just leave it in the bedroom?

But I was quickly distracted by the plump diaper between my legs. It hadn’t been that long since my last diaper, and yet I still found myself missing that familiar smoosh and crinkle. Even the cage’s presence felt ‘right’ to me. This was the norm.

Somewhere, on far-off neurons, were the worries and anxieties of the rest of the weekend. My mother. Megan. As tempting as it was to let those stressors into the moment, I felt fortified by Mommy’s home. They were kept at bay for as long as I was here.

Maybe I would just stay here forever.

Mommy’s bathroom door opened, and my hands immediately shot to my sides as I pretended like I wasn’t just rubbing my diaper.

With the bright lights of the bathroom behind her, I couldn’t quite focus on her body until she closed the door again. It was then that I could see she was wearing only a diaper.

“It’s been a while,” she said, sauntering towards me as her thick padding rustled between her legs.

“Y-you could’ve put that on out here,” I said. “I could’ve helped.”

She laughed, sidling up to me and kissing my cheek. “I suppose I could have, Baby. I was feeling a little self-conscious about my self-diapering abilities though. And while I could’ve used the help, I’m not sure I could’ve trusted another baby for the job.”

“Well…you’re a baby now.”

“Touche,” she says. “What do you think? Want to crawl to my living room with me?”

I laughed, my head bobbing like a maniac. “I’d love that.”

She dropped to the ground on her hands and knees and immediately began her awkward lunges forward towards the door. I followed suit, trying to stay close enough behind her that her beautifully diapered bottom took up most of my field of vision.

“Wow,” she said. “Things do actually look a little different from down here.”

“I like it like this,” I said. “The perspective does a lot to get me in the right headspace.”

It was strange–it wasn’t the sort of thing I was likely to tell her when she wasn’t wearing a diaper. It’s not that it was a secret of any sort. It was just a detail that I didn’t think Mommy needed to know. So long as I was in that headspace, it probably didn’t matter to her how I got there.

“Such a wise and practiced baby,” she said, making my cheeks blush.

I continued to watch her diaper sway back and forth as she crawled ahead. I just wanted to see it change somehow. I wanted to see a wet spot develop at the bottom of it. I wanted to see her push and cause the back of it to expand out before sagging. Of course, that was probably way too much to ask–and it was enough that I just got to see this.

“Hmm,” she hummed. “Have you ever crawled down stairs before?”

“No, I don’t think so. Maybe if you go…backwards?”

“Ah,” she said, already spinning herself around just before the top step. “See? Such an expert on all things baby.”

One step at a time, we slowly piloted ourselves backwards, still on our hands and knees. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it’d be–I suspected I must’ve had some sort of experience with this as a toddler that my body just never forgot.

By the time we got to the bottom, though, Mommy was back on her feet–an arm reaching behind her back as she straightened out.

“Okay, that’s enough crawling for me,” she said. “Either Mommy is getting older, or Mommy needs to start going to the gym more regularly. But you–you should still crawl.”

I had already planned on it.

My eyes remained fixated on her padded bottom as she strutted along in front of me. I was curious as to how much effort she had to put into her waddle-less stride–she made it look simple.

“Are you looking at my bum?” she asked.

“M-maybe.”

“Good. Does Mommy look cute in a diaper?”

“Yes, Mommy. Very.”

“Cuter than you?”

“Probably.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “You are a natural baby.”

We walked, and crawled, right through the room I would’ve considered to be the living room. A spacious room with a lot of windows and what looked to be some very expensive pieces of furniture. Sofas and loveseats with curves upon curves. More art on the wall–ranging from stunning photography to more abstract pieces to elaborate wood carvings. I wanted to ask about every single thing that I saw–I wanted to know where it came from, who made it, and why she chose to put it in her home. But we left the room as quickly as we entered, moving forward down a hall and then down some steps. A basement? Once more, I spun myself around, carefully crawling backwards one step at a time.

To my delight, Mommy was at my side for every step, her hand lightly perched on my back to help steady me should I need it.

“Admittedly, this is where I spend most of my time if I’m at home at all,” she said once we reached the bottom. “Well, besides my bed.”

She helped me to my feet, and I took a look around.

The space was bigger than my entire apartment. The bulk of the basement seemed split between a well-stocked bar and a large TV with a large sectional couch. There was some exercise equipment off to the side, and some additional doors–utilities and storage, I assumed. Of the rooms I had seen in her house thus far, this room seemed like the most ‘lived-in’ to me–it lacked the pristineness of the other spaces. Sure, it was pretty damn clean. But there were signs of life here. Stacks of mail. A basket of laundry in the corner, half folded. Some takeout menus sitting atop the bar’s counter.

It made the rest of her vast home seem like a facade, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was an allegory for Mommy as a person. Hidden behind her power and wealth was just a normal human like me, with wants and anxieties. And seeing her walk around this space in just a diaper now, she never seemed more normal to me.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said. “Fill your diaper if you have to.”

“A-are you going to…?”

She laughed. “No, you probably won’t catch me dropping a Clark-sized load into the back of my pants.”

Clark-sized. She certainly had a knack for the jests.

She took a seat on the sectional, patting the seat next to her. I quickly appeared at her side, curling up next to her, trying to position myself so that I could feel as much of her skin as possible pressed against mine. She was warm. Soft. And when she put her arm around me to pull me in closer, I was hard pressed to think of a time I had felt as safe and secure.

“We don’t have to talk about the stresses of tomorrow,” she said. “But what’s after that? Are you doing anything else this weekend?”

I laughed–one of those ‘if I didn’t laugh, I’d cry’ sort of laughs.

Maybe I wasn’t ready to share everything about Ava and I yet, but I felt I could tell Mommy about my plans with Megan.

“Yeah, actually. I’m meeting with, uhm, Megan on Sunday.”

“Megan?” asked Mommy, eyebrows raised. I could’ve sworn this was the same reaction I had gotten from Lyndie. “Megan…from work?”

I nodded.

“Well that’s interesting. How on Earth did that happen?”

“I just…talked to her. She needed a friend.”

There was a lot more to the story than that, of course. I was choosing to leave out the part about how I was temporarily trading in my boyish identity for intel about Thomas Pritchard, though maybe those would be details I’d share later–assuming I was able to come through and help save the day.

“And exactly what are you two going to do together? Braid each other’s hair and put makeup on each other?”

“Uhm, well…”

She laughed, her head rolling back to really belt it out. “Clarky! Are you going to let Megan give you a makeover?”

“I don’t know what she wants to do,” I shrugged.

“Should I have been buying you more feminine clothing, Clarky?”

“N-no.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to be a girl. I mean…if it would make her happy, I guess I’ll humor her or something.”

Mommy’s head tilted and she stroked her chin while considering something. “I do believe I have some very cute outfits I bought for Hillary once upon a time. With a little altering, I could probably make those work.”

“I’m, uhm, quite happy being a boy, thank you very much.”

“Are you sure? With your near-useless pee-pee? Imagine how cute that’d look under a little dress.”

“Quite sure.”

“Fine, fine,” she shrugged, making a big production out of her decision to back off. “But you know you could tell me if you wanted such a thing, right?”

“I do.” I meant that. At this point, I’d have trusted her with anything. Really, it was just a matter of what I wanted to share with her.

Mommy checked something on her phone. “Food should be here soon. I imagine they’ll just deliver it on the porch. Unless you want to go outside and receive it for us?”

It’s a joke, I was sure. Just another one of her patented Mommy-teases that accelerates my heart and flusters me a bit. But I was feeling good. The night so far had been treating me well and–tucked under Mommy’s arm–I’m feeling invincible.

“I would do that.”

She laughed and massaged my shoulder with her hand. “I wasn’t actually asking you to do that.”

“B-but, I would,” I replied, head nodding. Some men held the door open for their beloved–and I was offering to greet a delivery driver in just a diaper.

“It’s very sweet of you,” she said. “But I have neighbors. And I’m already uninterested in talking to Mr. Fleischman from across the street. Even less interested in talking to him about why a young man in a diaper was out on my porch.”

“That’s fair.”

“But if you have a need for public humiliation, Baby, I’m always willing to lend a hand.”

If I knew what was good for me, I’d laugh it off and just let the moment pass. But there was a part of me–the part mostly operated by the devil on my shoulder–who refused to let this conversation end. “I’d like that.”

“What do you have in mind, Baby?”

“I…I dunno. I just…sometimes I really like the feeling of being humiliated.”

“This isn’t news to me, of course.”

I laughed and shrugged. Well, this is me now. The monster you created.

“Perhaps I could be doing even more to try and satiate that hunger of yours?”

“Only if you wanted to…”

“Oh, but Baby, you know I want to. I had this idea the other morning–the epitome of a ‘shower thought’ if there ever was one–and I’ve been wondering if I’d share it with you or not. But I think I ought to now.”

“Yes, Mommy. You really should.”

“It’s not all that complex. I’d simply text you at some random moment and tell you that I need you to fill your diaper. And then, you’d have a little bit of time to make that happen and send proof back to me.”

“That doesn’t sound all that different from what you normally ask me to do…”

“Ah, but see, the kicker is that you don’t know when I’m going to make this request. At its most effective, it’d be outside of work hours. Maybe you’re with your friends. Or at a bar. Maybe you’re shopping for a new pair of shoes. Maybe you’re with…your mother.”

“N-no…” My heart practically exploded in my chest at that moment. “You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t,” she answered, her voice full of cruel glee. “But I could. And that’s the fun of it.”

“And…you said I had a limited amount of time to use my diaper?”

“That’s right.”

“And what if I didn’t do it in time? Or chose not to?”

She shrugged. “Consequences. There’d have to be some, yes? Or else there wouldn’t be any point.”

Consequences. The word simultaneously thrilled and terrified me. “What sort of consequences?”

“I’m not entirely sure yet. Like…well, I have these photos of you that I took tonight, right? Pictures of a very dirty little baby. And I imagine that I could get you to do quite a bit for me if it meant that I kept those pictures to myself.”

I imagined that would get some cooperation from me. Though… “I’m not sure who you’d threaten to send them too. Doesn’t everyone already know that I’m in diapers?”

“This is true. But I think there’s a big difference between some people knowing you wear diapers and them seeing evidence of what you actually do in a diaper.”

“Yeah…maybe.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” she shrugged.

I felt I already knew the answer, but I wanted to hear her say it. “Hmm?”

“At some point in the future, I’ll reach out to you. I’ll tell you that I need you to fill your diaper for me, and that I need it to happen in a certain amount of time. And then I’ll spell out what I plan on doing if you aren’t able to complete my request. And, in that moment, I’ll let you decide for yourself if it’s worth complying for.”

Thrills. Terror.

Maybe I would luck out. Mommy would reach out to me while I was in the bedroom of my apartment and it’d be easier to just push a load into my diaper just because I would’ve wanted to anyway. Or, perhaps, I’d be out and about. Maybe I’d be out with Ava.

“I’m sorry, Ava. Excuse me for a moment while I do something in my diaper real quick. Yes, I know we’re out getting dinner together, but you know how Mommy is.”

Still: “I’m in.”

“Very good,” she said.

“Just…promise that you won’t do that while I’m with my mother tomorrow?”

She laughed. “As amusing as that would be, I’ll honor that request.”

“Thank you.”

“Speaking of…”

I took in a long, slow, breath as I ran my hand through my hair. I was hoping to get through the night without talking about brunch. But, the cat seemed out of the bag now.

“Are you ready to see your mother?”

“I’m ready for tomorrow to be over,” I nodded.

“Oh,” she laughed. “It won’t be that bad.”

I was pretty sure that was the moment she jinxed it. If things did go awry, I’d know what to blame it on.

[littlebopeeper]

Great chapter.  Looks like a live-in nanny will be needed to look after two babies.  Wonder if Ava will be available?

Gabrielle continues to be far and away the most interesting character for me.  Have you told us what the age gap is here?  And is she either foreign born or a second generation American?  You frequently give her sentences that have an unusual word order that I associate with Germany, Switzerland and the like.

[babyheadspace]

Absolutely love the story. I hope that it goes on forever. It is so good, thank you for writing it.

[aldl4811]

Awesome chapter!!

[quietlyhumiliated]

Fifty-Eight

I opened my mouth and watched as Mommy expertly guided a piece of sushi towards it with her chopsticks. I could barely figure out how to hold a pair of chopsticks, let alone eat with them. Thankfully, she was taking care of the hard part for me. As promised, my new bib was tied around my neck–a baby-blue number with ‘Clarky’ embroidered on it with yellow thread.

“Clarrrrrk.”

I was sitting on Mommy’s knees, and she was bouncing me up and down on them in my wet diaper. It shouldn’t have been as stimulating as it was.

“Clarrrrrrrrrrk.”

My face was squeezed between her thighs, planted against her diaper as she began to wet it. I felt my face warm as the texture of the padding went from fluffy to dense and squishy.

“Goddammit, Clark. You gotta wake up.”

My eyes slowly opened and I realized that I wasn’t in Mommy’s house. I was in my own bed in my own apartment. Kind of disappointing.

Evan was also there, shaking my body.

“Hi, yes, I’m awake. Uhm…can I help you?”

“You have a visitor,” he said.

“Are you kidding me? What time is it? 4 in the morning?”

“Well…it’s almost 9.”

“Oh,” I replied, nonchalantly shrugging like it wasn’t that big of a deal. But then the facts started coming back to me. It was Saturday morning. I was supposed to be meeting with my mother for brunch. I was supposed to be meeting with my mother for brunch in an hour. “Oh!”

“I didn’t want to have to wake you,” Evan said. “But we were worried you hadn’t set an alarm.”

I hadn’t.

“We?” I asked. And then, rewinding the conversation thus far: “Did you say I have a visitor?”

“Lyndie’s here.”

“Why?”

“You could…just go ask yourself,” he shrugged.

“Oh wait…shit.” It was all coming back to me now–the plan to pretend that Lyndie was my girlfriend. Which was part of an even bigger plot to impress my mother involving the reservation at a fancy eatery–courtesy of Mommy.

“I’ll tell her you’ll be out in a minute?”

“Y-yeah,” I said. “That’s fine.”

I wanted to go back to where I just was–a dream that was more of a recap of my night with Mommy. I was so upset that it was over that I was almost angry about it. I wanted to crawl around on her hardwood floor again. I wanted her to feed me on her giant basement couch again. I wanted to…feel myself inside of her again.

I sighed and shuffled out of my bedroom door, throwing a half-assed wave in Lyndie’s direction as I plodded my way towards the bathroom.

“Is that what you’re wearing to brunch?” she asked.

I hadn’t even thought to consider what I was wearing. A beat-up Blade Runner tee and a soggy diaper, apparently.

“Give me a few minutes to wake up and get ready,” I huffed. “And then you can start making smart-ass comments.”

Lyndie checked the time on her phone. “Well, try and be quick about it, swamp-butt. We still need to actually get to the restaurant.”

I was surprisingly unphased about walking around in my soaked diaper while Lyndie and Evan watched. I wasn’t sure if I was just that exhausted, or if I had finally reached that level of comfort with both my diapers and my friends. I hoped that it was the former.

“I’m going, I’m going. As fast as I can.”

“Do you need help with your diaper? Because I can–”

“No,” I interrupted. “I’ll take care of this.”

It rarely took me too long to get ready in the morning. When I lived with my mother, it was because she was both my human alarm clock and my head coach–giving me direction from the moment I woke up in an effort to get me to school on time. Later, after I moved out, I had established the less-than-responsible habit of sleeping in a bit too long, and having to flail around at top speed in order to get ready for either college classes or work. Same result–just different executions.

I was in overdrive as I brushed my teeth, released the heavy diaper from my body, and leaped into the shower for a quick rinse. Truth be told, I didn’t really want to take a shower. I didn’t want to be dirty, per se, but to take a shower now felt like I’d be rinsing away the vestiges of my night with Mommy. Still, it had to be done–especially because I was meeting my mother. The very last thing I needed was to have caught a whiff of baby powder on me. I doubted she’d jump to the conclusion that I wore diapers, but I had no doubt that she’d have a question or two about it.

Out of the shower, I wrapped my bottom half up in a towel and made a quick sprint back to my bedroom, having to cut through the area where Evan and Lyndie were chatting and laughing with each other. It still made me a little uncomfortable to see how well they hit it off. I was glad they were friends, of course, I just had a feeling that 90% of their giggling was about me.

I had been hoping to be out of chastity for today, but there wasn’t much to be done about that now. If nothing else, I’d be going sans diaper–a proposition that scared me a little. I didn’t think I was prone to having an actual accident, but I did wonder if I’d just feel more comfortable in a diaper. I could use all the comfort I could get.

But no. No way. My mother would hone in on a padded bottom immediately, I was sure of it. We wouldn’t get past the restaurant’s front door without her asking–loud enough so that the whole city could hear it–why I was wearing a diaper.

It had been a while since I’d worn boxer-briefs though. Even longer since I had worn any. Pulling them into place, I found that they just felt…wrong. They were too tight. There was too much clearance between my legs. I wondered how I wore those every day for years and years.

Goddamn, I really am a baby now, aren’t I?

From the other side of my bedroom door, I heard Lyndie’s voice: “What are you wearing today?”

I had some clothes set aside for this morning. I was tempted to call them the best clothes I owned, though that was probably pretty subjective. I never considered myself to be a fashionista of any sort, and nobody had ever complimented my style.

“Well I, uh, was thinking…”

“Are you decent?” she asked. “Ah, f**k, what does it matter? I’ve already seen you at your absolute worst.”

She just walked into my bedroom. I should’ve been embarrassed, or at least a little frustrated at her failure to respect my privacy. But this was what my life was now. I probably should’ve just left the door open for her in the first place.

“Is this it?” she asked, pointing to the clothes laid out on my bed. There was a pair of black slacks and a light blue polo shirt there.

“Y-yeah, I think.”

She shook her head. “Ugh, no. Open your closet. Show me what we’re working with here.”

With blushing cheeks, I trotted over to my closet and slid the door open. As it turned out, I didn’t need a diaper to feel like a baby–I still had someone picking out clothes for me like I wasn’t capable of dressing myself.

“Maybe these pants,” she said, taking out a pair of dark brown chinos. She then grabbed a cream button-down with a pink grid pattern on it and handed that to me as well. “And this shirt. It’s not my favorite, but I think it’s the best we can do with what I have to work with.”

“Yeah, alright.”

“You’re not going to have an accident, are you?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I know how to hold myself. I’ve been doing it far longer than I’ve been in diapers.”

“Maybe you should use the bathroom before we go. Just in case?”

Spoken like a true mother. Hell, I feel like my mother had said that exact same thing to me countless times when I was a child.

I’m never going to grow up, am I?

“Fine, fine.”

“Why don’t you hurry up and get ready,” she said, hands on her hips. “Then we can get out of here.”

I sometimes wondered if Lyndie had transformed more than I had over the last few months. I may have been turned into a needy baby–but I often think that I wasn’t too far from that even before I met Gabrielle Heller. Lyndie, on the other hand, used to be different. She was anti-authority. Punk-ish at times. But now there were moments where she almost out-mommied Mommy herself. And she seemed so damn natural at it. I wondered if she would’ve found this side of herself naturally had I not stumbled into Ms. Heller in the hallway that one fateful Friday afternoon.

It wasn’t a bad transformation, I didn’t think. Lyndie did seem happier these days.

“What?” she asked. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Oh…uh, I dunno…”

She looked stunning this morning. It wasn’t the sort of thing I could ever say aloud–especially to her–but I don’t think I had ever seen her look that good before. The makeup, the light-blue dress. The way her hair was pulled back. I had no doubt she was going to make a good impression on my mother.

“C’mon, Clark. Focus. Get dressed.”

“Y-yes, I’m working on it, uh…” I came incredibly close to calling her ‘Mommy.’ I didn’t necessarily want her to be my mommy–she just exuded that sort of energy.

I got dressed under Lyndie’s watchful eye. I swore I had been in this spot before too–memories came back of my own mother watching to make sure I didn’t put my pants on backwards or my shirt on inside-out.

Then, I looked at myself in the mirror. To most, I probably wouldn’t look that different than I normally did. But I could see the difference immediately. More adult. I looked my age for once. I felt my age–and I couldn’t say that I cared for it all that much.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Let’s do this.”

And then we were off.

I had never been to, nor heard of, Ferdinand’s before–though it seemed like the rest of the city knew it pretty well. There was a line going out the door of the restaurant and down the block. Just the sight of all those people waiting gave me a burst of anxiety.

“But you have a reservation,” Lyndie said, likely noticing the expression on my face.

“Right,” I said, nodding. “Thank you.” I needed to hear that. I needed her. I’d have held her hand if we weren’t here to meet…

“Clark. Llewellyn. Ashburn.” The names came one at a time, with just enough space between them to give each a dramatic flair. I spun around to find my mother–Annette Leiland-Ashburn herself–standing there with her arms outstretched for a hug.

“Llewellyn?” whispered Lyndie.

“Can we talk about that later?”

My mother wasn’t the most imposing figure. A smidge or two over five feet tall, with just a little bit of roundness to her. Her hair–once blonde, then gray, and now a warm brunette–looked strangely inviting. I had always noted how she made a terrific first impression on people–perhaps because she looked like the kind of mother who coddled you with kindness. And after not seeing her in a while, I was falling under that spell myself.

Maybe I was just overreacting.

I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her as she embraced me in return.

“Clark, you look great,” she said.

“Thank you, Mother. You do too.”

“Except this shirt,” she said, pulling back from our hug to get a better look at it. “I don’t like this color on you. It washes out your skin.”

I glanced back to Lyndie who just chuckled and shrugged.

“Who is this?” my mother asked, jabbing her chin towards Lyndie.

“Well, Mother, this is Lyndie. She’s, uhm, my…” I don’t know why the word was so hard to get out. Maybe I just wasn’t as prepared as I thought I was to lie to my mother.

“Good morning, Ms. Ashburn. My name is Lyndie, and I’m Clark’s girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” my mother asked, looking back at me. “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend.”

“Well…we haven’t spoken in a while. There’s a lot about me that you don’t know.” Like that I wear diapers and get them changed by my boss.

“Come here,” my mother said to Lyndie. And when she did, my mother gave her a big tight hug as well. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Linda. I do hope you’re taking good care of my Clark.”

“Lyndie, actually,” she corrected. “And I would say that I’ve been taking very good care of him, yes.”

“Well,” my mother said, “you two are going to have to tell me everything. Assuming we can even get into this place. Look at that line.”

“Actually, I, uhm, have a reservation,” I said. “Come on, follow me.”

With the most confident strut I could muster, I led the two women into the restaurant and I approached the host’s podium. I could already see the disdain in the host’s eyes–a look of ‘whoever you are, you probably belong in line with everyone else.’

“Good morning, sir,” he said. “The current wait time for a table is approximately two hours. We stop serving brunch in three hours. You’re welcome to join the line outside, however…”

“Actually, I have a reservation.”

“Reservation? Sir, we don’t really do reservations for brunch. It tends to be first come, first serve.”

That was strange. Mommy has assured me that we were good to go here.

I pushed a little more: “Well, I was told that I’d have a table here at 10:00 AM. The reservation would’ve been made by Gabrielle Heller.”

“Hmm,” the host said, some recognition in his eyes upon hearing the name. “Let me, er, check something here real quick.” He quickly checked some notes on the podium. “Ah, right. I do see here that she made some arrangements for this morning. You must be…”

“Clark Ashburn.”

“Very well,” he said with a begrudging nod. He looked annoyed that he couldn’t just cast me out like he thought he could. “Why don’t you and your party follow me this way, then.”

I sighed in relief and waved Lyndie and my mother forward to follow us. I hadn’t realized that they had already started a conversation of their own.

“...and so then the wedding DJ briefly stops the music and points to little Baby Clark, who has crawled out onto the area where everyone is dancing,” my mother was saying. “And he says ‘Would someone please come collect your baby? He’s stinking up the dance floor!”

We’ve been with my mother for a total of five minutes and she had already told the infamous ‘wedding story.’ I feel my cheeks warm as I watch Lyndie laugh and shake her head.

“Mother…I really wish you’d stop telling that story.”

“Oh, come on, Clark,” Lyndie said. “It’s funny!”

“I like her,” Mother said. Yeah, she would, wouldn’t she?

I was surprised to see that the host was leading us up some steps. I wondered if he was bringing us to some forgotten corner of the restaurant. A supply closet, maybe, or the roof. ‘Here. You want a reservation? Enjoy eating brunch in the women’s restroom.’

But no. He instead took us to a nice table on the balcony overlooking the rest of the restaurant. A brief scan of the entire establishment suggested that this might be the nicest seat in the entire place. I owed Mommy a big ‘thank you’ later. She was welcome to park her bottom on my face for an entire day.

The wave of discomfort originating from my caged cock suggested that I shouldn’t think about that sort of stuff now.

We took our seats and were handed some menus. Water and coffee poured. But once we were left to our own devices, it seemed my mother and Lyndie weren’t ready to just start reading a menu yet.

“So,” my mother said. “This is all rather impressive. Clark, how did you manage this?”

“Well, you know, my, uh, job has some perks and…”

“Job? Clark, what about college? Last I heard you were about to start some sort of internship.”

“Well, it was an internship,” I said. “Though the management thought I was doing so well that they promoted me. I now work directly under the CEO.” I couldn’t help but think of my face, being underneath Ms. Heller’s ass again. “I think this job still, uhm, technically counts as my internship. So I’m still racking up hours to meet my goal for that.”

I made a note to myself to check in with my school about that–it had been a while since I had made any sort of contact with the university. I did know there was an increasing number of unread emails in my inbox from my academic advisor, among other university representatives, that I told myself I’d read ‘later.’

“Is that so?” my mother asked, eyes wide. “The CEO? What sort of work are you doing?”

Lyndie chortled behind her hand.

“Well, uh, I’m considered her assistant…”

“Her? Very progressive, Clark. She’s nice to you, I hope?”

“Uhm, yes. Very much so.”

“Good,” Mother said with a firm nod. “Because if she ever gives you a hard time, you let me know and I’ll give her a good talking-to.”

That was the last thing I wanted. Nothing made me more uncomfortable than the idea of Ms. Heller and my mother being in the same place at the same time.

Lyndie smiled and spoke up: “I assure you, Ms. Ashburn. Clark is in good hands.”

“Annette, please,” Mother said to her. “And you know his employer as well?”

“Actually, we work together,” said Lyndie. “It’s how we met.”

“Ah, isn’t that a delight. You know, Clark, that’s how I met your father–in the workplace.”

Yes, I knew that. I had heard variations of that story too for the last 20 years.

“Clark, you’ve never talked about your father before,” Lyndie said.

“That’s because he’s dead,” my mother said, as bluntly as she could.

“Oh…wow, I’m really sorry I asked.”

My mother shrugged. “We crossed that bridge a long time ago, right Clark?”

“I suppose…”

“Now, young lady,” my mother said to Lyndie, ping-ponging from one conversation into another. “Tell me more about yourself.”

Lyndie smiled, seeming to be in her element. She had once told me that mothers loved her. I was skeptical–but I was seeing it for myself now. Enlisting Lyndie in this scam might have been one of my best decisions.

“Well, I also work with the executive team for our company. Mostly taking on, you know, special projects and such.”

“Sure, sure,” my mother said. “But you’re probably sick of talking about work. Tell me about you.”

“Well, I love to bake,” Lyndie said. “Cakes, pies, cookies… If there’s one thing I love, it’s a hot oven.”

Was this true? I don’t think I had ever heard Lyndie talk about baking before. Not once. And I would’ve remembered something like that, as I would’ve then badgered her to sample some of her confections. So either I was learning something new about her myself, or this was just a straight-up lie.

Either way, it seemed to be working on my mother who was taking in Lyndie’s words with a big smile on her face. And for a moment, everything seems pretty…good. This is, quite possibly, the best case scenario. As I watch the two women chat, I can’t help but wonder if I had been fretting all this time for no reason. My mother isn’t someone to be afraid of. Hell, she actually seems nice.

“...the silicone mats are definitely a game-changer,” Lyndie was saying. “I mean, just the money I’ve saved on parchment paper alone.”

“I really should make the switch,” my mother replied. “I suppose I’m just old fashioned like that.”

I sighed a little with relief and took a long sip of my coffee. This is going well. Stay calm. Relax.

But I knew what I needed to feel truly relaxed–the warm comfort that came from slowly wetting my diaper. That feeling of my padding just absorbing my pee–and all my troubles–and swelling around me.

I let my bladder go, ready to feel that familiar warmth of my diaper getting saturated.

But…

Wait.

I wasn’t wearing a diaper. I had intentionally left the house without a diaper. I was just…wetting my pants.

I stopped myself before I could completely finish, but it didn’t seem to matter much–damage had already been done. I could feel the dampness in my crotch. I could feel it in my ass, creeping between the seat and my bottom. I could feel it in my thighs and running down my legs.

I watched my mother and Lyndie continue to chat, completely oblivious as to what I had done. And I wondered what the odds were that I could just sit here until my pants dried without anyone noticing. How long would that take? Two…three hours?

f**k.

 

Fifty-Nine

Oh, we had a pretty good laugh about that–all those times we said something like ‘Just don’t do something embarrassing like wet your pants.’ It was the sort of thing that was likely believable, though nobody actually thought it would happen.

Well it did. I pissed my pants at the table of the restaurant while brunch began with my mother and Lyndie. I wasn’t even wearing a diaper. Just inches from my mother, I was sitting in a puddle.

“So,” my mother said, wrapping up one conversation and seemingly ready to leap into another. “Clark. It’s been a while since we spoke, hmm?”

“W-well…yeah, it seems that way.” I was trying very hard to be an active part of the conversation, but my mind was all over the place. How would I get up? Was there any way I could get out of this without my mother seeing my pants?

I really needed Lyndie’s help. I wish we had some sort of codeword I could say so that she knew there was an issue. “Rutabaga!”

“I’m glad that we’re reconnecting now,” she said, slowly chewing a small pastry from the plate that had been placed in the center of our table. “I hope that I won’t have to wait as long for the next time we get together like this?”

“I guess we’ll see,” I said. I intended for it to sound a little sarcastic and playful, but my distracted tone gave it a more ominous edge.

“I’ll be the first to admit,” my mother said, talking directly to Lyndie, “I can sometimes be a little…overbearing. But it’s only because I love my son, you know?”

“Of course,” Lyndie replied, nodding. “You care about him, you want the best for him.”

“Exactly. See, Clark? Linda gets it.”

“Lyndie,” I corrected. “And I never doubted that you cared about me. I just think…I’m at an age where I’m able to take care of myself.”

The irony–me saying such a thing while sitting in soaked pants–was not lost on me.

“See, this is what the media does,” my mother said.

I watched Lyndie chuckle and lean in a little–eager to see where this was going.

My mother continued: “They tell you that you’re ready to be an adult when you’re 18. As if a flip switches on your 18th birthday and you don’t need to learn anything else.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever actually said that,” I said.

“You know what I mean, Clark. These shows and films about young adults getting apartments and cars. And living this exciting life of drugs and drinking and dance parties and…”

“I can assure you that I’m not going to any, uh, dance parties.”

“I’m just saying. An adult should be slowly released into the world. I hear parents complaining about their children still living with them in their mid-to-late 20s. I say: Fine! You take all the time you need, lest you stumble out there before you’re ready and end up humiliating yourself.”

I felt my cheeks warming as I took a deep breath. “A-are you saying I should live with you a few more years before I’m allowed to experience the world for myself?”

“Well, not exactly,” she shrugged. “But I am saying that, well, who would know best when a child is ready to move on? I’d say it’s the parent who has raised him his entire life.”

Lyndie responded: “With all due respect, Ms. Ashburn. I left home when I was 18. I’m living on my own now. I think I’m doing alright for myself.”

“Your mother must be very proud of the good job she did, then,” my mother quickly retorted.

Had Lyndie implied–whether on purpose or not–that her mother had done a better job of raising her than my mother had done in raising me? I braced myself for some tension at the table, but thankfully, my mother seemed to just shrug it off.

Under the table, I was fumbling in my pocket for my phone, which I carefully slid out. I was tempted to just text Lyndie to tell her what had happened–but what did I expect her to do? I needed…Mommy.

Text from me to Mommy: “I hope you’re not busy. I’m having a bit of an emergency right now.”

And now to wait for a response.

“It kind of sounds like you’re saying that you didn’t think Clark was ready to be on his own yet,” Lyndie said, meanwhile.

My mother laughed a little to herself and nodded. “I suppose I did think that. Up until this morning, in fact. All this–your career, your relationship, your ability to get a table like this at an establishment like this–well, it’s rather impressive. I’m not afraid to say that I might have been wrong.”

I could see the smile on Lyndie’s face. She couldn’t say what she was thinking, but she didn’t have to. I knew exactly what she wanted to say: ‘Little does your mother know that she’s actually right–you’re not even out of diapers yet. How could you be an adult?’

“Well, uhm, thanks,” I said, nodding.

I felt like a complete idiot. I had gotten caught up in creating a fake version of myself for my mother’s approval, but now that I had it–it just didn’t feel all that good. The fake version of me was getting her approval. I wasn’t the success that she thought I was.

Under the table, my cellphone vibrated.

Mommy: “What sort of emergency, Clark?”

Me: “I might have…wet myself.”

Mommy: “But…aren’t you at brunch? With your mother?”

Me: “Yes! Nobody knows yet. But I’m not wearing a diaper, so I can’t stand up or everyone will see.”

Mommy: “LOL! Baby, you’ve gotten yourself into a real pickle. Look, just stay in your seat. I can help you, but it’s going to take a me a little bit to pick up some new pants and a diaper for you.”

I felt my cheeks burn as I read her last sentence. I couldn’t believe that this was actually how today was going down. This almost seemed worse than whatever I was expecting.

“Is everything okay?” my mother asked.

“Oh…what?”

“You’ve been staring down at your lap for a good minute or two,” she said. “Everything okay down there?”

“Just had to, uh, take a text or two for work. Sorry about that.”

I glanced up at Lyndie’s face to see that she wasn’t buying it, though she was keeping her mouth closed. I was tempted to keep her in the dark, but I knew I’d be better off if I had her on my side for this little crisis. I quickly sent one more text, this time to her.

Text from me to Lyndie: “I wet my pants. No, I do NOT want to hear any snarky comments about it right now. I already texted Mommy about it and she’s coming to help as soon as she can.”

I hit send and sighed nervously, afraid to see the expression on Lyndie’s face when she got the text.

Ding! I could hear Lyndie’s phone chime from her purse, currently hanging off the back of her chair. She reached behind her to retrieve it.

“Look, no offense,” my mother said, “I get it–you’re young professionals and it’s probably a generational thing to be on your phones all the time. But doesn’t it get exhausting to be attached to them as often as you two are? Look, we’re in a nice restaurant and you’re staring at your little screens.”

Lyndie’s lips stretched into an intensely smug grin as she read the message on her screen. She gave me the briefest of glances before slowly returning her phone to her purse. No remarks. No snide comments. She simply turned to my mother and began talking again.

“I’d love to get to know you a little better,” she said to my mother. “What is it you do for a living?”

The only thing my mother loved more than telling other people stories about me when I was young, was telling other people about herself. This would buy us plenty of time. I could’ve kissed Lyndie. In fact, I made a mental note to kiss her later, when this was all said and done and my mother had left our city.

“Clark hasn’t told you?” My mother’s eyes darted to me, a look of disapproval in them.

“Oh, well, he might have said a little in passing. But I’d love to hear from you.”

“Well,” my mother said, an elated look on her face, “I currently head a non-profit devoted to providing educational resources to new parents. Parenthood is a subject that’s not really taught to you in school–not like it used to be. And so our group tries to fill that need for anyone who might be struggling.”

“Wow,” Lyndie replied, nodding her head. “That seems…” She looked at me, and I could once again get a sense for what she was thinking–probably something like ‘strangely poignant.’ But she actually finished the thought with a more mother-pleasing: “...like a great thing for the community.”

“Thank you,” my mother said. “I’m a little too lost in the behind-the-scenes of it all to be directly talking to parents myself these days. But I’m happy to be the backbone that supports the cause.”

Lyndie poked again, trying to keep the conversation moving. “Do you have, like, a background in education?”

“Oh, goodness yes. I was a teacher for over 30 years. Clark didn’t mention that?”

I wondered if it would be that hard for my mother to believe that we–whether we were a real couple or not–just never sat around and talked about my mother for a while.

“I don’t think he mentioned the, uh, 30 years part…”

“Let me tell you, being a teacher today is not the same as what it used to be like,” my mother said. This was the start of a spiel. I’ve heard this spiel countless times in my life. “Back then, we were barely thinking about the Internet, let alone cell phones. And, personally, I think research was better for it. It meant you had to go and find books–actual books–to read and pull data from. Now, by the time you’ve finished explaining the assignments, the students have already found some app that already did the work for them.”

I began to tune out, staring down at my phone, waiting to see a new message appear from Mommy. It hadn’t been that long since she said she was coming, but…c’mon! Hurry up!

“...seemed like a good time to step back and reevaluate what I wanted from my career, you know? So I tried to look at the concept of education, and I thought about where education actually starts…”

One of the worst parts of all this? Sitting there in my wet chair and my wet pants…I was actually kind of turned on by the situation. Not so much that it was overriding my shame and humiliation. But just enough that I could feel a fluttering in my chest as I waited for Mommy to arrive to save the day.

This was what it was to be a pathetic man-baby, wasn’t it? I couldn’t just ‘turn off’ that part of me. No matter where I went or what I did–I was only ever a moment away from making some kind of mess out of myself.

The server took our orders, and food was starting to be delivered to our table in courses. I was becoming more and more distracted from the conversations taking place at the table between my mother and Lyndie. I suspected both could tell, though they pretended to be oblivious to it. At least Lyndie knew why I was so distracted, and she was doing her best to keep the conversation going.

“...and I find that just a little bit of lemon at the end makes a huge difference,” my mother said. I had no context for what she was talking about. I simply followed Lyndie’s cue to look impressed and I nodded my head along with her.

It was at about this time that a man in an expensive-looking suit sidled up to our table. He looked directly at my mother with a large smile on his face. “Good morning, madame. I am sorry to interrupt your brunch. My name is Paolo Ferdinand, the proprietor of this restaurant. I was curious if you might want to take a quick tour of our kitchen?”

My mother laughed and sat back in her chair with an excited grin on her face. “Well that sounds lovely, but…why me?”

“Oh, it’s just something I like to do from time to time,” he said. His head turned towards me for a fraction of a second–just long enough that I could sense that there was something happening here that was bigger than just random benevolence. “We pride ourselves on providing more than just a meal–but an experience as well. And so, from time to time, I like to invite one of my guests to the kitchen to see the action up close and personal.”

“Well,” my mother said. “Would all of us be able to see?”

“I wish I could say yes,” Paolo said. “Alas…I don’t think I have quite enough room in the kitchen for everyone–not without impacting the efficiency of the staff.”

My mother turned back towards Lyndie and I. “I’d hate to leave the two of you like this…”

“You should go,” Lyndie said with a big smile on her face. “This sounds like an amazing opportunity! I’m sure it won’t take long. And we’ll be right here when you return.”

My mother, never one to turn down the VIP experience, almost looked beside herself with anticipation as she quickly rose from her chair. “I would love to see the kitchen.”

“I hoped you’d say that,” Paolo said. “Come. Follow me.”

I took a huge sigh of relief as I watched them disappear from view.

“Ms. Heller has to have been behind that, right?” Lyndie asked.

“Almost certainly.”

“So…you actually wet your pants?” Lyndie lifted up the tablecloth and took a peek under the table. I wasn’t sure how much she’d be able to see, but the amused look on her face suggested that she had seen enough.

“Yes. Can we…not talk about it?”

“What now?” she asked.

“What now,” yet another new voice said from the other side of the table, “is we get you out of those pants.”

It was Mommy. I could barely contain my glee at seeing her here. She had come to rescue me, just as I had hoped she would. And in seemingly record time too.

“I…I can’t stand up,” I said. “Everyone will see.”

“Who would you rather see?” Mommy asked. “Your mother? Or everyone else in this restaurant?”

Fair enough. “O-okay. But where are we going to go so that…”

“I’ve taken care of everything,” she said. She beckoned me to join her with the curling of her outstretched fingers. “Come now, Baby. Let’s get you taken care of.”

But I still couldn’t find the strength to stand up. Doing so would reveal everything. And while we were lucky enough to be on the balcony, at a table that was a little more removed from everything else, there was no way that I’d be able to go anywhere without someone noticing what I had done.

“Just trust me,” Mommy said.

I trusted her–of course I trusted her. I just had to bite the bullet and do it. I stood up and quickly orbited the remainder of the table so that I was at her side.

“Lyndie, I shall be returning the baby as soon as I can. Should Ms. Ashburn get back to the table before Clarky does, I trust you can entertain her?”

“I got this,” Lyndie replied, her lips curled into a smug smile.

I blindly followed Mommy through the restaurant, down some steps and then through a door. Perhaps people had seen me, though I was trying not to pay attention to that.

“Where are we going?” I asked, afraid of her doing something like dragging me into the women’s restroom.

“Careful now,” she said to me as we came to another door. “Your mother is over there, getting her little tour. When I open this door we need to quickly walk over to that door on the other side. Do you see?”

“Yes,” I nodded. My heart raced. I was sweating. I might have even let a little more piss dribble into my pants.

We rushed through the room and across the far side of the kitchen. Somewhere off in the distance, I could hear my mother asking about wagyu beef. We quickly entered through the next door, and when we were through it, Mommy shut and locked the door behind her.

We were in an office. Books and documents and receipts were sitting in piles on a table and on the desk, but there was also a couch along one of the walls.

“This is Mr. Ferdinand’s personal office,” she said to me. “He’s allowing us to use it as a personal favor.”

“Do…you know him?”

She nodded. “Why do you think I recommended this place? It truly is one of the best spots in the city, for sure. But I also know Paolo quite well. And I knew that if there was to be any sort of…incident…”

“Go ahead,” I said, sighing. “Tell me that you told me so.”

“I don’t believe I ever told you so. I suppose I did expect something to happen, but I tried to keep that to myself.”

“Y-you thought I would…”

“Honestly, I thought you were going to poop your pants, Baby. I’m rather grateful you didn’t, of course. I’d rather not have to explain that Paolo…”

“Just wet, I guess.”

“I brought a fresh pair of pants with me,” she said, pointing to a folded up pair of light brown khakis sitting on the couch. But that wasn’t all that she had brought–there was a new diaper sitting atop the pants.

“A diaper?”

“I know you were trying to do your best big-boy impersonation here today. But I think we can both agree that it didn’t quite work out the way you wanted it to.”

“But…I can’t be around my mother in a diaper! What if she finds out?”

“Would you rather her see you in wet pants? Or would you rather take a chance on her not noticing the diaper?”

Once again, she made her point. “Fine.”

“I knew you’d come around,” she said. “Now then, with your mother getting distracted, all we need to do is get you into a diaper and some nice clean pants.”

“What will you do with these pants?” I asked.

“Honestly? I’ll probably toss them in the dumpster.”

I sighed, nodding.

“Oh, but Baby…there is one other little thing that we have to take care of as well.”

I was terrified to know what she meant, but I still needed to know. “What else?”

“Little babies should know better than to run around without their diapers. Do you see what happens when they try? Accidents. I’d like to say that’s enough of a lesson, but…I think you might need a little extra reminder.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means that I think you’ve earned yourself a spanking.”

“Wh-what? Here? Now?”

She nodded. “Afraid so.”

“But… My mother–she’s just on the other side of this door. And we’re for brunch. And…”

“Nobody is going to know except for you and I,” she said. “Unless, of course, you want to throw a little tantrum. In which case, maybe I could convince your mother to lend a hand.”

She was bluffing, I thought. And even if she wasn’t–I couldn’t imagine her convincing my mother to participate in anything like this. But Mommy had proven before that she was always a little bolder than I thought she’d be. Then I hoped she’d be. This was no time to gamble.

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay?” She nodded. “Come here, Baby. Mommy’s going to have to punish you. And then, we’ll get you into a diaper and back out to brunch in no time at all.”

[sklawlor]

great chapters. I can't imagine the spanking will be too severe with his mom right in the kitchen.

[littlebopeeper]

Dark brown chinos are suddenly transformed into light brown khakis?  Somehow, I don't think Clark is going to be able to pull this off.

[D503]

Very nice. The meeting of the mommies could be imminent. Technically it's three mommies if Lyndie graduates. Can't wait to see where it goes and whether Mommy takes it easy or not on Clarky. 

[kirababy]

Anxiously awaiting mommy's visit.  

[quietlyhumiliated]

Sixty

My mother had no idea the part she was playing in this game. 

Of course, she was playing her own game–the one she had been playing since I was an actual child–a slow-burning plot to prove that I still needed someone to take care of me. 

She won that game. She didn’t know she had won, but she had. I did need someone to take care of me. It just wouldn’t be her.

Smack!

Mommy’s hand made impact with the skin of my bare ass, and the crisp sound echoed in the restaurant office. A meek yelp was forced from my lips: “Ooph!”

Smack! Smack! Smack! 

With each blow, my cries sounded a little more pathetic and whining. Until finally, I felt the tears welling in my eyes. Before long, I was having an infantile breakdown, sobbing and gasping for air as tears streamed down my face. 

Smack! Smack!

It was the sort of thing that I still didn’t believe I was actually capable of, despite having already experienced it in Seattle. I just never thought of myself as a crier. Not like this. Of course, it took a bit to get me to this point. A firm spanking over Mommy’s knees in the back of a restaurant, as I stared at the diaper that I would soon be put into, would do that.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

“N-no…please, Mommy! I…”

Smack! Smack!

“I…I promise I’ll…”

Smack! Smack!

“...never go out w-without…”

Smack! Smack! Smack!

“...diapers ever again!”

And, then, one final Smack!

“There,” Mommy said. “I think that should do it. Don’t you?”

“Puh-pleeease,” I begged, between pathetic whimpers. “No more…”

I could immediately feel the energy in her hand change as she began to gently rub and soothe my, no doubt, reddened rear. 

“There, there, Baby. I know it stings. But you had a very important lesson to learn–Mommy keeps you in diapers for a reason.”

In my week of stressing about what today was actually going to look like, not once did I imagine a scenario where Mommy spanked my bottom–only feet away from where my mother stood.

I sniffled my last and tried to collect myself. Really, I only had one thing to say: “Thank you, Mommy.”

“You’re quite welcome. Now then, shall we put you back together again so we can send you back out to brunch.”

“P-probably…”

I was suddenly on my back on the couch and she was hovering above me with the opened diaper in her hand. I accepted my fate with a deep breath. If I didn’t like this outcome, I only had myself to blame.

“Are you going to come out and meet my mother?” I asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “I assume that’s preferable to you?”

“Yes. But…I feel bad for dragging you out here just to put a diaper on me.”

“And I spanked you,” she reminded me. “That was important too. But don’t worry about me. Paolo is going to feed me in a few minutes. And, as long as I’m in town, I figure I might as well get some shopping in.”

“You’re really good to me.”

She laughed. “But only because you are really good to me. We need each other, remember.”

I nodded. “Yes, Mommy.”

“I didn’t bring any wipes or baby powder with me,” she said. “I think you’ll be fine without. Just don’t let your mother sniff around your crotch too much–she may pick up the faintest whiff of pee on your skin.”

“I…I don’t think we have to worry about that.”

“Let’s hope so. Well, that should do it. Let’s get these pants and shoes back on you and send you out into the land of brunch once more.”

“Thank you.”

“Speaking of, how is brunch going so far? Well, besides the fact that you pissed yourself.”

“It’s…fine,” I said.

“Just fine?”

I nodded. “It could probably be a lot worse. She seems to like Lyndie.”

“Well that’s good.”

“Sort of,” I said. “I feel like, at some point, I either have to tell her the truth about Lyndie and I–or I just keep the con going until I one day have to say we, like, broke up or something.”

“Such webs we weave,” Mommy laughed. I was hoping she’d have a suggestion or some sort of advice for how to deal with this situation, but that was all she seemed to have to say about it.

She patted my bottom, and the telltale plastic rustling of the diaper emanated from my pants. I would much rather not have to return to my mother like this–though I couldn’t deny that I was at least feeling more comfortable with a diaper on.

“This is where we part ways,” she said. “I’ll be here a little longer if you should have another accident…”

“N-no,” I said, furiously shaking my head. “I won’t be having any other accidents today.”

“It’s cute that you believe that. But, barring some sort of blowout, I assume I’ll see you on Monday?”

The thought of having a blowout in my diaper at the restaurant–in front of my mother–made my cheeks turn crimson again. “Yes, Mommy. And, again, I can’t thank you enough for helping me today.”

“Of course. Isn’t that what mommies are for?”

I left the office and slunk through the edge of the kitchen, just in case my mother was still around. She wasn’t. Soon, I was back amongst the patrons and their food, making my way back to our table.

“Where’d you run off to?” my mother asked as I pulled my chair out from the table. 

I was pleased to see that at some point, my soaking wet chair had been replaced with a clean and dry one. I wondered if I owed Lyndie had flagged someone down while my mother and I were both away from the table.

“See?” Lyndie said to me, jumping into the conversation. “I told you that you should’ve used the restroom before we came here.”

I swallowed nervously and shrugged. “You know how it is. Sometimes it just creeps up on you.” I turned to my mother: “So? How was the kitchen tour?”

“Oh, Clark, it was fantastic. Just a team of absolute professionals in there.”

I sighed with relief. What could have been the single worst moment of my life had been reduced to just…another embarrassing adventure that the world at large wasn’t privy to. My mother sat there with a smug smile on her face–meanwhile, I was sitting across the table from her in a diaper while my ass stung from the spanking I had just received not that far from where she had been standing.

“You know,” my mother continued, seeming to stray into a new topic. “Clark here was very hard to potty train.”

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Mother. What does that have to do with anything?”

“No, no,” Lyndie said, laughing. She looked very happy to be hearing this. “I’d love to hear more about that.”

“He was just a stubborn little boy,” my mother said, shrugging. “I was terrified that I’d have to delay him from going to preschool for a year because he’d still be having accidents.”

Lyndie’s smile was downright smarmy. “But you did it? You successfully potty trained him?”

My mother laughed. “It took a while. And I won’t tell you how many pairs of underwear we lost in that battle. But, so far as I know, it eventually took. Is that right, Clark? I have to assume you’re not pooping your pants at work.”

I couldn’t even bring myself to look at Lyndie. “Mother, can we please not talk about me, uhm, having accidents? I’m a grown man.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Lyndie said. “He poops his pants almost every day at work.”

My mother belted out another laugh as she looked back towards me. “She’s funny.”

Her brain would’ve exploded on the spot if she knew that Lyndie was telling the truth and not just trying to poke fun at me. And there was a part of me that almost wanted to see that. 

I could just picture it. “Actually, Mother? She’s right. And, here, I’ll show you right now…”

I quickly brushed away the daydreams, afraid of getting too caught up in them.

And so brunch rolled on. We continued to chat–mostly small talk about inconsequential things. It seemed like both my mother and I were intentionally avoiding topics that came even close to being ‘deep.’ At first, I thought I preferred it this way. I liked keeping the meal relatively simple and drama-free. But the longer it stayed like this, the less welcomed the mood felt. All this build-up and anticipation for brunch, and we were just going to sit there and act as if everything was fine? Like we had a good, if boring, relationship?

I suspected my mother felt the same way. I could see it in her gaze when her eyes lingered on me a little too long. I could hear it in her tone. 

Sometimes I was thankful that Lyndie was there as someone to keep the peace, though I sometimes wished I hadn’t brought her along–afraid it was getting in the way of a much uglier conversation that my mother and I needed to have. Too, I was a little disappointed that Lyndie might walk away from this experience thinking that I had overreacted about my mother–she wouldn’t have seen the woman that I often feared.

“We should really do this more often,” my mother said to me, dabbing her cloth napkin to her lips upon taking her last bite of food. “Wasn’t this nice?”

I sighed. Was I going to just nod my head and agree?

I chose to bite my proverbial tongue. “Perhaps we should.”

“It seems silly that it took us so long to reconnect, Clark. And it’d be nice if I didn’t have to be the one to initiate that conversation.”

Through gritted teeth: “Yeah…I suppose I should just reach out next time.”

“It seems like you’re doing well, Clark,” my mother said. She seemed surprised.

As tempting as it was to call that out, I let it be. 

“Thank you.”

From our spot on the balcony, I could see Mommy at a table below us. She was sitting with Paolo Ferdinand, a rather impressive spread of food between them. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. I wasn’t so stupid as to believe that Mommy was mine and mine alone, though it still didn’t feel all that great to see her smiling in the company of another man.

My mother was saying something, and Lyndie was responding–I was almost entirely tuned out of that conversation as my eyes kept glancing towards Mommy’s table. I wondered if she could see me up here and if she had any idea what I might be thinking. 

Did she know Paolo well? How did they meet? How long have they known each other? How good of a friend do you have to be with someone before you can have them run interference while you pull someone into their office for a spanking?

“...and I thought that maybe I’d take some time off before grad school, though it’s definitely on the horizon,” Lyndie was saying, doing her best to keep the conversation going while my consciousness was absent from the table.

I had been chewing on this little thought since Seattle, though it seemed kind of formless until I was at Mommy’s house last night. It was about how Mommy seemed to have put so much of her life on hold for the sake of her job. And also, probably, her ‘babies.’ Maybe she didn’t want actual children of her own. But I knew her, and I was beginning to think I knew her pretty well at that. I was seeing some sort of longing in her eyes. She needed something more than just enthusiastic wimps in diapers that she could boss around and humiliate–she needed a partner who was on the same page as her. Someone that was her equal. Hell, maybe even someone that was capable of putting Mommy in her place once in a while.

Was Paolo that man? I knew nothing about him, but I hoped not. I didn’t really like his vibe–whatever that meant. 

So then who? It felt like I was assigning myself homework: finding Mommy a partner.

Or are you finding yourself a Daddy? The thought was so absurd that I laughed out loud.

“There’s nothing funny about furthering your education, Clark,” my mother said, shaking her head. “Have you put any thought into what you’re doing after you’ve graduated?”

I really stepped into that one.

“Oh, I don’t know. I mean, I have a pretty good job right now so it’s hard to think that I’d want to leave that anytime soon.”

My mother’s tongue clucked and she shook her head. “But you’re someone’s assistant, right?”

“Is that a bad thing?” I asked.

“You’re just an assistant. What’s the next step in that career path?”

Her question annoyed me, but mostly because it wasn’t a terrible one. “I guess I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

My mother shook her head with disapproval. “See, Clark? This is why I worry about you. I feel like you’re always stuck in the present. Really, it’s not all that different from your difficulties with potty training. At some point, you have to be ready to move on to something better than diapers.”

It was as if my mother knew about the diapers. I was certain that she didn’t–if only because she wouldn’t hesitate to talk about that too. But just the reference was enough to make me feel like I was melting into a puddle of humiliated liquid. It certainly didn’t help that Lyndie was giggling behind her hand–doing her best to stifle an even bigger outburst.

I turned my chair a little–just enough to make it harder for me to glance down at Mommy. I didn’t need this distraction anymore. Especially not while my mother was using the d-word at my table.

“But what if Clark likes diapers?” Lyndie said. I wanted to slap her silly for that.

My mother laughed. “Well, you did say that he dirtied his pants all day at work, right?”

Lyndie chuckled as she glanced in my direction for a moment–all but actually winking at me. 

“You’re right,” I said. “At some point you have to move on from, uh, diapers.” I said it only to appease my mother, but as the words came out of my mouth, they felt truer than I expected them to. 

My mother was right–I probably did have a penchant for staying in the now. I created a comfort zone and then I didn’t budge from it until I absolutely had to. Not once in the time I had known Mommy had I considered the tale of how stubborn I was when being potty trained as a toddler. I wasn’t sure if I had just never heard that story before, or if I had, but blocked it from my memory. It made complete sense though. I had been comfortable in diapers, once upon a time. And, when I found myself back in them again, I found that comfort once more. 

“See,” my mother said. “Sometimes he just needs–”

“But here’s the thing, Mom. Sometimes it’s okay to just stop and enjoy a moment. I’ve got my whole life ahead of me, and I know that I can’t, like, wear diapers for all of it. So if I want to take some time to enjoy diapers now, then maybe I’m going to.”

Lyndie was still laughing–maybe harder than she had been before. 

My mother had a very puzzled look on her face. “Clark, we are still talking about your complacency, right? I’m starting to think we’re actually talking about diapers.”

It probably wasn’t very smart to use my secret shame as a metaphor, I realized. “R-right. My, uhm, complacency.”

“Well,” she said, a begrudging tone in her voice, “whether I agree or disagree, you seem happy. At the end of the day, that’s all I really wanted for you.”

That felt like a victory. 

No, my mother didn’t know the whole story. She didn’t know that somewhere in this very restaurant, there was a woman I called ‘Mommy’ who spanked me and treated me like an infant. She didn’t know that Lyndie wasn’t my girlfriend, though she was often my babysitter. She didn’t know that when I said I wanted to enjoy diapers a little longer–I meant it very literally. But I stood my ground and convinced my mother that I was an adult who was doing the things I wanted to do, and that was all I had to do.

“Well,” Lyndie said, standing up. “I think it’s my turn to step away from the table for a moment. Just off to the restroom, but I’ll be back in a moment.”

And that just left me and my mother, alone at the table with each other for the first time.

She wasted no time. “Clark, I told you that I wanted to come up to talk to you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“She’s a nice young woman, but don’t think that I didn’t see through this little tactic.”

“Tactic? Wh-what tactic?”

“I wanted to talk about our relationship, Clark. Or, you know, the lack thereof. And you knew that I wouldn’t bring up those things if you brought a guest with you.”

I hadn’t actually considered that–though if I had, I would’ve liked that plan too. My reason for bringing Lyndie was to attempt to prove that I was an independent adult who didn’t need my mother to take care of me anymore.

“And if I’m wrong about this, feel free to get all huffy and tell me so,” she continued, “but I don’t even think you and Lyndie are actually dating.”

I sighed. “What makes you think that?”

“A mother knows everything. I’ve been watching the two of you the whole time. You don’t touch each other. You barely look at each other half the time. I’ve seen couples on the verge of divorce that interact more than the two of you.”

I had no counterargument for that. I could say she was wrong, but she already made her mind up–and I couldn’t spin a lie that was going to change it.

I just shrugged. A noncommittal ‘Well fine, if you think that’s true–what do you think that means?’

“Do you know what would have actually impressed me today?” she asked.

Oof. “No.”

“If you just met me someplace–anyplace–as yourself. And we just talked. Like a mother and a son.”

I sighed and spun the remnants of my last mimosa around in my champagne flute. This had never been about me being scared of my mother. It had been about me being afraid to be myself. Afraid that I’d have let my mother down.

“Just tell me now,” she said, glancing off to her side for a moment. “Quickly, before Lyndie gets back. And honestly. Are you doing well?”

I laughed. There really wasn’t a ‘quick’ answer to a question like that. But I searched my gut and found the answer: “I am. I’m doing really well. Sometimes I feel like I’m in over my head…but the highs have never been higher.”

“That’s all that really matters to me,” she said. “No further questions…”

I sighed in relief.

“...until next time. When I’m in town next, it’s going to be just you and me. And I’ll probably have a few more questions for you.”

“Yeah…fair enough,” I said, watching Lyndie as she strolled back towards the table.

Brunch came to an end and we stepped out from the restaurant–our bellies full and our heads a little buzzed from the champagne in our mimosas. I had no clue what the protocol was here. Was I supposed to invite my mother back to my place? Suggest that we go and find another activity? Truthfully, I had my fill of my mother for one day, so I would’ve rather avoided spending more time with her if I could help it.

Thankfully, she nipped that conversation in the bud. “Well, it’s been a wonderful time this morning, but I should probably get going.”

This was the part where I had to feign interest in her staying longer. “What? Already? Are you sure you don’t want to stay longer? You drove all this way and…”

“It was good seeing you, Clark. I hope we get to see each other again soon.” I could never be entirely sure with her, but I felt i knew her enough to know what she actually meant: “Today was stressful for you, I can tell. Here, have some space.”

I nodded and wrapped my arms around here. I couldn’t see the look on her face, but I could feel her surprise–this might have been the first time in our life together that I had initiated a hug with her.

“You’ll take good care of him, young lady?” my mother asked Lyndie, hugging her next.

“I promise.”

There were a few more hugs and an awkward wet kiss planted on my cheek. Then, my mother did something that I had forgotten she used to do–a signature-mom move from our childhood: a firm-but-encouraging pat to the bottom. Of course, my bottom was well-padded, and her hand struck the concealed diaper with a hollow thunk. I could see the look on her face, and I could tell that she wasn’t sure what to make of that. 

Maybe, one day, she’d ask me about that. Hopefully, she would forget.

Then, she expertly hailed a cab and was taken away. That was it–it was over.

“Well?” Lyndie asked, a big grin on her face. “You survived.”

“Just barely.”

“Yeah, pissy pants and everything.”

I took a deep breath and shook my head. “Jesus, what’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing at all, Clarky,” she said, putting her arm around my shoulders.

“My mom probably thinks I’m crazy.”

“Maybe,” Lyndie said, shrugging. “But who cares?”

“Easy for you to say,” I said as we began to walk down the street together, her arm wrapped around my shoulder as I looped mine around her waist. “She’s not your family.”

“Oh, please,” she quickly retorted. “My family is full of weirdos.”

I laughed. “Really?”

“Well, sure. I’ve got a little brother who still wears diapers. He can get real stinky too.”

I blushed and laughed again. “Y-you think I’m your family?”

“There’s the family you’re born with, and the family you create for yourself, Clarky. I’m proud to have you as part of mine.”

“I love you, Lyndie.”

“I love you too, Clark.”

We walked another block before she guided me into a quiet alley, leading me behind a building into an empty patch of concrete.

“Wh-what are we doing here?”

“I need to check your diaper.”

“What? Now? But…”

“Clark. Did you, or did you not just pee your pants.”

“Wait, but…how did you…?”

She laughed to herself as she shook her head. “Your waddle always gets a little more pronounced when you’re carrying around some extra weight in your pants.”

I did nothing to stop her as she pulled the waistband of my pants open and lowered a practiced hand into them to feel my diaper. She nodded upon her hand’s discovery of the wet and mushy padding between my legs.

“Didn’t Mommy just put you into this diaper? When did this happen?”

“Like…right after my mother got into her cab.”

Lyndie laughed and shook her head. “C’mon. Let’s go back to your place. I’ll change your diaper for you.”

“You sure?”

“Quite. So if you’ve got anything else to do in your diaper before we get back, you might as well do it now.”

“A-are you sure? You might not like it…”

“You might be surprised,” she said, smiling as she walked me back to the street again. “If I’m being honest…I’ve kind of grown attached to, uhm, more maternal things as of late.”

“You’d be a good mommy,” I said.

Later, reflecting on the surreal morning from my bed, I found myself feeling better about my relationship with my mother. Maybe the best I had felt in a long time. It was perfect, but I could see a path for things to get better.

I decided to text her: “Thank you for coming this morning. I do hope we get together soon.”

I then realized that I still had her name saved in my phone as ‘Annette Leiland-Ashburn.’ So formal. It was as if she was a business associate, not my mother. I decided to edit the contact information to just ‘Mom.’ A small gesture, and one that only I would ever know about, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

A baby step, of course. Because that’s all I was capable of.

[D503]

Fantastic writing - a wonderful chapter with some close calls and some interesting revelations. I wonder if Lyndie sees the marks of the spanking!

[kirababy]

So glad to see another chapter, and a fun one at that.

[Sumi]

While I am not a big one to comment much and I feel I have really neglected you QuietlyHumiliated on what has evolved to become probably the best story I have ever read on this or any other website for that matter. The story line which is still unfolding, the character development, the complexity and intertwining of the story line....I am just in awe of how you have this all running. Truly an amazing and mesmerizing story you have going here. For a while i couldn't figure out who some of the character references were to, ie Mr Anderson aka Thomas Pritchart? So I did what I would suggest to others and that is to go back to the beginning and completely reread the whole story again up to now without having to wait for the weekly/biweekly updates. People would be surprised at the things they missed or forgot about the 1st time it was read. Again thank you for this wonderful story and I hope it coninues for a very long time to come. It certainly has the potential to be a truly Neverending story.  

[quietlyhumiliated]

Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading, liking and commenting on this story. It's always incredibly encouraging to see such a warm reception to something that I've sunk a, uh, lil bit of time into. 

Also, somewhere along the way, I fell behind in posting chapters here. I'm posting two chapters this week, though I think I owe you one more after that to get you caught up with where I think you should be - so I'll (hopefully) be posting again sooner than later.

 

Sixty-One

Sunday morning found me in better spirits. It felt damn good to have my mother’s visit over and done with. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that there was unfinished business with my mother–one day she’d be back and we’d be having some deeper conversations–but that felt like a future-me problem.

Evan squinted his eyes at me as he poured himself some coffee. “What’s up with you?”

“Up? Uh, nothing?”

“You look…good. Better?”

“Less stressed, probably,” I said, nodding. “You can actually see that?”

“It’s the first time in a while that you don’t look like you’re about to have a panic attack. Whatever you’re doing for yourself, it’s working. New diapers?”

I felt my cheeks warming a little. “N-no… It’s just, you know, my mother came and went. Life can get back to normal. Sort of.”

Sort of. Today wasn’t going to be a ‘normal’ day by any means.

“Well, it’s good to have you back,” he said.

“Actually, can I, uhm, ask you a question, Evan?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“If I was a, er, girl… What do you think my name would be?”

His lips curled into an amused smile as he stroked his chin. “That’s an interesting question.”

“Just humor me,” I said. If pressed, I’d have probably caved and told him the reason I was asking–but I was hoping that wouldn’t come up.

“You just look like a ‘Clark’ to me, you know? It’s like, your very essence. So I can’t imagine you being, like, a ‘Vanessa’ or an ‘Abigail.’”

“How about Bridget?” I asked. I was kind of partial to that name.

Evan shook his head. “No, that doesn’t seem right either.”

“Why not?”

“I dunno. It’d be impossible for me to say what a ‘Bridget’ looks like. But I’d know her if I saw her–and you’re not her.”

“Okay, so…”

“I think it’d have to be something like Clark.”

“Clarkette?”

“No, Clark. That’s a fucking terrible name. Maybe something like…Claire.”

“Claire,” I repeated, getting a feel for how it sounded to say aloud. I didn’t think I ever would’ve thought of that name on my own, but it did have a good ring to it. “Yeah, okay. I think that works.”

“Something you want to tell me, bud? You, uh, thinking about a new identity?”

“No, no. It was just…something I was thinking about lately.”

“I know this is kind of stating the obvious–considering the diapers and all that–but you can be pretty weird sometimes.”

I shrugged. “Is that bad?”

“Not at all. I hope you stay this weird for the rest of your life.”

Having crossed off my mother’s visit from my mental priority list, everything else on it got a little bump. Next in the queue was Megan. I had promised her a message to let her know when I could drop by and see her, and I felt a little bad that I hadn’t reached out yet–though I felt like I had good reasons for that.

I decided to finally text her, hoping that my silence hadn’t sent the wrong impression.

Me: “Hi Megan. This is Clark. I was wondering if you still wanted to get together today?”

A few minutes passed without a response. I sort of expected that. Despite knowing very little about Megan, she struck me as the type who would see that I texted her and purposefully decide not to respond immediately–instead letting me wait a little bit.

But her response would eventually come.

Megan: “Clark? From work? Hmm. No, I don’t think I’m supposed to be hanging out with YOU today…”

Just what I needed in my life–another snarky woman. Still, I felt myself smiling as I read her message. While I was still a little nervous about meeting her–and doing whatever it was she wanted to do with me then–it felt kind of mysterious and exciting. She felt mysterious and exciting.

I typed the words out on my phone, unsure how I’d feel about sending them. I went back and forth on hitting the ‘send’ button–ultimately slamming my thumb down to send it her way before I could talk myself out of it.

Me: “Oh, sorry. This is Claire.”

It’d be a few minutes before I heard from her again. Long minutes, mostly spent just pacing in my bedroom.

Megan: “You have a very pretty name. You’d like to come over today?”

Me: “If you’re still good with that plan.”

Megan: “Of course. 1:00 PM work for you?”

Me: “It does.”

She sent me her address, and that was that–I had committed. And what more–I was kind of excited about it. I wasn’t even sure why, to be honest. I didn’t think it had much to do with her plans of dressing me up. If anything, it was just refreshing to spend time with someone I didn’t see everyday. The Mommies, Lyndies, and Avas of the world–bless them–were great. But variety was great too.

Oh shit.

It occurred to me that I hadn’t thought once about the whole point of why I was going to spend time with Megan in the first place. We had made a deal. She’d use me as her little dolly for the day. And then, after I cooperated, she’d tell me who had leaked information about the diaper stuff at work to Thomas Pritchard.

But…when I had reached out to her to make plans, our deal was the furthest thing from my mind. I almost didn’t care about who told who what.

Almost. If I wanted to keep my job–if I wanted Mommy to keep hers–I probably needed to care a little bit.

I was tempted to leave my diapers at home, but I couldn’t do it. Yesterday’s brunch with my mother was proof that I probably needed to be wearing them as often as possible. Besides–Megan already knew I wore diapers. She had even seen me in a diaper. And so not only did I leave the apartment wearing a diaper, but I had shoved a few fresh ones, some wipes, and some baby powder into my backpack that I threw over my shoulder.

She was just a few stops away on the train. Though, that was long enough that by the time I stepped off of the train, my diaper was already a little soggy. I was a little embarrassed about that–I had no doubt that Megan would eventually figure that out for herself too–but such was my life now.

Her building had a lobby. With an actual person working at a front desk. Living the dream, I thought. On Mr. Yang’s dime, no less. I told them who I was and who I was there to see. Apparently, they had already been notified of my arrival, and sent me to the elevator.

Soon, I was at her door, and it took her a minute or two to respond when I knocked. I imagined her standing on the other side of the door with a smile on her face as she waited a minute or two.

“Claire, was it?” she asked, finally opening the door.

I chuckled and shrugged. “Uh, yeah. That’s me, I guess.”

“You need more confidence,” she said, beckoning for me to enter her apartment as she closed the door behind me. “The boys are going to eat a girl like you alive if you can’t even be sure about your own name.”

I blushed as I bit my bottom lip. I was tempted to tell her that I didn’t think that would ever be an issue–but it was actually pretty sound advice for my life in general. I did need to be more confident.

At work, Megan always stood out to me, I thought. Not because she looked like she didn’t fit in with humanity. She just had this aura about her. This confident and unflappable energy. Not even the executives carried themselves like she did. For some time, I had labored under the delusion that this was just how Mr. Yang wanted her to look. But seeing her in her own home, I realized I couldn’t have been more wrong about that.

Gone were the flowy dresses and tight tops. No expensive shoes. Instead she was wearing an oversized and loose-fitting tee that hung past her waist–barely concealing a comically small pair of powder blue shorts. From there, it was just her long slender legs and her adorable feet–the toenails painted a similar shade of blue. And yet she still embodied poise and strength. This was just who she was.

There was a time, not that long ago, when I probably wouldn’t have noticed–but I had enough experience of my own now that I seemed to be developing a knack for noticing diaper bulges. Stuffed inside of those microscopic shorts was a thick diaper that appeared to be testing the seams. It was probably quite the spectacle to watch her hoist them over her padding in the first place.

“I see you decided to wear a diaper,” I said. I wasn’t sure if I’d say anything about it or not, but then I recalled the conversation we had in her office where she said that she rarely wore them anymore. It almost felt like she wanted me to notice.

“That’s a keen eye,” she said, her lips tilting into a rye smile. “It seemed only fair, since I figured you’d be rolling in with a diaper of your own.”

“Uhm…”

“You are, right? Wearing a diaper?”

I nodded. I should’ve left it at that, but then I blurted out: “It’s a little wet, though.”

She snorted. “So you’re saying I have some catching up to do?”

Her response put me at ease. I was still unsure of what to make of Megan. I liked her so far–the little I actually knew of her–but I still wasn’t sure what kind of person she was. Leader or follower?

“I suppose so,” I laughed, running my hand through my hair.

“Can I get you something to drink, Claire? Beer?”

There was a little bit of a delay in my response–I had paused, waiting to see if she was talking to someone else or not. Oh yeah–I was Claire.

“Sure.”

“Would you like me to put in a baby bottle for you?”

Surely, she was just kidding. I thought I’d play along. “Yeah, good idea.”

“Perfect,” she said. “I’ll be right back with your bottle.”

Another detail I remembered from our conversation in her office was that Mr. Yang was paying for her apartment. And, by the looks of it, he must’ve been paying a pretty penny. The views from her windows were epic, and I couldn’t believe how much space she had. I hoped she knew how lucky she was. She’d probably scoff at my place.

I tried to get a better sense of who she was as I looked around. I found the decor to be quite maximalist–almost the opposite of Mommy’s clean and minimalist approach to decorating in her home. Every wall was a gallery of framed photos, posters, and trinkets. I wondered if you could follow her entire life if you walked along the wall–a trip through every place she had ever been, and the people who had been there with her.

“Coachella 2017,” Megan said, returning to the room as I studied one of the photos on her wall. It featured a cluster of men posing without shirts on, their skin glistening in the sun. “I threw up during Radiohead. Embarrassing, but what can you do?”

“Were you…there?” I said, pointing to the photo.

“Ah, well, don’t forget…I looked different then. Second from the left.”

“But that’s… Oh. That’s…you.”

He was a little less slender, with darker hair and stubble on his chin. But I could see Megan there. Those lips. Those piercing eyes.

“Everyone else in the photo are your friends?”

“They were,” she said, handing me a bottle. It was, in fact, a baby bottle filled with an amber beer.

“And…now?”

“Some are still friends,” she said. “Some aren’t. I changed. And they changed too.”

I wondered if that was what her walls represented: a monument to the things that changed.

My response almost felt instinctive: “I’m sorry.”

She chuckled softly to herself and shook her head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I felt like I had to say something, and Lyndie’s words from the day before were still in mind: “There’s the family you’re born into, and the family you create for yourself.”

“So true,” Megan said. “But you didn’t come here to talk about that.”

“I suppose not,” I said, my sweaty hands fiddling with the baby bottle in my hands.

“Why do you look so nervous?” she asked. “I didn’t ask you to come over because we were going to go and kill someone.”

She made a good point, and I needed to ask myself why I was being this way. Maybe it was just general anxiety. Anxious was just my default setting these days, especially after the back-to-back excursions with Mommy and then my mother. But I truly didn’t think Megan was going to wrong me. I wanted to trust her.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, sucking up some of the beer through the bottle’s nipple. The act should have felt ridiculous, but I had experienced far weirder things. This seemed relatively tame in comparison.

“Follow me,” she said. “And don’t forget your ba-ba.”

She took me to her bedroom. And, whereas the rest of her apartment had a more random–without feeling messy or cluttered–feel to it, her room was just chaotic. Clothes were strewn all over the place. The shelves and dressers seemed to be overflowing with stacks of clothing. Her closet door was open, revealing even more clothes.

“I suppose this is the part where I should apologize for the mess,” she said. “I won’t, though. This is just how it is.”

“It’s your place,” I said, nodding. “I won’t judge too much.”

“Some might call it a problem–having so many clothes,” she said. “But as you might be able to guess…”

“You don’t pay for them yourself.”

“Bingo,” she said.

“So what do you spend your own money on?” I asked.

“Food. Alcohol.  Uh…other stuff.”

I was a little curious about ‘other stuff,’ though her wry grin suggested it was probably something a little more illicit than alcohol. I let it be–her secrets were hers.

“Do you want something else?” she asked. “Like, besides alcohol?”

I thought back to my little trip at Mommy’s house the other night. I still needed a spare moment to process that. “No…I think I’m good, thank you.”

“Well if you change your mind, just say so.”

“Sure.”

“Well, what do you think? Wanna jump right into it?”

I laughed and scratched my head again. “Uhm…you first?”

To my surprise, she didn’t just grab the bottom of her shirt and begin to lift it up over her head–ready to get this little game of ‘dress up’ started. Instead, she just started laughing. The way that it had burst from her mouth made me think she had been bottling it up for some time.

“What, uh, is so funny?”

“Did you really think I was going to make you dress up?”

“Well…”

“Let me ask a different question,” she said. “Do you really want to wear these clothes?”

I sighed. “I mean…I guess I’m curious, but…”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said. “When you were in my office, you just had this look on your face like you’d have done anything that I asked you to.”

I was laughing now myself, shaking my head. “Yeah…I believe that.”

“I’m really happy you came, Clark. But…I think I need a friend more than a girlfriend.”

I was surprised, and maybe even a little relieved, by this turn of events. “Sure. Well, I’m here to, uh, be your friend.”

Truthfully, I was there because I thought we had made a bargain. I was going to play dress-up for her, and she was going to share some intel that she had. I hoped that she didn’t plan on reneging on that part of our deal too.

“Can I show you some outfits?” she asked. “I’d like your opinion.”

“Of course.”

She started by unbuttoning her shorts, jamming her thumbs beneath the waistband to help herself shimmy out of them. Only they didn’t seem to be budging. Her face got a little pink as she looked up at me.

“My shorts are stuck,” she laughed. “Can I get a hand?”

I waddled behind her and grasped either side of the tight shorts’ waistband as she gripped the bottom of the shorts’ legs. Together, we pulled and wiggled the fabric, hoping to slide it past the bulky diaper. It finally budged–only after I had dropped to my knees in attempt to get more leverage with a different angle. The pants came off with a violent fwomp, her plump diaper expanding out in all directions–no longer confined by the tight shorts.

I was now face-to-rear with her diaper. Her noticeably soggy diaper.

“Oh, looks like you, uh, caught up,” I said.

She spun around to face me again, and helped me to my feet again.

“Do you know how to change someone else’s diaper?” she asked, reaching behind her back to unfasten her bra’s clasp.

I shook my head. “I mean…I’ve had plenty of my own changed by other people. And I change my own diaper when I have to.”

“But you think you could figure it out?”

“Probably,” I said. “If I had to.”

She finally succeeded at loosening her bra, and I watched as it just fell from her chest, the straps sliding down her arms. She seemed to have no shame, just standing in front of me with her perfectly round and symmetrical breasts jutting out. I was tempted to tell myself that they weren’t ‘real,’ but that felt like a pretty silly thing to get hung up on. They were as real as they needed to be, and they looked phenomenal.

“I’m not asking you to change me now,” she said. “Just wondering if you’d be up to it if I needed a hand again later.”

“I, uhm, well…I…” I lost my train of thought as I stared at her chest. Don’t be rude. I tried keeping my eyes on her face as I finally finished my thought: “I think I could swing that.”

“And, of course, if you help take care of me, I’ll help take care of you.”

“Noted,” I said, my lips arching into a natural smile. My groin ached so badly.

“Unless…you think you’d get in trouble with your Mommy for playing with other girls.”

I bit my lip again.

“Well…I did tell her that we were meeting today. I kind of left out the part about dressing up. But…I didn’t get the impression that she thought we’d be getting into any trouble together.”

Megan shrugged. “There’s a limit to how much trouble we can get into, of course.”

“How so?”

Megan smiled as she gripped the bulge in the front of her diaper. “We’re both locked up nice and tight.”

I was sure that I’d have eventually come to the same conclusion myself–but her pointing it out excited me a little. It somehow made the afternoon feel a little naughtier. My shriveled dick tingled a little as I took some pleasure from my uselessness.

“Look around,” she said. “Does anything catch your eye?”

“But…”

“You said you were curious,” she shrugged. “So if, you know, you wanted to take something home with you, you’re welcome to.”

There were an overwhelming number of options. Dresses, skirts, pants, shirts, pajamas, nightgowns. There were even things that I couldn’t even identify–garments with straps and snaps in places that didn’t make immediate sense to me.

“I dunno,” I said. “I guess we’ll see if anything catches my eye.”

“Anything you want.”

I pointed towards one of the many stacks of garments that littered her bedroom floor. “Is it all, like, clean?”

“Need I remind you that you’re standing in front of me in a diaper that you’ve already pissed in?”

“Well…that’s fair.”

“Yes, it’s all clean,” she said. “Clean-ish. I didn’t run around shitting myself in these.”

But just as quickly as she said that, her eyes darted to a pink skirt, partially obscured by some other clothes. She seized it from the ground and threw it into a hamper near the closet.

“There,” she continued. “Everything else should be pretty clean.”

“What was wrong with–”

“Don’t ask,” she said, shaking her head. “Mistakes were made.”

I wanted to know everything about that mistake, but I bit my tongue and just nodded respectfully. I couldn’t help but hope that good behavior would earn me a place where she’d tell me that story.

“Oh, I just got this,” she said, grabbing something from the floor–a slim pair of green pants that were near the closet door. “They’re a little tight–maybe too tight.”

“Like, so tight that they wouldn’t fit over your diaper?”

She laughed. “Yes, probably.” She casually dropped them back onto the floor again,

“M-maybe…that?” I said, pointing towards a bright yellow skirt that was splayed out on the other side of the room.

“Ooh, that yellow skirt?” she asked, trotting over to it and picking it up. “You know, I’ve never worn this.”

I shrugged. “Try it on!”

“Hmm,” she hummed, her head pivoting to scan the room. “Oh wait. I think I have a top that would look really good with this. Now, where the hell did I put it… I think I only wore it, like, once. But I know I didn’t throw it away or donate it.”

She finally expelled a triumphant “A-ha!” as she pulled herself from the depths of her closet, a shimmering opalescent bundle of cloth in her hand. She unfurled the bundle into the shape of a shirt. Maybe there was a name for that sort of top–but I certainly didn’t know what it was. It was cute–white-ish, with a plastic sheen that captured a spectrum of colorful reflections. It was a little gaudy, and I couldn’t imagine someone wearing it out in public. Though if I had seen someone in public wearing it? I’d probably be interested in them.

“You said you wore that once?” I asked. I was trying my hardest not to stare at her. It was hard not to–I wanted to look like I was engaged, but it was hard to look engaged without also looking like I was simply staring at her tits.

“Once,” she said. “On a night out with Mr. Yang. I had a cocktail or two in it.”

“It’s pretty.”

“I think so too,” she nodded, slipping it over her head and letting it fall down her chest and abdomen. “I was wearing this little skirt too–though I have no idea where that is now. This was back when he was into diapers, so...”

“Little skirt?” I asked. “So…”

“Oh, the outfit did absolutely nothing to hide my diaper. I’m not proud of it. But I was still under Mr. Yang’s spell at the time.”

I nodded, recalling what she told me in her office: She did not like Darren Yang anymore.

“These days, I do what I know will keep him happy,” she said. “And as long as he’s happy…he continues to pay for all this. It’s transactional–not actual infatuation.”

I had a lot of questions. I was imagining her at a bar with Mr. Yang, her opalescent shirt and short skirt shifting everytime she moved to reveal a thick diaper underneath it. Other people had to have noticed. What did they think? What did they say?

“Want to try it on?” she teased.

“I probably shouldn’t…”

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Afraid you’re going to like it?”

I laughed. “That’s the problem. I like everything.”

“Careful,” she said. “That’s a slippery slope.”

“Don’t I know it.”

From somewhere else in her apartment, I could hear the chime of my phone signaling that I had received a text. As tempted as I was to run and see who it was, I stayed in place, eye’s fixed on Megan still.

“That’s a, uh, cute combo.”

“You think? Maybe I’ll add this to the rotation.”

Another loud chime from my phone.

“Do you mind if I go check that real quick?” I asked. “I-I’m sorry to interrupt this. But I just want to make sure it’s nothing important.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll get together my next outfit.”

I felt a sense of relief as I marched back towards my phone in the living room. This wasn’t nearly as awkward as I thought it’d be. And I liked Megan–not that I ever thought I wouldn’t. It felt good to have someone else in this surreal world that I could consider a friend.

I reached my phone and checked the screen, seeing two messages from Mommy. My heart began to pound, as I nervously read what she had sent me.

Mommy: “I was just thinking about our conversation the other night. About introducing some chaos in your life? How about right now? What do you think? Can you fill your diaper up for me in the next hour or so? And I think you know what I mean by ‘fill.’”

 

 

Mommy: “I suppose this is the part where I threaten you with ramifications if you’re not able to do it. But…I think you’ll do it–no matter how embarrassing or awkward it is–just because you love to make me happy.”

She certainly knew me well.

“Everything good out there, Claire?” called Megan from her room. She seemed to, still, get such delight from calling me that.

“Uhm, yeah. Be right there.”

Things were going to get real interesting–as they usually did.

 

 

Sixty-Two

I was frozen in place, phone in my hand, as I decided on what I should say to Mommy–or if I shouldn’t say anything at all. I wondered if I had the option to just not respond, and later claim that I wasn’t near my phone at the time her message arrived. Could I buy myself enough time to satiate Megan’s before heading home to tell Mommy that I just got her message?

I supposed it was possible. But I already knew that I wasn’t going to do that. Mommy practically had a hand in my bottom already, and she could manipulate me like a puppet. If she wanted me to fill my diaper, I was probably going to do it.

But I felt like I owed it to Megan to let her know about the situation first. Fingers crossed that she’d kick me out before I smelled the place up.

“You, uh, alright?” Megan asked as I slowly waddled back into her bedroom. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. And Mr. Yang pays far too much money for this place for it to be haunted.”

“I, uhm, just got a text from Mommy, er, Ms. Heller.” I wasn’t sure why, but it still made me feel awkward to call her ‘Mommy’ when I was in the company of people I didn’t know as well.

“Okay? And is everything okay?”

“Well, she…” I found it hard to just spit out the words. What a ridiculous thing to have to say: “She said I have to poop my pants. You cool with that?”

“What? What is it? Does she need you to do something for her? Look, if you need to go, we can always do this another time.”

She was just handing me the opportunity. All I had to say was that I had something to do for Mommy and that I’d be back another time. Easy peasy.

But, of course, I couldn’t bring myself to say that. My subconsciousness’s desire for humiliation was overriding the forefront of my brain.

“We kind of have this, uhm, new thing we’re working on?” I started, nervously sliding my hand through my hair. “She, like, sends me commands and I…do them.”

She laughed, her lips curling into a curious grin. “I see. And just what did she ask you to do?”

“She wants me to…use my diaper.”

“And you have, yes? It looks pretty soggy to me.”

“N-no. I mean she wants me to…” The words still seemed stuck in my throat.

Megan giggled behind her hand, able to guess where I was going. “Ah, I see. And she wants you to do that…now?”

I nodded, my face felt hot.

“Well, do you think you could? Like, I don’t know if I could just shit on command.”

“I…dunno,” I shrugged. “But I feel like I never really know these days. One moment I’ll be fine and then the next I’m…squatting and filling my diaper.”

“You know what they say, right? You never know unless you try.”

“Y-you want me to…”

“It’s what she wants you to do, right? And I imagine there’s some sort of punishment if you don’t?”

Actually, I had no idea. But I also wasn’t sure that I wanted to know. I wanted to show Mommy that I was obedient enough to just do as she asked without consequences being a factor. Easier said than done when I was anywhere other than my home or in Mommy’s office.

“Go ahead,” she shrugged. “Do what you have to do.”

“But…”

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone pooped their diaper in this room. Though it would be the first time it was someone else.”

I sighed. I appreciated her giving me the permission, but I still felt uncomfortable about it. It didn’t feel right to pollute her home like that.

“Wh-what if we both went back to my place and…”

“Claire.”

My cheeks brightened at hearing the name.

“Don’t be silly,” she continued. “Just bear down and mess your pampers. You know you want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Jesus, Claire. Is this what your Mommy puts up with every time you have to use your diaper?”

It probably wasn’t worth trying to talk this out any further. She had made herself very clear, and now it was just a matter of doing it. I wondered if Mommy knew I was here when she sent that text. Or at least, if she had hoped I was here. I had told her that I’d be here today, though I didn’t think I told her when. Kudos on the timing. I was sure she’d get a kick out of this later.

“Alright, alright. If you swear it’s okay…”

“I do,” she said, hands on her hip–accentuating her assertiveness. “So go and do it. Right now.”

Megan was different from the other diaper-bound babies in my social circle. Myself, and everyone else, were born submissives. We were told to wear and use diapers, and we accepted that. But Megan was far more of a leader than she was a follower. As best as I could tell, her moments of submission were just a tool to secure her more power later. She was in a place now where she never had to wear a diaper again if she didn’t want to–and yet she stood in front of me in soggy padding.

And, while nobody did it better than Mommy, I was still susceptible to the demands of anyone with a domineering tone. It would be my first time being bossed around by someone else wearing a diaper.

“Could I…go over there?” I asked, pointing to the other side of the bed. I hoped that I could squat low enough that she wouldn’t have to see my diaper expand if I messed myself.

She rolled her eyes. “Just do it right here. C’mon.”

The sooner I get it done, the sooner we can clean up and move on.

I spread my legs a little and squatted down. Every single time I did this, all I could think about was how normal it felt. Here we go again. Just pooping like a toddler. I pushed. Nothing. I pushed again, this time grunting and groaning some as I did. Still nothing.

“I…I don’t think I can go.”

Megan laughed. “So what do you do then?”

“I don’t know. Th-this is the first time that she’s made this sort of, uh, demand of me. Remotely.”

“Maybe tell her?”

“That’s a good idea,” I said. I was apprehensive to just tell Mommy that I couldn’t do her bidding, but it probably seemed better to say ‘I tried and failed’ rather than just not communicating with her at all.

I quickly sent a text to Mommy: “I’m trying, I swear. But what if I just can’t go?”

Her response came quickly: “You’re a smart baby. You’ll figure something out.”

That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for. Though I also realized I was a fool if I really thought she was going to say that it was fine to just be excused from her little challenge.

“I, uhm…have to find a way to go,” I said to Megan. That wasn’t exactly what Mommy had said to me, but I think I got the spirit of it right.

“Oh? Is that what Mommy says?”

I shrugged. “What am I supposed to do? Keep pushing?”

“I mean, they do make products to help people…go.”

I laughed and shook my head, amazed that I didn’t think of that myself. “Is there, like, a store nearby?”

Megan nodded. “A few blocks away. It’s a quick walk. A shame you didn’t dress up. Wouldn’t that have made for a more interesting walk?”

“Please, Megan. It’s bad enough that I’m getting your help to fill my diaper. I don’t know if I could even handle the idea of having to wear a dress out in public too. Just take me to the store. Please?”

“That sounds kind of like begging,” she said. “But if that were true, I think you could do a much better job of it.”

I sighed, shaking my head. Why did everything have to be so goddamned complicated? I was like a magnet for humiliation.

“Y-you want me to beg?”

She laughed. “Yeah, sure.”

I was on a clock, so there wasn’t time to negotiate or attempt to change her mind.  I immediately dropped down to my knees in front of her with my hands clasped together, shaking them towards her.

“P-please, Megan. Help me out? I know I promised to play with you today, but I also don’t want to let down Mommy and…”

“Fine, fine,” she said, pulling me by my wrists to my feet. “I didn’t actually think you were going to beg.”

I felt myself blush as I tried to consider how else I could’ve handled that besides begging. “So we can go?”

“That’s fine,” she said. “But I need you to change my diaper first.”

“But…” I wanted to tell her that I didn’t have all the time in the world. Mommy had initially told me that I had an hour, though I hoped I had bought myself a little bit of extra time by telling her that I was having trouble going. Still, there’d come a point when Mommy’s patience would be stretched to its limit. And then what?

“It won’t take long.”

“I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“Oh come on, Claire. You said so yourself: the number of times you’ve had your diaper changed? You know what to do.”

“Uh, okay,” I said, figuring it was easier to just comply. “Let’s do this.”

“Everything you need is right there,” Megan said, pointing to a halfway open drawer in her bedside table. She rolled onto the top of her bed, facing up at the ceiling with her legs open.

I took a deep breath. You know how to do this. You just haven’t actually done it before. But you can do this. It’ll be easy.

I opened the drawer, assessing the inventory. There were more diapers. Some baby powder. Baby lotion. Wipes. Assorted teething toys. There was also a pacifier–which reminded me of Mommy’s penchant for sticking one in my mouth while she changed my diaper. While I had little time for theatrics, I did wonder how she’d react if I asked her to put a paci in her mouth while I stumbled my way through a change. I took it out.

“H-here,” I said, beginning to guide it towards her face. “You should, uhm…”

“No thanks,” she interrupted.

“But…”

“Why don’t you put it in your mouth,” she said.

“But I’m the one changing you.”

“Right,” she shrugged. “And we shouldn’t let you get a big head just because you’re changing someone else’s diaper for a change. Why don’t you pop that into your own mouth?”

“I…I didn’t–”

“Come on, Clark. The sooner you’re sucking on my pacifier, the sooner you can change my diaper.” She seemed to have keenly picked up on the exact tone needed to easily push me towards her bidding.

I couldn’t believe I was doing it–though I should’ve seen this coming–I slipped her pacifier into my own mouth. I was no stranger to pacifiers, of course, and my body knew what to do with it. I started suckling on it automatically.

“There you go,” she cooed. “Good idea getting the pacifier. This should go much quicker now that you don’t have to talk.”

My cheeks flared as I began to pull open each of her soaked diaper’s tapes, each rip sounding louder than the one preceding it. Pulling open the front of the diaper between her legs revealed both the soaked padding of its interior and her caged penis. It was a different style than mine–a thick plastic shell that seemed to contain her in an even smaller space. I couldn’t help but notice the tattoo over her chastity device–a scripted font that read ‘Daddy’s Girl.’

“I know, I know,” she said. “One of my few true regrets of my time with Mr. Yang. Trust me, someday I’ll be getting that removed.”

I had nothing to say–or I had no ability to say anything at all–and so I just continued suckling the pacifier as I pulled her wet diaper out from under her, balling it up and tossing it into a trash can near the bed.

As tempting as it was to grab either the baby oil or lotion from the drawer, I already knew that those were beyond my skills. My luck, I’d make an absolute mess of myself, her, and her bedroom. It was probably better for everyone involved if I just stuck to the baby powder.

“Do you like my little clit?” she asked, her fingers playing with the tight chastity device.

I nodded.

“Do you want to taste it?”

I made a vague, noncommittal, groan through the pacifier: “Er…” I didn’t hate the idea of it. In fact, I found the concept a little arousing. But she hadn’t asked–nor commanded–me to do it, and I felt like I needed to flex my agency when I was allowed to have it.

She giggled. “Let me rephrase that. Taste it.”

She already knew how to control me, it seemed–though maybe it wasn’t that hard to figure out. I sighed out from my nose and slowly removed the pacifier from my mouth.

“That’s it,” she said. “Just a little taste.”

My head bobbed down, my tongue sticking out like a puppy’s. I closed my eyes, wondering if it would be slightly less humiliating to not have to see what I was licking.

Impact. The bottom of my tongue was pressed into something soft and fleshy, while the top of my tongue was rubbing against the rigid plastic of the chastity. It tasted…mildly salty?

“Mm,” she moaned. “Thank you.”

I brought my head back up from between her legs, cheeks bright red, ready to pick up where I had left off in her diaper change.

“Put the pacifier back in your mouth, though,” she said.

I nodded and slid it back in place. I actually grabbed the baby powder this time, turning the lid and beginning to overturn it over her midsection.

“Hold on, Clark. I think you’re jumping the gun with the powder. You just took off a dirty diaper, right? So what do you think the first step should be?”

Oh yeah, right. I reached back into the drawer and grabbed the package of baby wipes. I felt like I wouldn’t have made this mistake at home. It was strange how taking care of someone else felt like an entirely different process. I drew a damp wipe from the package and gingerly began to dab her soft skin with it.

“Has anyone ever done that to you while changing you?” she asked. “You don’t do little dabs like that. You’ve got to, you know, wipe the skin clean. You don’t have to be so gentle about it. Get in there, you know? Get the job done.”

I sighed through my nose again and gave it another whirl–running the wipe along her thighs and around the skin of the chastity device. It occurred to me that I had tasted her before I wiped her skin clean. I didn’t think that was disgusting, per se, though it

“There you go,” she encouraged, her tone taking on the slightest bit of condescension. “Much better. And remember–put the new diaper down before you start spreading powder all over the place.”

I felt my cheeks blushing yet again as I offered a little nod. I didn’t think she was trying to be mean–maybe it was just a natural tone to take with someone so…babyish.

I went through the steps as carefully as I could, though I tried not to be too sluggish about it–I still needed to get to the store, buy something for my bowels, take it, and actually go. The new diaper was opened up and flattened on the bed. She hoisted her bottom in the air, allowing me to slide it under her. I then doused her with the powder–finding that it came out a lot faster than I was expecting. Again–I should’ve known this. It wasn’t my first time shaking powder out.

“That’s a lot of powder,” she commented.

I took the pacifier from my mouth and set it aside. “S-sorry… Should I, like, try to brush some of it off?”

“No, leave it there. I’ll just smell extra fresh for a while.”

I had never been all that great at fastening my own diaper when I was left to do it myself, and so I was actually surprised at how much easier it was to fasten one on someone else. With a better angle and all the elbow room in the world, I suddenly felt like a diapering pro.

“Well?” I said. “What do you think?”

“It’s a little loose,” she said, tugging on the waist of the diaper a little to show the gap between her skin and the padding. “But it’ll hold for a while. Probably.”

I deflated a little. “Oh…”

“Look, this is why you’re a baby and not a Daddy. Or Mommy. Or babysitter. Or whatever the other options are.”

“But you’re, uhm, good, right? We can go to the store?”

“Yes, yes. C’mon, let’s go and get something to make you shit yourself.”

We reassembled ourselves–she more than I. By the time I got my shoes back on, she came strolling into the room, fully dressed in tight black leggings and a brown tunic that did a terrible job of hiding the thick bulge in the leggings.

“That was quick,” I said.

“One of the many talents I’ve picked up during my transformation,” she replied with a confident smile.

“Transformation.” I wasn’t questioning it–I just liked the word. “What are you becoming? Who–what–do you want to be?”

“Nothing short of a goddess will be acceptable,” she said, strutting past me.

“Do goddesses wear diapers?”

She laughed. “So it would seem. But one day, when I’ve fully ascended, won’t it be nice for you to say that I let you change my diaper once?”

“Damn. I should’ve had you autograph your wet diaper for me.”

“Good call. When we get back, remind me to do that.”

Within a few moments, we left her building and were walking down the street. I couldn’t shake the notion that we were just pretending to be adults. With each person we passed, it felt like there was a chance that they’d look at us and see the truth. “Who do these babies think they’re fooling?”

Admittedly, most of the more curious eyes seemed to be fixed to Megan. Which made sense to me–she was the looker between the two of us.

“This is what gives me power.” she said as she walked.

“The people looking at you?”

She nodded. “These men–there’s one now–have no idea what they’re looking at. They get a brief look at my face–and maybe my tits–and they just start drooling. Meanwhile, you and I know that I’m walking around in a diaper, with a dick that’s stuck behind a lock.”

I could understand that. Secrets were powerful, as was information. It needn’t be said–but the men who stared at her now probably wouldn’t have anything to do with her if they knew the truth about who she was, and what she wore.

“You came to spend time with me today because you wanted to know about who told that Thomas boy about all the kinky-assistant stuff?”

“R-right,” I said, realizing that I had completely forgotten about that.

“If I told you what I know now, would you turn around and take off?” she asked.

“No,” I answered, shaking my head. “Besides…I think I can guess.”

She laughed. “Yeah?”

“I mean, it has to be Mr. Yang, right? How else would you know who was involved?”

“Another case closed by the great baby detective,” she said.

“I don’t want you to think that I came to see you today just because I wanted information. I came because I wanted to. I came because I wanted to get to know you.”

She seemed a little lost for words. Perhaps even flustered. “You, uhm, mean that?”

I nodded.

“You’re a good baby, you know that?”

I shrugged. “I’m trying.”

“So you’re not going to just leave?” she asked.

I shook my head. “And I’m not just saying that because I need to go to the store.”

“Are you still sure you have to go to the store? Like, have you tried, uhm, pushing again?”

“Uh…no.”

She shrugged. “Just saying. Maybe you can save yourself a few bucks and a few minutes if you can just go now. Sometimes moving around helps jostle my bowels when I’m plugged up. Maybe this walk shook you loose?”

“Maybe.”

“There,” she said, pointing towards a quiet side street. “I’ll watch your back. You see what you can do.”

“You just expect me to just squat and do that out here in public?”

“Oh, come now. You’ve probably filled your diapers in places more embarrassing than an empty street.”

That checked out. “A-alright. But just…keep an eye out. Let me know if anybody gets close.”

“Scouts honor,” she said, holding up three fingers.

“Oh, were you a Boy Scout? Because…”

“Clark. Go poop.”

I obediently turned into the narrow street. I waddled between some buildings and separated my legs a little–assuming that classic squat position. And I pushed.

Nothing. No wait…there was a little spurt of piss that trickled into my diaper. But that wasn’t what I was looking for.

I quickly trotted back to her side.

“Back so soon?” she asked. “Did you fill your pants?”

“N-no.”

“So we’re still going to the store?”

I nodded.

We weren’t that far away, just another block at that point. I thought I’d be used to waddling around in diapers by this point, yet every time I walked into a new building while wearing a diaper, it was as if my mind reset. What if someone sees you’re wearing a diaper? What if someone hears it crinkling? What if they smell it?

I could certainly smell something–Megan smelled like an entire baby powder factory. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. On one hand, it was kind of exhilarating to watch her walk around in such a state without seeming to give a single shit. Me, on the other hand–I was getting second-hand embarrassment. The powder cloud around us could just as easily be attributed to me.

It was just a small grocery store, nestled between a laundromat and a gold-for-cash operation–the kind of place the locals probably knew, but I would’ve walked right past without a second thought.

“You think this place will have what I need?” I asked.

“Probably?”

Thankfully, in the store’s rather minimal ‘Health & Body Care’ aisle, we were presented with a few options. Laxative pills. Suppositories. Enemas.

“There’s really only one option,” Megan said, grabbing a boxed disposable enema from the shelf.

“Wh-why that one?”

“The laxatives will take forever,” she said, sounding like she was an expert in the field of pooping medications. “Suppositories are better, but they’ll still probably take a bit longer than you want. Enemas…well, they’re as quick as you want them to be.”

“Alright, fine. Let’s get this and get out of here.”

She nodded. “Also, I was thinking that if you wanted to save some time…”

I took an uneasy breath, scared to ask where she was going with this. “Yeah?”

“If we administered the enema here, you’d probably be more than ready to go by the time we got back to my place.”

Amusingly, the only real issue I had with that plan was that she said ‘we.’ “I could probably just do it myself.”

She scoffed. “You think you can be trusted to do that?”

“They sell them over the counter at the grocery store,” I said, pointing to the shelf. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

She shrugged. “Probably better that way. I come here often enough that I don’t need them seeing me slip into the bathroom with you while you’re holding an enema.”

I made my purchase, having to face an actual cashier to check out–apparently this little hole-in-the-wall grocer hadn’t yet discovered self-service checkout kiosks. While the thought of having to deal with an actual human while buying something embarrassing would usually color me a deeper shade of pink, this elderly woman seemed completely uninterested in anything. She scanned the enema and tossed it in a bag like it meant absolutely nothing to her.

“All set?” Megan asked when I met up with her again.

I nodded.

“The bathroom is right over there,” she said, pointing to a little alcove near the checkouts.

But suddenly I was feeling pretty apprehensive about it. The store wasn’t that busy, meaning that for the few people there–they may have just watched me buy an enema, and they’d also watch me walking into the bathroom with it.

“Just go,” she said, sensing my doubt.

I waddled into the bathroom with my plastic bag. I was grateful to find that the bathroom only allowed for one occupant at a time. A little less grateful to find that the bathroom’s cleanliness wasn’t a top priority for the store’s staff. Not to say it was disgusting–everything just seemed to have a fine dusting of ick on it. It was the sort of place that made me feel superior for choosing diapers over toilets–and it was rare that I got to feel that.

I was right about the enema. The instructions on the box suggested lying on your side, but…I wasn’t about to lie down on this floor, instead opting to awkwardly bend over while reaching around my body with the nozzle aimed at my rear. I got the gist of how it worked, and so I just needed to get it in there and squeeze the bottle of liquid.

I could almost hear the laughter of everyone who would’ve gotten a kick out of seeing me in this position. Mommy. Lyndie. Kylie. Ava too, probably. And add Megan to that list.

Kylie. I wondered how she was. Did she harbor any sort of resentment towards me for contributing to her getting diapered herself? Maybe think about this some other time…

I felt the nozzle slip into my ass, and I carefully pushed it as deep as I could get it. That was the hard part. The rest of it was just squeezing, and that was easy enough.

I was reminded of how I felt at the office sometimes–especially back in the early days of my diapered domination. I’d be in Mommy’s office, or that little office that Lyndie and I used to share, and while the strangest things would be happening, I’d be thinking about the fact that there was a completely normal world on the other side of the closed door.

God, my world is so fucking weird.

“Well?” Megan asked when I emerged from the bathroom–the remnants of my purchase already stuffed into the garbage can. “How did it go?”

“It’s in,” I shrugged. “Now we just need to wait, I guess.”

“C’mon,” she said, waving me towards the door. “We should probably get back to my place before that little bomb of yours goes off.”

“I’m coming.”

We were back on the sidewalk again, clearing the distance between the store and her place. And while I felt mostly fine at the store–aside from a little bloated–every step seemed to be slowly increasing the new tension in my gut. I couldn’t say when it would happen, but I was beginning to worry I might not make it back before I filled my diaper.

“Just as a word of warning,” I said. “I don’t think I’m, uhm, going to make it.”

She laughed, but shook her head. “Giving up that easily?”

“What? Megan…I gave myself an enema. It doesn’t take long to do its thing, you know? I, uh, don’t think that I can…”

“You really have this ‘pathetic baby’ thing down, don’t you? I applaud your commitment to the role.”

“I’m not always a pathetic baby.”

“I doubt that.”

“I…I bet I could make it back to your place without filling my diaper.” What a stupid thing to say. As the words were coming out of my mouth, I felt my bowels spasm as a wave of discomfort surged through me.

She snorted. “I see why everyone likes you.”

“Wh-why?”

“You’re like…Charlie Brown. He’s a lovable guy with a good head on his shoulders, you know? A good friend. But he’s also perpetually the butt of the joke.”

“I’m not a joke, am I?”

She laughed. “Well…”

All at once, my bowels gave out and a torrent of warm mess evacuated into my diaper with a loud and dreadful sound. I was frozen solid as I waited for a number of waves to come and go–each delivering another parcel into the seat of my pants. I was terrified to look up at the other people walking to and fro on the sidewalk. Surely someone had heard what I just did. Megan certainly did. It took everything in me to look away from her–her laughter told me everything I needed to know.

This wasn’t the first time I had messed my diaper in a public setting, and I doubted it’d be the last. But between the enemas disgusting yield, and the fact that I was smack in the middle of two places that were quite alien to me, my humiliation had been ramped up to 11.

“Wow,” she finally said, controlling her laughter. “What were we talking about?”

“How I’m a, uh…pathetic baby?”

[Babypants]

Oh, how I wish these two chapters had preceded his visit to mommy's house!  Imagine Clark crawling around, knowing that Yang is the villain of the piece, and asking himself over and over again: do I tell or not tell?  What to do?

In due course, I suspect, Clark will learn that his mommy knew what was going on from the get go.  The tension between the CFO and CEO is structurally embedded into any large corporation.    

[Sumi]

It is funny how all these characters in this story are so well defined by the author that I have a clear picture of each and every one in my mind. Just the mention of any character evokes a picture in my head of what this character looks like.