Andrew's Saga (part 8)

[Control Chronicals]

This starts in the middle of the story and diapers are really only at the beginning and end but it's a scene I really like and wanted to put it out there more broadly.

When Andrew crossed the threshold of his own apartment, a sense of unspoken shame clung to him. The urgency to rid himself of his clothes, particularly the pants and the diaper, was overwhelming. He despised the way the diaper parted his legs, its weight was unnatural, pulling him down.

From within his bathroom, Andrew couldn't help but notice the half-moon stains on his pants as he peeled off his clothes. His relief at having taken a towel earlier was now tinged with a bitter realization of necessity. Andrew, for a moment, thought the diaper might just fall to the ground, but he had taped it too tight. He ripped at the tapes simultaneously, the act cathartic in its own right, a small rebellion against his own debasement.

The diaper thudded to the floor. The sharp, acrid stench of urine hitting him. He could immediately tell the scen was distinctly not his own, which only deepened the humiliation. In the privacy of his bathroom, under the fluorescent light, Andrew stood exposed, not just in flesh, but in spirit. The evening's events replayed in his mind, each moment a sharp jab to his already fragile sense of self. He longed to wash away not just the physical remnants of the night, but also the haunting echoes of Aria's laughter, the sound of which seemed to linger in the air, a ghostly reminder of his debasement.

Andrew's mind whirled with conflicted thoughts as he stood under the scalding stream of the shower. Surely, peeing on him like that was some kind of assault, but what was he going to do, tell the cops a woman peed in his diaper after he accidentally came from her stroking his thigh? And then what? He saves the diaper so they can DNA test it? He’d probably end up being the one arrested, not to mention laughed at.

Andrew turned the shower on as hot as he could stand it. When he stepped in, it felt like the dirt and grime of the evening was being burned off of him which was good because the idea of touching his penis where she peed on it was revolting to him. Andrew stayed in the shower until his hands pruned, knowing the reality of his discarded diaper awaited him when he stepped out. It stood as a symbol of a night that had oscillated bewilderingly between deep humiliation and unexpected arousal. As he contemplated this, a troubling thought emerged – maybe he was the problem.

For the next few days, Andrew moved through the world like a zombie.  He had never been an exemplary bartender, but now his inadequacies were magnified. His tips dwindled, a testimony to his inability to maintain eye contact, his hands shook as he poured drinks and spilled liquor over the bar and sometimes patrons hands. At night, the allure of jacking off was lost to him, replaced by a numbing trance in front of the television, his thoughts a murky swirl of regret and confusion.

But as the days melded into each other, he felt a resolve grow within him. The only escape from the haunting image of Aria was to bury her memory under new experiences, new faces. Until she was just one weird date which he would never tell a soul about. It didn’t take him long to find someone new on the dating site he frequented, the same one where he’d met Megan. There, amidst the digital profiles was a figure seemingly carved from the antithesis of Aria. In her pictures she wore wool sweaters and fitting but not too tight jeans. She was a teacher who volunteered at the animal shelter. In her answers to her questions, she clearly wanted to wait to have sex and had few prior romantic partners. All of this was a welcome relief to Andrew. In fact, Andrew felt as though her profile was a love letter to him. She wanted a man who could mix her a strong drink. She liked shorter men, an preference almost unheard of in online dating. She was exactly what Andrew thought he needed.

Determined to steer this new encounter rather than let it steer him, Andrew suggested sushi at a familiar, unpretentious restaurant, devoid of any dress code. He even suggested meeting there separately as a buffer against any unforeseen shifts in power dynamics.

He arrived early, anchoring himself with a bottle of sake at the table. And he waited. And waited … and waited. Each time the door creaked open, his heart leapt, only to sink again as stranger after stranger entered, none the face he was expecting. He was about to concede that he’d been stood up and ask the waiter for a check when the front door opened once more. His heart froze, not with hope, but with a familiar dread. It was Aria with Megan trailing in her wake. Of course they were both wearing mini skirts, Andrew thought as he tried to shake off a mental image of himself ensnared between Aria's legs.

As Andrew reached for the menu, a futile shield against his unfolding nightmare, it was already too late. Aria's voice cut through the ambient chatter of the restaurant.

“Andrew!”

Aria smiled walking over to him and putting her arms out like she expected him to stand up and give her a big hug. And because he didn’t know what else to do, Andrew did exactly that.

"Aria," he murmured, a greeting or a plea, he wasn't sure.

Megan, however, offered her hand.

“I think we better stick to handshakes there, quickdraw,” she winked like his whole humiliating ordeal was some kind of inside joke.

“That’s right! Oh no! Andrew, you didn’t have another accident just now did you?” And she touched the crotch of his pants feeling for wetness, actually going as far as to grip his flaccid penis through his pants. “No padding, you’re living dangerously.”

Andrew again found an entire restaurant staring at him. He was pretty sure the patrons hadn’t have fully understood the exchange but he also knew enough about people to know that would just make them more likely to eavesdrop.

"I was just leaving," Andrew stammered, desperation tinting his voice as he fumbled for his wallet, seeking an escape.

“Leave?” Aria purred, her voice dripping with mock concern. “But you haven’t even eaten yet. Look, your chopsticks are still virginal.” She leaned in, her breath a mix of some subtle, intoxicating perfume and the unspoken promise of chaos. For a moment, Andrew wanted to drown in that scent, to lose himself in the familiar yet dangerous allure. He felt an unwelcome stiffening, his body betraying him after weeks of numb detachment. He recoiled, the ghost of past humiliations flashing in his mind.

“You’re drunk,” she taunted, her nose almost grazing his. “I can smell the sake on you.”

“I’m not…” His protest was weak, lost in the sudden invasion of his personal space as Aria's hands darted into his pockets, swift and predatory. She emerged victorious with his keys.

“My keys!” He lunged clumsily, but she danced back with a cruel laugh, leaving him to stagger and nearly fall.

That’s when he noticed the other patron, a mountain of a man, rising from his chair. “Sir,” the man said, stepping into the fray and blocking Andrew's view of Aria as he completely misinterpreted the scene. “I’m a police officer,” he flashed his badge under his sport jacket “and you’re about to make a very public mistake. Touch these women, and I’ll have you in cuffs faster than you can say 'sake bomb.' Sit down, sober up, and maybe thank them for saving you from a DUI.”

The officer’s presence was like an eclipse, his shadow swallowing Andrew whole. With a defeated raise of his hands, Andrew retreated to his seat, feeling the weight of every eye in the place. “Thank you,” he mumbled, the words tasting like ash. The gratitude was forced, the humiliation real, but it seemed to appease the mountain who retreated back to his seat after a stoic nod to Aria and Megan who could barely contain their glee.

The restaurant erupted in applause for the officer, a symphony of claps steeped in schadenfreude. Andrew could feel the collective scorn of the patrons, their disdain for his supposed drunken intent to drive. Maybe he was buzzed, more than he realized. He sat as Aria and Megan commandeered chairs at his table.

“Look, Megan, there’s a setting for a ghost,” Aria quipped, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she signaled the waiter for a third setting. “Andrew, were you playing host to an invisible date?”

Andrew opened his mouth, a lie teetering on the tip of his tongue. But Aria was faster. “Do not lie to me, little boy. I’ve got a sixth sense for bullshit.”

Silenced, he merely nodded, the truth lodged in his throat like a bitter pill.

Megan leaned in, her voice laced with mock curiosity. “Was it a date? Were you going to ditch her before she even graced us with her presence?”

The unused setting became Andrew's focal point, an island of emptiness in a sea of judgment.

“No, Megan. I don’t think that’s it.” Aria said, her eyes locking onto Andrew’s with a predatory glint. Her gaze was unyielding, dissecting his every hesitation. “Tell us what happened, Andrew,” she commanded, her tone a blend of mock maternal concern and a razor-sharp challenge, as if she were coaxing a dark secret from a wayward child.

His gaze flickered between them, their eyes like twin spotlights in an interrogation room. He glanced at the door, half-hoping, half-dreading the arrival of his phantom date.

Exhaling a defeated breath, he admitted, “My date stood me up.”

The words hung in the air, a banner of his latest defeat, as Aria and Megan exchanged knowing glances, their expressions a cocktail of amusement and pity.

The two women enveloped him in exaggerated sympathy. "Such a shame to be stood up," they cooed as they poured his sake in their glasses. "Consider us your upgrades for the night," they teased, their laughter tinged with the unspoken reminder of earlier humiliations. "But let’s keep it PG, shall we? After all, you’re flying without a safety net tonight." And they both glanced down as if they could see his groin through the table.

When the waiter reappeared again, Aria took command, orchestrating a feast of exotic sushi. She ventured into culinary no-man's-land, even ordering the tiny octopus, which Andrew had never had the courage or money to try.

While they waited for their food, Megan and Aria weaved a lively tapestry of recent theater escapades and high school drama class reminiscences. They spun tales of sets and scenes, high school affairs and high-stakes escapades. They quizzed Andrew about his own thespian inclinations. "Were you ever a theater nerd, Andrew?" they prodded playfully as they filled his empty glass with more sake.

Andrew, who had always been more audience than actor, found himself swept up in their stories, his earlier discomfort fading into the background. For once, his anatomy was left out of the conversation. In their company, with their easy banter and laughter echoing around him, Andrew discovered an unexpected truth – these two women, these agents of chaos, were actually quite delightful.

The sushi arrived, an elaborate spread that promised a reprieve from the evening's earlier tensions. Andrew, caught in a moment of ease, clumsily picked up a roll with his chopsticks and bit into it, halving it as the rest of the roll unravelled and fell to his plate.

Aria's voice pierced the casual air. "What are you doing?!" Her eyes widened theatrically, scanning the room as if witnessing a grave faux pas. "You don't bite sushi in half! It's a one-bite affair."

Embarrassed, Andrew glanced around. True enough, other patrons were deftly popping whole pieces into their mouths. "But these rolls, they’re monstrous," he mumbled, feeling suddenly clumsy and uncultured.

At that, Aria got up and walked around the table, sliding into the seat next to him, her proximity sending a jolt through Andrew’s body. He stiffened, a deer in headlights. "Relax," she laughed, her tone a strange blend of mockery and reassurance. "I’m not going to pee on you again." Her laughter was joined by his, a nervous, shaky sound.

But relaxation was far from Andrew's reach. "Open your mouth," Aria commanded, her chopsticks poised with the tiny octopus. The way she held it, it looked like if she dropped it in water, it might swim away. All eight tentacles hung below the chopsticks and its body hovered like a thick piece of meat above it. It made Andrew nauseous to look.

Andrew’s head shook in silent refusal, his mouth sealed shut. The idea of ingesting the creature whole was too much.

"I’m doing you a favor," Aria insisted. "What if your date had shown up? You would have humiliated yourself by not eating sushi correctly. I’m teaching you. Now don’t be a baby, open your mouth.”

With a sense of dread, Andrew relented slightly, parting his lips just a fraction. It was enough for Aria. She deftly shoved the octopus into his mouth, the sauce smearing across his lips as she pushed. Every instinct inside of him was saying to spit it out. The soft, mushy body and crispier tentacles creating an unbearable contrast in textures. But Aria’s hand was firm against the back of his head, her other hand over his mouth, sealing it shut.

Desperately, Andrew scanned the room for the officer, but he was nowhere to be seen, likely gone to the bathroom. With no avenue for escape, Andrew had no choice but to chew, the octopus’ juices spilling into his mouth. Aria's grip remained unyielding. "Keep it in," she instructed firmly.

It felt like an eternity, but eventually, the octopus was consumed. "Good boy," Aria praised him, selecting a more standard piece of sushi.“This will be easy now.”

Andrew caught Megan's eye, only to realize she had been filming the entire episode. Aria, oblivious or indifferent to his discomfort, popped another octopus into her mouth with ease and returned to her seat.

"Now you're sushi-savvy for your next date," she declared with a smirk.

Andrew sat there, the weight of the evening's events heavy upon him. He knew one thing for certain — this restaurant, now a stage for his latest humiliation, was a place he could never visit again.

The meal evolved from there into a saga of sake and laughter, with Aria and Megan matching Andrew drink for drink. Aria had gone back to her side of the table, smirking each time she suggested Andrews eat another bite of sushi from one of larger rolls. Andrew wasn’t sure if he had been too drunk to drive when they arrived but he certainly was now. Andrew, initially intent on a hasty retreat as soon as the cop vanished, found himself unexpectedly anchored to the moment, enjoying their company. Even the way Aria had touched him, octopus aside, had felt jovial, none of it laced with the degradation of their last date. The trio delved into desserts, more sake, and then even more, as the hours slipped by unnoticed.

It was only when the waiter, with a polite but firm demeanor, informed them of the restaurant's impending closure, that the spell of the evening began to wane. He laid the check down on the table. Andrew wasn’t sure if it was the sake or the dollar amount, but he suddenly needed to vomit. He stood up, his movement less graceful than he intended. The room swayed slightly, a clear testament to his inebriated state. He had known he was drunk, but sitting their in his chair, he hadn’t realized how much. He was certain he had never been this drunk before.

He reached for the table, his hand grasping for stability. This simple act, so revealing of his condition, sent Aria and Megan into fits of laughter. Their hysterics echoed in the now-empty restaurant, a soundtrack to the night's unexpected turn from despair to reckless abandon.

"You're both drunk, too" Andrew managed to say, his words laced with laughter as he watched Aria and Megan dissolve into giggles.

"Not as drunk as you," Megan retorted with a grin.

It was true. Aria was quickly paying the bill, a relief that made him relieved and embarrassed. All the while she was stacking plates to make life easier on the bus boy. Megan had an arm around him, helping him find his feet. They flanked him as they left, each taking a side to support him towards the door. "How are you not toppling over?" he slurred, genuinely puzzled.

"I guess we're just better at handling ourselves," Aria quipped, a sly smile playing on her lips.

Then, just as they stepped outside and without warning, Aria's giggle turned mischievous as she squeezed one of his love handles. Andrew, caught off guard and extraordinarily ticklish, doubled over with laughter. It took a moment for him to realize what had just happened. The tickling had triggered an unexpected and uncontrollable release. Warmth spread down his legs, his pants clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

His heart sank as he understood the extent of his predicament. "Holy shit," Megan exclaimed, her voice echoing across the empty parking lot. "Did you just piss yourself?!" He looked up to her, she had clearly started recording again.

Aria was in hysterics, her laughter uncontrolled and merciless. "Can't hold your liquor, your cum, your piss!"

Andrew stood frozen, a sense of surreal disbelief washing over him as the reality of the situation sank in. He was peeing his pants, unable to stop, the stream relentless. The shock of not having felt the urge earlier compounded his humiliation. His shoes, his dignity, all seemingly ruined in that moment. Panic set in. How would he get home? Would an Uber even allow him in this state? And what about Aria and Megan? Would they spread this story, broadcasting his shame to anyone who would listen? The questions swirled in his head, a whirlpool of anxiety and embarrassment.

The Uber's arrival was almost theatrical in its timing, coming just as Aria and Megan's laughter began to subside. Their amusement faded into concern as they realized no driver would willingly accept a passenger in Andrew's state.

"We can't just leave him like this," Megan remarked, her voice tinged with a hint of responsibility.

"I've got an idea," Aria said, a new scheme brewing in her eyes. She approached the Uber driver, leaning into his window with a practiced charm. "Hi," she began, pausing just long enough for the driver to take in her allure. "So, this is awkward, but my little brother..." she gestured towards Andrew, letting the insinuation hang heavily in the air, "he's a bit... slow. He's usually in diapers, but we've been trying to potty train him. He had an accident. Can we still ride?"

Andrew, lost in his own thoughts, missed the entire exchange. It was only when Aria stepped back, and the driver's eyes met his wet pants, that the reality of the situation hit him. The driver's expression shifted from surprise to understanding.

"I thought you meant a child," the driver said, somewhat taken aback.

"He's...kind of like one," Aria responded, her voice laced with feigned empathy.

The driver, now out of his car, rummaged in the trunk. "I have a dog blanket. He can sit on that."

"Thank you so much," Aria said, her voice a blend of gratitude and manipulation. "I'll make sure to tip you."

Relief washed over Andrew as he was guided into the Uber. He offered no resistance, too grateful for the ride to care about Aria's condescending remarks or her pretending he needed to be buckled in like a child. He slumped against her, his head resting on her shoulder, while she whispered empty reassurances no doubt to keep up the rouse for the driver.

The Uber ride, ordered on Andrew's phone, was a surreal journey back to his place. Gone were the prospects of flirtatious banter or romantic anticipation. Instead, the conversation revolved around getting into dry clothes and the need for diapers. She told him, again for the benefit of the driver, that maybe he could try potty training again a few months.

The Uber pulled up to the curb, its headlights cutting through the dark street. Aria and Megan carefully guided a heavily inebriated Andrew out of the back seat. Aria, with an arm wrapped firmly around Andrew's waist, held him upright as Megan quickly darted off towards the nearby drug store.

Under the dim glow of the streetlamp, Aria supported Andrew, his head bobbing weakly. He was vaguely aware of the cool night air, the sounds of the city around him, the snicker of a couple walking by who could see the dark discoloration around his groin in the labmp light. And then there was the firm grip of Aria's hand, a grip he was both grateful for and resented but at the moment more grateful as he truly didn’t know how he could even get into his apartment without her help.

Moments later, Megan reappeared, her mission accomplished. In her hands, she held a package of adult diapers and a pack of baby wipes. "Got the essentials," she announced, a smirk on her face.

With Andrew between them, they made their way into his apartment building. The elevator ride to his floor was a silent one, save for the occasional muffled sound from Andrew and the beep of the elevator.

Once inside Andrew's apartment, the women guided him down on the living room floor. The room spun around him as he lay there, the ceiling lights blurring into halos above.

Aria and Megan set about their task with a strange blend of clinical efficiency and sensual touch. Their hands lingered just a moment longer than necessary as they undressed him, removing his soiled clothes and leaving them in a heap. Andrew's senses were dulled, but he was faintly aware of the cool air against his bare skin and the sound of the diaper package being opened.

The crinkle of the diaper filled the room as they unfolded it. Aria lifted Andrew's legs, much like one would with a child, exposing him in his most vulnerable state. Megan, holding the baby wipes, began to clean him with methodical strokes, her actions gentle yet impersonal.

As they positioned the diaper under him, Megan couldn't help but comment, a cruel edge to her voice. "Look at that, it's almost fitting how well he suits these diapers, especially considering what little there is to cover. Toddler underwear for a toddler sized dick."

They secured the diaper around him, the tapes fastening. It was snug, the padding enveloping him. Aria and Megan stood up, surveying their handiwork. Andrew lay there, diapered and diminished. The women gathered his clothes, leaving them folded neatly on a chair, but took the remaining diapers and wipes with them as they left.

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Andrew alone on the floor in his diaper. The night's events swirled in his half-conscious mind, a jumbled mix of sensation, humiliation, and the distant echoes of Aria and Megan's laughter.

 

patreon.com/user?u=7664738

[Control Chronicals]

Andrew's phone buzzed the next day, a message slicing through the haze of his hangover. At some point, he must have managed to stumble his way into his bed because that’s where he woke up. But where was his phone? As he sat up, he realized – there was a snug, foreign pressure spooning his balls. Pushing the covers away, he was confronted with the sight of stretched tapes straining to hold his diaper closed. The diaper itself grotesquely swollen from its burden. The diaper's indicator line, once a stark solid color, was now faded away, which seemed a superfluous detail against the yellow-stained fabric, a testament to his dehydrated state. 

With a grimace, Andrew cupped the sodden mass, immediately regretting it as the trapped urine seeped out against his skin. He rose unsteadily, each movement precarious to avoid squeezing the diaper between his thighs. He was certain it was one squeeze away from leaking down his legs. A waddle carried him to the bathroom, where he removed the diaper for the second time, its release accompanied by a sickening squelch against the cold tile floor.

Andrew felt like his body was a battlefield of aches and queasiness, each vying for his full attention. The shower he took was scalding, an attempt to scour away the remnants of the previous night's humiliation, again. This time, at least, it was his own shame he was washing off. 

He found his phone on his desk, near his urine soaked pants from the prior night. It was Aria, checking in. 

“Alive?” she asked. 

He couldn't muster much anger towards Aria this time. She had, after all, ensured he didn't end up sprawled on a street corner. He texted her back, a thank you for the ride, the dinner, even for the sushi lesson. He watched the screen, the three dots of her reply appearing and disappearing. What was she writing? A manifesto?

Then, “You have good manners, little boy”

Andrew blushed or flushed with anger, he could hardly tell but he could feel the heat in his face either way. What was he supposed to say to that?

Hours later, Andrew had finished his laundry, picked up his car, hydrated a little, and was just about to settle into the couch to try to recover from what was left of his hangover. His phone pinged again. Aria. 

“Too bad about your control issues though”

Andrew’s flush was back. He fired off a response without thinking, “It's funny, my control issues seem to have a direct correlation with the company I keep.”

Her response came back fast, “Awe, are you saying I’m too much for you to handle? I must really intimidate you”

Andrew realized he had walked right into that. Then another ding.

“Come over.”

Andrew zeroed in on the period at the end of the text, intentional, unambiguous. She was summoning him to her, issuing a direct command. What made her think she could just beckon him and he’d come running? Andrew was about to text back, “fat chance,” when another message appeared.

“Earlier, you thanked me earlier. But you should show your gratitude”

Andrew lingered over the send button, his mind teetering on the edge of uncertainty. Was this really happening? A booty call, after the humiliating ordeal last night?  He felt himself harden. Part of him clearly wanted to have sex with her. In a sudden act surrender, Andrew erased his words. His hand reached out almost autonomously, seizing the keys from the coffee table. Apparently, she could beckon him. He was already getting into the drivers seat when a final message came in. 

“Oh and Andrew,” the ellipsis pulsed again, stretching the suspense to an almost unbearable length. “Wear a diaper”

... The rest is posted at patreon.com/user?u=7664738