The Regression Center: Chapter 1

This is chapter one of an ongoing, collaborative story written by me and my friend, BoysRBabies. We are writing alternating chapters—I wrote this first one. We will publish the whole story here, posting a new chapter every week or two. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 1 

Tyler swerved his Range Rover around a slow-moving clump of cars. They clogged up the fast lane. And the middle lane. And would have blocked him in the slow lane, too, if he’d let them. Didn’t people have any place to be on a Monday morning? He shot the pack leader his best disapproving look as he passed. The middle-aged man gripped the steering wheel of his middle-aged sedan. Hands at 10 and 2. A dopey half-smile on his face. Completely oblivious.

“We won’t get there any faster if we’re dead,” Monica said. Her knuckles were pale white against the black leather console. 

So dramatic. Always so dramatic. 

“We won’t get there at all at this rate,” he said. 

She shook her head.

“What?" 

"Nothing." 

"It’s obviously not nothing." 

He sighed and eased back on the throttle, shifting back into the middle lane. "There. Happy?" 

Her eyes had that watery, verge-of-tears look. The look that could spill over into full-blown crying if he said the wrong thing. Or if he didn’t say the right thing. Or didn’t say anything at all.

He reached over and covered her hand with his. "A few days of Mai Thais and sugar sand and you’ll feel better. Promise." 

She slid her hand out from under his and put it in her lap. "You think that will fix anything?”

“Who said anything needs to be fixed?" 

She stared ahead silently.  

"Come on, Mon? Martinique? St. Lucia? Making love on the beach?” He leaned closer and grinned. Maybe we can try that thing again. With my finger?“ 

Her frown deepened. "So we aren’t even going to talk about it.”

He pulled back into his seat. “Seriously? You’re blowing the whole thing out of proportion. It was an offhand remark. No big deal. Just guy talk. Besides, you know, maybe you shouldn't…” He shrugged. 

“I shouldn’t what?” Her tone was icy.

Careful. 

“I’m just saying, if you hadn’t been listening in on my conversation in the first place, you wouldn’t be so upset." 

She laughed. A shrill, short bark of a laugh. God, he hated that sound. 

"So this is my fault, Tyler?”

“There’s no fault here, but yeah, maybe you should respect my privacy a bit more.” He pulled off the highway onto the exit ramp. A few minutes later than he’d hoped to be, but still on time as long as they didn’t hit any traffic.

“Do you have any idea how loud you are on the phone? Stomping around the house, yelling at people? How am I supposed to know if you’re talking to one of your minions or Connor, or—” she stopped herself and put her hands up in surrender. “Doesn’t matter.”

He suppressed a smile. She was coming around. She always did. She just needed to vent. Get it out of her system. Then they could move on. “Like I said, let’s just enjoy the trip, then we can talk about all of it again when we get home. If you still want to." 

"Fine.”

Her tone was flat. She stared straight ahead, hands in her lap. Far from a victory, but he’d take a brief ceasefire when he could get one. Especially these days. And who knows, maybe she really would forget about it.

The salty tang of ocean air seeped in through the vents. He glanced down at the GPS. Almost there.

Park the car. 

Board the ship. 

Make sure their bags were in the room. 

…and that was it. Nothing more to do after that. He could almost taste the gin and tonic now. 

He pulled into a massive parking lot five minutes later and began working his way down the rows. 

“Aren’t you going to park?” she asked, pointing to several empty spots they passed. 

“Connor says he’s–”

“Connor?”

Shit. Should have waited until they were parked and standing outside. She wouldn’t make a scene in front of Connor. Or at least not in front of Kari.

“I told him and Kari about the fabulous deal we got.”

“They’re coming with us?”

“They’ve been needing to get away too. You know, after the acquisition and all that stuff? One thing led to another, and they decided to pick up tickets too." 

"So even your little apology trip was self-centered.” She laughed. “You’re making this so much easier. I guess I should be grateful for that." 

"Easier?” He pulled in next to Connor’s Audi. She sure didn’t seem to be making anything easier on him. 

No response. 

“Mon?" 

She pulled out her phone and began texting someone. 

"Hey, listen to me. How is taking you on a cruise with our friends self-centered? It would be self-centered not to tell our friends about this.” It also wasn’t an ‘apology trip,’ he wanted to say. But if it made her feel better to think about it that way, so be it. 

“Your friends,” she said, not looking up from her text. “Not mine.”

 Kari rapped on his window and smiled. 

“One sec,” Tyler said. “She just needs to wrap this up.” He glared over at her. “I guess." 

She slipped the phone back into her purse.

"Done now?”

She nodded. Her expression was unreadable. 

“Play nice,” Tyler said. “It’s gonna be a long week if you don’t." 

He got out of the car and gave Kari a hug. Connor was pulling luggage out of the trunk. 

"Why’d you park way out here?” Tyler asked him. 

Connor grinned. “Boo-hoo. Leg day yesterday, princess?" 

"There’s a bus,” Kari said. “Right, baby?" 

"Right,” Connor said. “Every few minutes. Takes us right to the boat.” He closed the trunk. “Here it comes." 

Tyler turned to see a bus wending its way through the parking lot. It looked more like a school bus than the type of bus you usually see rental car companies and hotels using. 

Monica got out of the car and stood next to him. "Hi, Kari." 

"Hey, hon,” Kari said back. 

Best friends they were not, but the two had gotten along better recently. If nothing else, he suspected they bitched about him and Connor. Which was fine. Or at least preferable to listening to all of her complaints himself. 

He popped the trunk and began stacking their luggage on the pavement. 

Connor stood there frowning.

“What?” Tyler asked. 

Connor shrugged. “Bus just passed a whole bunch of people." 

The bus had skipped several groups of passengers, some of whom stood by their cars, looking at the departing vehicle in confusion. 

"Whatever,” Tyler said. “As long as it stops for us.” He’d bought the all-inclusive package, so it damn well better stop. He closed the trunk. 

A moment later, the bus did stop for them. A woman stepped out. Tall, with dark hair pulled into a tight bun. “Monica Howard?" 

Monica smiled. "That’s me." 

Well that was odd. He’d arranged the whole trip. Why would they know—or care—who she was? He stepped forward. "You have someone to help load our luggage?" 

She walked past him without so much as a glance. 

He stomped around in front of her, putting himself between her and Monica. "Hey? Hello? What’s your name?" 

"You have all of the paperwork?” the woman asked Monica. 

“Paperwork?” Tyler snapped. “That’s all been done for weeks. You aren’t listening to me.” He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Hello? Paying customer here." 

Monica handed the woman a sheaf of papers. 

"I want to speak to your manager. What’s your employee numb…” the words died in Tyler’s throat. “What is all that?” He turned towards the woman. “What’s going on here?" 

"Tyler, this is Holly,” Monica said.  

Holly looked at him for the first time, then back at Monica again. No service worker had ever looked at him like that before. A brief, piercing glare, followed by…complete disinterest. 

“Okay,” he said. “So what? Are you the bus driver or…" 

"No,” Holly said. 

“Someone explain what the fuck is going on,” he snapped. 

“Holly is from ABC,” Monica said. 

“Is that some sort of holding company for the cruise line?” He looked down at his watch. “One hour. The ship departs in one hour. Someone better—”

“You might not know the ABC name, but you know what we do,” Holly said. 

He throws up his hands. “Oh, it speaks. Finally." 

He expected a glare. Or better yet, a retreat and an apology, as she realized who she’d pissed off. Instead, more disinterest. 

"ABC runs male regression centers across the United States and Canada." 

"Male regression centers?” He vaguely remembered reading about them in an article a few years back. In fact, it had been all over the news for a bit. Highly controversial. And easy fodder for Buzzfeed listicles and late-night talk hosts. Putting grown men in diapers and bonnets and calling it therapy? Sounded like some touchy-feely, West Coast bullshit.  

“That’s what I said,” Holly replied.  

“Okay. So what?” He tapped his watch and looked at Monica. 

“We’re not going on a cruise,” Monica said quietly. “You’re going to a regression center.”

Tyler laughed. “Connor? This was your idea, right? Where’s the camera?” He looked around. Probably Mark. Or that cousin of Connor's—Jimmy? Johnny? Something like that. That guy was constantly posting stuff like this on Youtube. 

Connor stared at him, his face ashen. 

“Dude, jokes over,” Tyler said. His voice was barely audible, each word coming out slowly and with great effort. “You got your laughs." 

"It’s not a joke,” Monica said. 

He whirled on her. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going anywhere. And dumber than I thought." 

She winced. 

"You’re coming with me to the center, Tyler,” Holly said. 

“Oh yeah?” He eyed her up and down. “Hope you brought some muscle." 

"I did." 

God, still so calm. Like she’d done this a thousand times. He wanted to scream at her. Shake her. Get some sort of normal human response. 

"But I hope we won’t need it,” she continued. She held up a piece of paper from the sheaf Monica had given her. “Do you know what this is?" 

"I’m going to take your ass to court, lady. Make me miss my cruise?” He shook his head. “I’ll fucking own your company. You’ll be working for me in a year.” He spun on Monica. “And you–”

Holly cleared her throat. “It’s called a Blue Slip. It remands you to our custody for a period of not less than one month." 

"Let me see that,” he said. He snatched the paper out of her hand and scanned the legalese for a few seconds, then crumpled it up and then tossed it to the ground. 

“I think we both know that’s not how that works,” Holly said. “We have copies on hand at the center. You can read them there if you want. But I assure you, all the i’s have been dotted and t’s crossed. The request received the full committee’s support." 

"Committee? What committee?" 

"We can take about that later. It’s time to get on the bus.”

Monica had tears in her eyes. She stepped closer, arms open.

“Unh uh.” He shook his head slowly. “You stay away from me.” He looked over at Connor. “Bro, you gotta get me out of this. Please?" 

Connor just stared. 

Holly took his elbow. "Up into the bus now, okay? Pretty soon you’ll be settled in and all of this stress will be behind you." 

She guided him towards the bus. He walked along beside her, mind reeling.

The bus doors swung open. He turned around. "My suitcase. I need my clothes." 

"That’s all been taken care of, Tyler,” Holly said. Her tone was soft now. Almost soothing. 

“But—" 

"Don’t worry about that. Don’t worry about anything." 

Tyler glanced at Monica one last time, then stepped up into the bus.

Wanna read more of our stuff?

BoysRBabies posts fantastic captions of forced regression here on Tumblr. 

I publish stories of diapers and domination on Smashwords.

Little Moments

Who doesn’t savor a slow, sensual diaper change? The thrill of getting a new box of diapers in the mail? The unexpected bottom-pat from a grinning partner?

These are moments we all love. But there are other moments that don’t get talked about as much, if at all. Special moments that only someone in diapers can appreciate. 

Sun-n-Fun. A bathing suit is the skimpiest thing most of us ever wear in public. Spending a toasty July day lounging at the lake or the ocean, soaking up the rays, $.47 of fabric covering your butt–it’s incredibly freeing. Then the sun dips below the horizon. The towels and sunscreen go back in the beach bag. You head home a bit damp, a bit sunburned. Some stubborn grains of sand chafe at spots you’d rather not mention. You’re done feeling free. Feeling exposed. You want to feel safe and secure. Comfortable and cared for. So off comes that slip of clammy fabric and on goes a thick, dry diaper. A warm, fluffy hug to help you relax in the cool dark of your home.  

Rise and Shine. Waking up in a wet diaper is a fantastic way to start the day. Your sheets are dry. Yay! You have a warm squish wrapped around your waist, hugging your parts. Double yay! And then there’s that special smell. The scent of a wet overnight diaper is just different than a wet diaper at any other time of the day. It’s a smell that says “I belong in diapers.” And you do, don’t you? You woke up soaked and squishy, after all. And even if you changed out of the diaper right now the smell would still linger on your skin. But you aren’t going to change out of it right now anyway. You’re gonna waddle downstairs, pour yourself a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and watch cartoons. Then, when you’re good and ready, you’ll change your squishbutt.

Dresser Drawer. Slide open the top drawer of almost any dresser and you’re gonna see saggy boxers, boring briefs, or some humdrum panties. Maybe there’ll be a couple cute patterns or something lacey in the mix. But most everything is going to be as functional, as utilitarian, as unremarkable as an electric bill. Well, almostany dresser. That’s not what you see in yourdresser, is it? Your dresser is packed with soft, crinkly diapers. Neat stacks of fluffy goodness, each one a different color or design for a different day of the week, a different mood. Or maybe it’s a crisp row of white diapies, lined up on their sides, each one begging to be taken out, fluffed, and taped tightly. Every time you open that drawer it reminds you: This isn’t a temporary thing. This isn’t a phase. Diapers are your underwear. 

Before the Coffee. Nowhere are habits more important than the first shower of the day. When you’re still blinking sleep out of your eyes, it helps to have a set of steps you can follow before the first cup of coffee hits your system. For those of us in diapers, there are a couple of extra steps in that morning ritual. A few vital moments between toweling off and pulling on our jeans. You step out of the shower feeling fresh. Rejuvenated. Your skin is flushed and just a little damp. There’s a world of responsibilities outside that bathroom door, but you don’t need to worry about that right now. You’re in your own steamy little world. You might start with some lotion, working it into your thighs so everything stays silky soft. Then you sprinkle on the baby powder, dusting your private parts in scented goodness. Next comes the diaper. Perhaps you picked something with lions or giraffes or teddy bears or spaceships. Maybe a diaper as thick as a summertime rain cloud or discreet as a ninja’s wraps. You draw it all the way up to your belly button, a bit of powder puffing out of the waistband as you tape it on tight.  Whatever else happens during the day, you’ll remember this moment. How clean you felt. How soft and how little.  

Brush Those Toofers. You might not use the nasty potty anymore, but you still need to brush your teeth before bed. So you change yourself into one of your bulkiest nighttime diapers and toddle into the bathroom. Maybe you’re wearing your favorite Rugrats t-shirt, poofy-pampers-butt poking out below Tommy Pickles toes. Or maybe it’s a pair of slate-gray sweatpants or PJ bottoms with a papery waistband peeking over the top. As you stand there, looking at yourself in the mirror, you twirl a bit. Nothing else quite looks like a diaper, does it? There’s no hiding the bulk. The fluff. The layers of absorbent wonderfulness between your legs. The tapes applied firmly to plastic, keeping you where you belong. As you pose, checking yourself from every angle, the telltale crinkles echo on the tile. There’s definitely no hiding the sound, either. But who would want to hide it?  

Oasis. It’s freezing. Youare freezing. Every millimeter of skin that’s exposed to the frigid winter air cries out for relief. Your nose runs. The tips of your ears are numb and more than a bit tender. Every time the wind blows you retreat a bit further into your jacket, like a turtle in its shell. You might be snowboarding. Shoveling your driveway. Walking the dog. Or simply trudging back to your car after a long day at the office. Point is, the whole world is icy. Sterile. Not suited for human life. But then you feel it. That bit of pressure. The tiny tug inside your body reminding you of that second iced tea. You smile a little, relax, and it starts. A faint hissing sound that only you can hear, followed by a warm trickle of heat on your private bits. Your thighs. Your bottom. Warm wetness spreads and wraps around you, a tiny oasis of heat and life in a frozen wasteland. 

That Aisle. You know the one I’m talking about. Getting a prescription filled? Gotta go through thataisle to get there. Picking up Cinnamon Toast Crunch (you know you’re going to now) and a gallon of milk? Thataisle isn’t just the fastest way to get there–it’s the only way. And it doesn’t matter if you’ve never even been to this store before. You could be on vacation thousands of miles from home in some strange grocery store. You will find it. Or it will find you. The sweet smell of baby powder, Luvs, and scented wipes will draw you in. The colorful pacifiers, bibs, and stacking blocks will lead you onward. And maybe for a second, looking at all of those bright packages packed tight with diapers that promise comfort and absorbency and brand-name cartoon characters, you feel a bit bummed. They won’t fit you, after all, will they? You gave up your diapers a lifetime ago for some stickers on a chart; bribed with some M&Ms in a jar on the back of the potty. Then you remember: you don’t have to give anything up. You’re wearing a diaper right now, and no one can take that away from you ever again. 

Hustle and Bustle. Plenty of people take naps. Plenty of people climb into bed early after a long day of work or school. But doing it diapered is just different. Especially if the world is still going about its business all around you. Cars are honking. Dogs are yapping. Maybe your roommate or partner is washing dishes in the kitchen. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You’re snuggled up under the blankets with your favorite book. You have a warm bottle or your paci. Maybe a well-loved stuffy to keep you company. And of course, a diaper. Let everyone else hustle around, rushing and worrying. Trying to cram as much into the day as possible. You’re cozy. Safe. Right where you want to be. 

I’ll Never Tell. There’s the world you inhabit with everyone else. The “normal” world. The one that contains your cranky boss and your Aunt Margaret and the barista with the dolphin tattoo. Then there’s the world you only share with those who know. Your closest friend that you told over three-too-many Appletinis. Your loving partner, holding you on the couch as you spilled your guts. Or that person from a nearby city that you met online after months of chatting about board games and TV shows and, of course, diapers. When you’re with your special people–the ones who get you, who knowyou–the secret world is only ever just below the surface. The knowing look your BFF gives you when the Pampers ad comes on the TV. The way your partner wordlessly takes your hand to cross the parking lot. The chuckle your friend lets loose when you go glassy-eyed in the checkout line. In those moments, your secret world melds with the real world–just enough to make you feel whole and alive and integrated, but hidden enough to feel special and precious.

Did you enjoy this post? If so, check out my stories on Smashwords:https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/All4thedips

Hygiene 101: A Harsh Lesson

Town Line Laundry was a hole. No two ways about it. Suds 4 Duds was the Taj Mahal in comparison, with its polished concrete floors and classic arcade cabinets. And Kleeners was pricey, but right next to a Starbucks, so I could get an Americano to help pass the time. But those were a mile and two and a half miles from my Smitt Street apartment, respectively.

Town Line was a hole, but it was a nearby hole—just under half a mile. A miserable walk in January and July, laundry bag slung over my shoulder, but not too bad the rest of the year. And it was a familiar hole, too. I’d been coming here weekly since I got the job at Shop N Save—nearly three years now. I was one of the regulars. Not a club anyone dreamed of joining, but familiarity has its appeal.

Today, something was different. It smelled like it always had: dryer sheets, bleach, Borax—all undercut with the stale stink of old cigarette smoke. And it mostly looked the same too. Dingy, cracked vinyl floor. A boxy black TV— maybe the last CRT in the county—sat on a folding table in the corner. It played the local access station and that was it. I’d tried to find the remote once, with no luck.

And the people were the same, of course. The regulars. Louise, my blue-haired downstairs neighbor. She pushed her metal cart all over town. Sometimes full of laundry, sometimes groceries, and sometimes that nasty little dog that yipped and snarled at everyone on the sidewalk. She was engrossed in her National Enquirer.

There was Craig—I only knew his name because he had it stitched on his oil-stained Tiremart shirt. He spent most of the time talking loudly on his phone, arguing with what I could only imagine was his ex-wife about who was picking up the kids. Where they were getting picked up. When they were getting picked up. And just when it seemed every logistical matter had been resolved, they got hung up on some small detail and started all over again.

And then there was Gal, sitting in her usual folding chair, book in hand. As far as I knew, Gal wasn’t her name, but that’s what I called her in my head. If I squinted just a little, she looked like Wonder Woman: olive complexion, long black hair, and a nose with an ever-so-slight upturn at the tip. Too old to be a traditional college student, but not by much. Her clothes, her hair, her smile—all too nice to be in this dump.

But today, she wasn’t the only thing too fresh and shiny to be here. Today there were new washing machines. The dingy, clickety-clackety old Whirlpools were gone, and in their place eight gleaming cubes that looked like they belonged in a sci-fi movie.

For nearly three months, I’d scanned every inch of the room, spelunked through every crevice of my brain, for some reasonable excuse to talk to Gal. Something we had in common other than that we both wore clothes and periodically washed them. That we both washed them on Tuesday mornings was the only other thing we had in common, and one I didn’t want to mention, as she might pick up on the fact it wasn’t a total coincidence we were always there the same day.

But now there were these new machines. The New York Times wouldn’t be sending out a reporter, but by Town Line Laundry standards, this was a banner day.

“So what button activates the lasers?” I asked her.

She turned to look at me. “Hhhhhmmm?”

“The new machines. I just thought they seemed a little futuristic. Something out of one of those Transformer movies.”

She gave me the slightest hint of a smile. “They seem to work really well. Much faster than the other ones.”

“Is there a button I can push to get that moldy stink, though? For old times sake?”

A genuine laugh this time. Or at least a giggle. A warm sound that filled the room.

I gestured at the paperback sitting next to her. Tommyknockers. “How is it?”

She shrugged. “Not my favorite. It’s really dragging in places. But I’ve read most of his other stuff already, so I figured I should give it a shot.”

“I watched Pet Semetary when I was eight,” I blurted out like an idiot.

She smiled. “That one freaked me out. Especially the kid at the end? When he was wearing the top hat?” She shuddered.

I smiled back. “Gave me nightmares for years. No joke.”

“Have you seen the new IT movie yet?” she asked.

Here was my opening served up on a silver platter. Easy enough that I wondered if she’d just been waiting for me to talk to her all these weeks. “Not yet. I’ve wanted to. Just haven’t had the time.” A lie, but a white one. “Have you?”

“Twice.”

“Oh.”

“I loved it. I’m going again this weekend.”

“Oh! Cool. You uh, have lots of friends into horror movies too?”

She shook her head, that silky black hair sliding back and forth across her slender shoulders.

“Would you maybe want—”

A loud buzzer blasted through the room, pinging off the hard surfaces and assaulting my eardrums.

She held up a finger. “Sorry, one second. Just gotta put my clothes in the dryer.”

“I nodded. Yeah, of course. I should get my stuff going too.”

I walked a couple washers down and pulled open the door. The outside was all polished white and black glass, with an actual touchscreen. The inside was a gleaming, sterile silver. I emptied my whole bag into it, selected a wash, and scanned my credit card. Amazing times we were living in.

When I turned back around, Gal was sitting there, one leg crossed over the other, but she hadn’t picked her book back up yet. She looked at me, then away again quickly.

I walked back over. “So I was saying, maybe we could go see it together? It’s not every day I get a chance to see a horror movie with a bona fide Stephen King expert.”

She rolled her eyes, but in a playful way. “Hardly an expert. But sure, that sounds nice.”

“Great. Fantastic. My name is Aaron, by the way.”

“Carlie. With an ‘i e’.”

“Well Carlie with an ie, I—”

A buzzer echoed around the room. This one even louder than the usual. “God, that is obnoxious,” I snapped.

Carlie didn’t respond—she stared at something behind me, eyes narrowed.

When I turned around my washing machine was strobing red light, not only from the console but from inside the washer. “You kidding me?”

“A service crew has been dispatched,” a robotic female voice intoned.

'Service crew’ meant the owner’s cousin, who usually showed up late and always smelled like Natty Lite had a baby with Joe Camel. Half the time he just refunded my quarters and then left. I pulled on the washer handle and it didn’t budge. I pulled again—nothing.

I began jabbing every button on the console. No luck. Nothing but that strobing light and the 'service crew’ notice on loop every ten seconds.

“Can you turn that down?” Craig snapped from across the room.

Carlie walked over and looked at the machine.

“Did you have any trouble with yours?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No, it worked fine. Maybe call Hank?”

I sighed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

I walked over to the corkboard by the door. It was festooned with business cards, pizzeria pamphlets, and nightclub promo cards. And somewhere, an index card for the owner of this dumpster fire.

Car tires screeched just outside the doorway. A white utility van with the words “PAMPCO” on the side rocked to a stop right outside the door.

“What the…”

A burly guy in an all-white uniform, like you saw the orderlies wear in those old films about insane asylums, climbed out. Followed by another who could have almost been his twin.

Behind them appeared a middle-aged woman in a similar uniform, except with a skirt instead of pants. Her hair was pulled tight into a bun.

I turned to look at the washing machines and there it was: PAMPCO. “No friggin’ way. It’s been like two minutes.”

The three stepped through the front door and scanned the room like they were walking into an Old West saloon. “Whose washing machine is that?” the woman asked no one in particular.

I stepped forward. “Mine. And let me tell you, I’m not—”

She frowned, then walked around me as if I were a bit of trash on the sidewalk.

“Hey! Hey lady!” I put myself between her and the washing machine. “Just what kind of crap machine are you people selling, huh? Three bucks and it ran for all of two minutes.”

She turned towards me. I backed up a half step involuntarily.

“Thirty seconds,” she said.

“What? How do you know that?”

She punched a series of keys on the washing machine console and the door popped open.

“Finally.” I reached for my laundry and burly henchman number two dropped his hand onto my arm. He shook his head.

I laughed in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

The woman pulled on a latex glove and stuck her hand into the machine. When she withdrew it, a pair of my underwear was pinched between two fingers. She held it up towards the flickering fluorescent light. “Urine stains on the fly.” She turned it over. “Skidmarks in the seat.”

“What?” I chuckled nervously and shot a glance towards Carlie, who was watching the whole thing wide-eyed. “No, there aren’t. And who the hell do you think you are, anyway? Refund my money or I’m calling Hank.”

She tossed the underwear back into the washer and pulled out another pair. She made a sour expression. “Even worse than the first pair.” She flashed the seat of the underwear at the two men standing behind her. This time, I saw the brown stains. I’m guessing the whole room did.

“If they were clean, I wouldn’t be washing them now, would I?”

She nodded at one of the men, who walked back towards the door.

She turned her attention towards me. “Mr. Anderson, I—”

“How do you know my name?”

She cleared her throat. “Mr. Anderson, this is entirely unacceptable. Your personal hygiene would make a toddler blush.”

Carlie walked over and looked from me to the woman and then back again. “Is everything okay?”

“No, it most definitely is not,” I said.

“Are you this man’s caregiver?” the woman asked Carlie.

“Caregiver?” She looked at me again, suspiciously. “No.”

I put up a hand. “Listen. This lady is crazy. I don’t have a caregiver. I’m a regular guy.”

“A shame,” the woman said. “Might do you some good.” She nodded at her minion. He grabbed my arm and dragged me across the floor as if I were light as a sack of groceries.

“Get your hand off me,” I snapped, trying to twist out of his grip. “I’m calling the cops!”

One second I was standing in the middle of the room, the next I was flat on my back, staring up at the flickering ceiling light.

“What the hell?”

Henchman one dropped a meaty forearm down on my chest, pinning me to the table surface. I pushed back, arching my back. He didn’t budge him an inch.

“Hey! Hey! Someone call the cops!” I shouted.

I felt a shoe pop off. Then the other one. “What are you doing? Why are you doing this?” I tried to sit up.

Then a pair of hands on my jeans, fiddling with the button.

“Stop! Stop!”

I looked around the room and everyone was frozen in place, watching me: Craig, his phone still pressed to his ear, all bugeyed; Louise, staring over the top of her newspaper; and Carlie, a hand over her mouth.

Then my pants and underwear were off, my private bits exposed for all the world to see, cold and shriveled under the sterile light. I reached down to cover them.

The big lunk pressed down on my chest. I gasped and let my hands drop to the table surface.

The woman stepped out from behind the bulk of the big lunk and peered down at me. “Mr. Anderson, living in society comes with many benefits. But it also comes with responsibilities. Responsibilities that you have shirked. Adequate wiping? Making sure you’ve actually finished urinating before returning your penis to your underwear? These are small tasks that even the youngest child can complete with minimal effort. Your inability to do so makes it crystal clear that you need to start over again.”

She held something up. It took a few seconds for me to register what it was: a massive diaper, all white, but for the PAMPCO logo on the front.

“Now, you can begin your journey towards rejoining civilization the easy way. Simply relax and let me put you in this diaper. Or you can fight me. I assure you, Mr. Anderson, that you will leave here in a diaper either way.”

“Fuck you.”

She sighed. “Fine. Mr. Cleveland?”

I felt two meaty hands grab my ankles and spread my legs apart.

“No need to struggle, Mr. Anderson. I promise this won’t hurt a bit.”

I couldn’t see around the henchman’s body, but I felt something soft and thick slide between me and the cool tabletop. Then there was a faint, childish scent and hands patting my skin.

“Someone. Please. Someone stop this.” My voice sounded weak, quiet. Like calling for help in a dream.

My eyes caught Carlie’s. She looked away.

I stopped struggling. I felt thick padding come up and over my junk, nearly to my bellybutton. There was a popping sound and I felt the diaper grow tighter. And again. And again. And again. Each tape drained a bit more of the fight out of me.

Then the henchman pulled his arm from my chest.

I stared at the ceiling. I didn’t want to want to see anyone looking at me. To see their expressions of horror and disgust. To see the question in their faces: why did he let this happen?

The woman appeared over me again. “All done, Mr. Anderson. Sit up.”

I slowly raised myself into a sitting position. The diaper had seemed massive in her hand, but looked even larger on me, poofing out in every direction. Even just the act of sitting up sent crinkling sounds cascading through the room.

She held my pants out in her hand while one of the henchmen grabbed them. She never took her eyes off mine. “Six months, Mr. Anderson.”

“Six months?”

“For the next six months, you will wear diapers twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. You will use them for all of your bodily functions. Do you understand?”

What I understand is that I’ll rip this off the moment you leave, you absolute psychopath.

I nodded. “Sure.”

“An order has already been placed on your account. Your first case of diapers will arrive this afternoon. You will receive a new case every three weeks. Along with wipes and powder, which I suggest you make liberal use of.”

My first case? How did they…no. No no no. They had my credit card. And my address. And god knows what other information along with it.

She smiled. It was the first time I’d seen her smile. I hoped it would be the last. “Ah, I see you understand it now. We will be keeping a close eye on you. If you decide to break the rules, we will know. Do you understand me, Mr. Anderson?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” She patted me on my bare leg. “In six months, I’ll pay you a visit. If your home is clean, your hygiene habits are impeccable—in short, if you’ve made adequate process towards becoming a functioning adult member of society—then you may return to wearing underpants.”

“And if…” I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want her to think there was any possibility I wouldn’t comply. But I couldn’t help myself.

“And if not?” She raised her eyebrows. “Then we’ll see if a whole year of diapers improves things. We take hygiene very seriously at PAMPCO, Mr. Anderson. Very seriously. And we expect you will, as well.”

Orange light filled the room suddenly. I whipped around. Flames filled the inside of the washing machine. The washing machine containing all of my clothing. Then, almost as quickly as they appeared, the flames disappeared. A pleasant bell chimed and the door popped open. No smell of smoke. No ashes. Just a clean, empty metal cylinder.

“Have a wonderful day, Mr. Anderson,” the woman said. With that, she and her two minions walked out of Town Line Laundry.

I looked down at the diaper again. Just four blue tapes—ripping them off and throwing the thing in the trash would be the easiest thing in the world. I’d be naked. That might be less embarrassing than wearing a diaper, but public indecency laws said otherwise.

It wasn’t the justice system that stopped me, though. It was her. That smile. The certainty in her voice.

I slid off the table.

Craig was gone. As was Louise. No doubt they’d raced home to spread word of what they’d seen via grapevines modern and traditional.

Carlie was stuffing clothing into a laundry bag as quickly as she could, not even bothering to pick up a loose shirt that fell to the floor.

“Carlie, I. Uh…”

She glanced over her shoulder at me, her eyes dropped down to the diaper. Then she was pushing her way through the front door, laundry bags dragging behind her.

I stood alone in Town Line Laundry, bright fluorescent light flickering overhead, the smell of baby powder mingling with old cigarette smoke and dryer sheets.

Suddenly, the half-mile walk back to my apartment didn’t seem so short.

———-

Did you enjoy this story? If so, check out my books on Smashwords:https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/All4thedips

Diaper Discipline: A Strict Wife’s Guide

Hey, Tumblr!

I’ve published a few stories over at Smashwords, including Diaper Discipline: A Strict Wife’s Guide. The description is below, but you can read the first 20% of the book for free to see if it’s your jam. Check it out!

—————————————————————————–

Is your husband or boyfriend irresponsible? Rude and boorish? Does he neglect your needs as a partner and as a woman?

Put him back in diapers!

Do I have your attention? Good! This comprehensive guide will show you how diaper discipline can transform your relationship, just as it transformed mine. Here are just a few of the lessons contained in this 42,000-word book:

• How to select thick diapers that will last through even the longest night of bedwetting.
• Getting him into that first diaper…and then getting him to use it.
• Dealing with leaks and messes.
• Why diapers and chastity go so well together.
• Essentials every diaper bag should contain.
• Tools and tips to prioritize your pleasure in the bedroom.
• Helping him learn to love his diapers.
• Journaling: why he should do it (and a list of prompts to get him started)
• Finding a sitter so you can hit the town for an evening or weekend.
• How to administer chores, changes, and punishments.
• Spreading the word and building a support group of like-minded women.
• And much, much more!

Check it out at Smashwords.com

Story Time With Mommy

I pretended to rake the last corner of the yard, slowly moving the leaves into a crunchy pile before spreading them out again with my foot. The last few minutes of daylight streamed through the fence slats, leaving the yard colder and darker by the second. My nose and the tips of my ears tingled; my fingers were numb and clumsy on the rake handle.

I paused to look at my phone. 7:23. I could go in now. Take a hot shower, then chase it with a cold beer and a bowl of leftover chili. Maybe a hunk of that cornbread. Catch up some Netflix.

She must have forgotten. That thought warmed me to my core. She hadn’t missed a Friday night in almost three months. 7 PM on the dot, every evening. She’d found me at Mickey’s bar, hiding in the corner booth near the bathroom. She’d called the office and asked Angela if I was really working late, then told her it was important I come home. She’d even shown up at my mother’s when I was working on her brakes. My mother thought it was cute. “Couple of lovebirds,” she’d cooed. If only she knew.

But maybe she’d finally worked the obsession out of her system. It was bound to happen sooner or later. This crap wasn’t sustainable.

I heard a door open. Blindingly bright light covered the backyard. I froze.

“Come on in, baby,” Erica called out. She dragged out every syllable in ‘baby’ so it sounded like something between baby talk and a deep Mississippi drawl.

“Still raking,” I called out over my shoulder. I raked furiously, kicking up a pile of leaves.

“It can wait 'til tomorrow,” she said.

“It’s supposed to pour. Need to finish it tonight or I’ll have a mess to deal with.”

“It’s story time, baby,” she said. Such innocuous words, but laden with threat.

I dropped the rake onto the pile of leaves and turned around. She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. I could only see her outline in the light, but I knew she’d be wearing her nightie and purple bathrobe.

So much for getting it out of her system.

I trudged to the house. Thank god we were almost done with the book. She’d promised me that would be the end of this routine. I’d fantasized about what I’d do with that book and all the other stuff she’d bought to go along with it when her obsession finally fizzled out. Maybe I’d throw it all in the fire pit, douse it with lighter fluid, and hope some of the memories float away with the ashes. But I might just bag it all up as quickly as I could and put it out on the curb. Probably need to double bag it in that case–don’t need that bag leaking its contents all over the sidewalk.

“I’ve run the bath,” she said when I stepped into the kitchen.

I nodded and walked down the hallway, peeling off clothes as I went, Erica only a half-step behind me. It’s like she expected me to bolt for the hills. Or maybe lock myself in my bedroom like a hormonal thirteen-year-old.

Steam billowed out of the bathroom door, warming my tingling extremities. In other circumstances, this could be relaxing. Grab a quality paperback and a snifter of something brown and peaty and settle in.

A layer of bubbles as thick and deep as January snow covered the water. “Are the bubbles really necessary?” I asked her. I’d probably asked that question before, at some point, but I didn’t care. They were annoying and unnecessary.

She pursed her lips as if deep in thought. It was all a show. Part of her pantomime. I regretted even asking the question.

“Hhhhmmm, what did your storybook say, baby? Something about loving 'slick, soapy skin’? Was that it?”

My cheeks flushed.

“Awww, baby. Does that embarrass you?”

“It’s hot in here,” I mumbled.

She smiled at me sweetly, then sat down on the toilet lid and put her hands in her lap. There was something very 1950s-housewife about her on these evenings. Very Leave it to Beaver. Except she wouldn’t be cooking a roast and potatoes or fetching me the newspaper.

I stripped off my underwear and stepped into the tub. Before this started, I would have been self-conscious about her seeing me naked in the stark white light of the bathroom. Thirteen years of marriage and nearly ten as a desk jockey had layered on a few pounds and made other aspects of my physique appear a bit less substantial in comparison. But that was the least of my concerns these days. She couldn’t have been less interested in what was between my legs.

“I thought maybe we wouldn’t be doing all of this tonight,” I said.

“Oh, baby, no. You know mommy wouldn’t miss our special time for anything. But I had to take care of a little something.”

I ground my teeth: 'mommy’ grated against my soul almost as much as 'baby’ and she knew it. “It’s fine.”

She knelt down by the side of the tub. “I wouldn’t want you to ever think I’d forgotten about story time,” she said.

I stared at the tile, eager to get this over with as quickly as possible.

She frowned. “Don’t you want to play with any of your tubby toys tonight?”

I shook my head.

She rolled up her sleeve and reached down into the water. She returned with a yellow toy submarine clutched in one hand. Stickers covered the sides, each one a window with a cartoon dog or cat on it. “Look at this one,” she said as if she’d found buried treasure. “I bet you could find something to do with this, right?” Her index finger traced circles on the tip of the sub. “Somewhere special to put it?”

I glared at the water.

“No? Hhhhhmmm.” She stuck her hand into the water again and rooted around. “Ah! Look at this, baby.” She held up a plastic boat with a turtle captain. She held it out to me.

I took the boat in my hand. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Wind it up,” she said, pointing to a crank on the side.

“Erica, I really–”

Her eyes narrowed.

I sighed. “Mommy, can we just move on with the evening? Please?”

“Crank the toy, baby.”

I twisted the small crank on the side of the boat and it started vibrating as a paddle on the back flapped around.

“Will you look at that! I bet you could have some fun watching it paddle around the tub, huh?” Erica grinned. “Or maybe you could put it somewhere else, somewhere naughty, and see what happens. Maybe that would get rid of the grumpies, huh?”

“No,” I said.

She shrugged, then wet a washcloth and squirted baby shampoo into it. She began scrubbing my body. “What do you think tonight’s story will be about?”

“No idea,” I said.

“Do you think there will be a princess in this story?”

“Maybe,” I said cautiously.

“I bet there will be. All the best nighttime stories have princesses, don’t they?”

I stared at the bubbles, letting her run through her routine. Pushing back made her angry and I didn’t need to see that hairbrush ever again.

“Stand up, baby. Time to rinse off.”

I stood up, covered in bubbles. I instinctively dropped a hand over my crotch, then pulled it back. She didn’t like it when I covered up. Or so she said. Really, I think she loved the opportunity to tell me babies don’t need to hide anything from their mommies.

She rinsed me with the detachable showerhead, then held out a massive Hello Kitty towel. I didn’t want to think about how much money she’d spent on all of this crap. Such a waste.

“Okay, time for jammies.” She took me by the hand and led me down the hallway to our bedroom.

A knot settled into my stomach. The bath was tedious and embarrassing but tolerable. I’d never get used to this part of the routine. Not if we did it another thousand times. Every time I thought I knew what to expect, she’d switch it up. New outfits. New accessories. New expectations.

Each item was laid out on the bed in the order she’d put it on me. First, an adult diaper. Impossibly thick, as usual. Tonight’s was pink, with princesses and ballerinas print. To the right of the girly diaper sprawled a massive pair of white panties, except they were covered in ruffles. Not sexy lace, but oversized strips of frilly, pink fabric. Then there was the finale: pink footy pajamas that said “Mommy’s Girl” in a blocky, glittery text on the right breast.

“Do you like your new outfit, baby?” Erica asked. “You’re gonna look soooo adorawable.” She seemed genuinely excited by this in a way that frightened me–like this had always been inside of her, just waiting for an excuse to come out.

“When we’re done with the messages, this is all done too, right?” I asked, gesturing at the bed. When she was this excited, I needed the reassurance–I needed to hear her say it.

“Messages?” she cocked her head to the side and put a finger to her lips.

I sighed. “The storybook. When we’re done with the storybook.”

“Oh, the stories! Don’t you like story time with mommy?”

“Erica,” I said, trying to keep the annoyance from boiling over into a full-blown argument I knew I’d lose.

She frowned.

“Mommy.”

“When we’re done with the stories, then you can grow up and be a big boy if you really want to.”

The knot in my stomach untwisted a bit. I laid down on the bed, spread out on the towel.

She fluffed out the diaper. I’d never get over how massive the damn things were. Unfolded, it had the wingspan of a friggin’ eagle the fluff of a herd of sheep. I lifted my butt and she slid it under me.

Shit.

I’d forgotten to pee beforehand. 9 AM was a ways off, but I could probably make it, as I long as I skipped my nightly glass of water.

She dusted me with powder and then taped the diaper closed. “Okay, up we go, baby,” she said.

I slipped off the bed and she picked up the panties and held them out. Like the diaper, they were huge. But they’d need to be to fit over the diaper. “Do you like the new rumba panties mommy got you? Aren’t they soooooo cute?”

I gave her the faintest wisp of a smile. The bare minimum that would keep hairbrushes out of the equation.

“Okay, put your first leggy in,” she said.

I slipped my leg through one leg hole, then the other, and she drew them up my legs. Despite their massive size, once she’d fussed and fiddled them into place they were impossibly tight. They’d be hot, too. Uncomfortably hot. Whatever material it was wouldn’t let any moisture out and would trap all my body heat.

Erica frowned. “Hhhhhhhmmm.”

Despite my rapidly warming crotch, a chill ran up my back. “What?”

“Baby girls don’t have hairy legs.”

“I’m not a–”

Erica’s frown deepened.

I stopped myself, choking back the rest of that statement. Maybe we’d finally finish the book tonight and that would be that. No need to fight an unnecessary battle.

“I’ll pick up a razor before next story time. We’ll make you all silky smooth.” She smiled as if she’d just solved some longtime conundrum. No point in mentioning the perfectly fine Bic in a cup over the sink–babygirls didn’t use men’s razors, of course.

She picked up the pajamas and held them out in front of her. I stepped into the feet and then she zipped it all the way up to my neck. They were incredibly soft and warm. Impossible to believe that an hour ago I was freezing outside in a pair of jeans and work boots. That almost felt like a different life.

She stepped back and put her hands on her hips. “Well aren’t you the cutest wittle baby girl I’ve ever seen!” She pulled the Polaroid off the dresser. “Give mommy a biiiiiggg smile.”

I forced out a smile. She’d promised not to share the pictures with anyone. I believed her. Mostly, anyway. Some part of me knew the pictures weren’t just part of the game; they were insurance that I continued to play along until she said we were done.

“Okay, baby, you get all snuggly while mommy gets the storybook.”

I pulled down the blankets and crawled into bed. I heard her in the kitchen, getting into the fridge and then the microwave. A moment later, she returned, the book in one hand and a baby bottle in the other.

“What’s that?” I asked.

She handed me the bottle. It was warm and full of what could only be milk.

“Mommy thought you might be hungwy after all of your hard work outside.”

The bottle looked like a typical baby bottle, but it was oversized, with an obscenely large nipple. Sucking that would feel less like nursing on a woman’s breast and more like…something else I didn’t want to ponder too deeply.

“I don’t think–”

“Drink it all up for mommy,” she cut me off. “Don’t waste a drop, okay baby?”

My stomach dropped. No way would I be able to hold out for the toilet in the morning after all of this liquid. I’d try, of course, but eventually, I’d give in and pee in the diaper and then lie in it all night long. Even worse would be how thrilled Erica would be in the morning. She’d oooohhh and ahhhhh, squeezing the soaked padding and talking about what a good little bedwetter I was. About how I should wear piddlepanties to bed every night.

I brought the bottle up to my lips and started to suck.

Erica settled in next to me and put the book on her lap. “Okay, story time, baby.”

She flipped open to a page at the back of the book. Actually, it might be the actual back of the book, because whatever printing company she’d used had almost certainly added a blank page or info about their press or whatever at the very end. Instead of what looked like four pages, maybe we only had a couple! Tonight might be the end of it. My heart and mind raced in tandem. Maybe she’d let me take all of this off tonight, once the book was done! I could use the toilet and get a good night’s sleep.

Gotta calm down and get through this first, though. One last sprint to the finish line.

She put her arm over my shoulder and squeezed me against her. “So last week, the big, strong, daddy was telling the girl what she should do in her diaper.” She pointed to the spot we’d left off: an image of a text message, blown up to huge proportions.

Should I be a bad little girl, daddy?

Yes, baby. Show me how dirty you can make that diaper.

Erica turned to me and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, my. This is a new twist in the story, hmmm?”

I felt myself blush.

“What do you think the big, strong daddy means by 'dirty’ diaper? Do you think he means wittle tinkles, like you do in your diapy?”

I stared down at the book, not daring to answer that question.

Erica put her finger under my chin and brought my gaze up to hers. “Tell me baby, what do you think?”

“No,” I said.

“No, what?”

“I don’t think he means pee,” I said.

Erica’s mouth gaped open in mock shock, then she covered it with her hand and giggled. “You think the big, strong daddy wants the baby to poop her diapy?”

I nodded.

“Oh, my. But, I suppose that’s what babies do in their diapers, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said.

“But you’re a baby and you haven’t made a poopy in your diapy yet, have you?”

My guts twisted and turned like a crocodile drowning its prey.

“Baby?”

I shook my head.

“Hhhhhhmm, well we just might need to do something about that,” Erica said. She shrugged. “Okay, back to the story.”

I’m pushing, daddy. I’m pushing so hard.

That’s a good baby. Such a good little baby for daddy. What are you wearing?

I’m wearing one of my princess diapers and my footies

Keep pushing baby. Make a big mess for daddy.

I did!!! It’s soooo stinky, daddy. I’m embarrassed.

Don’t be embarrassed that’s what babies do. That’s what your diapy is for princess.

Erica flipped the page.

Send daddy a picture of your messy bottom

Below that was a blank space where a photo had gone. I remembered it vividly: even through the fluffy PJs and the thick diaper you could see the lump in the back of her diaper. I’d masturbated to that pic furiously for a week straight.

But now there was no picture, just a blank spot with a plastic sleeve over it. Erica picked up the Polaroid from the nightstand and slid it into the picture spot. “There we go,” she said. “What do you think, baby? Do you like the picture?”

What could I say? I’m sorry for cheating on you? We were way past that. Screw you, psycho? Not here at the very end of the journey.

“It’s a nice picture.”

Erica smiled and closed the book.

“Wait,” I said.

She looked at me. “What’s the matter, princess?”

“Can we read some more?” I asked. I remembered the text conversation now–we only had a few more exchanges.

She grinned. “Are you wondering how this story ends? What happens to the princess and the big, strong daddy?”

“Yes.” It came out in a half-whisper. There could only be one page left. Maybe not even a full page. If we could just get to the end, this could be the last night. We could go back to some semblance of a normal, married life.

“Hhhhhhmmm,” she said. “Okay.”

My heart was thudding now. Never had I been so excited about finishing a book.

I’m soooo messy daddy :(

I wish I could change you baby

How would you change me??

I’d wipe you down slowly, getting all of the stinkies off you

“I know you’re getting excited, but don’t forget about your baba,” Erica said, gently pushing it up toward my mouth.

I started sucking again.

What about my princess parts??

Do you worry about that. I’ll take extra special care of your princess parts, baby

But what if you can’t get it all off?

Daddy will get you in a nice warm bubble bath

Erica looked over at me meaningfully and I felt the blush again. This wasn’t the first time bubble baths had come up, of course. In fact, that’s where it all started.

Will you help me in the tubby?

Of course baby. I’ll get you nice and clean while you play with your toys

That was it. The last message I ever sent Bell. Erica had started catching on at that point, asking me pointed questions about who I was texting so often, so I’d stopped. If only I’d deleted the old messages too. Or at least locked my phone.

Erica closed the book. “Well that was a silly ending for a story,” she said.

I collapsed back against the bed, three months of tension finally easing out of me. “Erica,” I said after staring at the ceiling for a moment.

“Mommmy,” she corrected.

“Mommy. Can I…?” I gestured at the ridiculous pajamas.

“What, baby? Do you need to make a poopy like the princess in the story?”

God. She was going to make me squirm and beg right up until the end.

“Why don’t you put the story back on the shelf, baby,” she said. “Then we can talk.”

“Fine,” I snapped. I snatched the book out of her hand and waddled into the living room, crinkling the whole way. I put the book back on the shelf. Tomorrow morning I’d throw it in the trash. Or least stick it in some drawer where no one would ever see it, if she was determined to keep it.

I stopped. There was a new book on the shelf. Fire truck red and twice as thick as the storybook, but the same basic design and dimensions. I reached out, hand trembling, and pulled it off the shelf. No way. There was no way. We were done. There were no more texts.

I flipped open the book and my heart seized up in my chest. Emails. Fucking emails. Tumblr messages. Fetlife messages. Years of lurid internet history with Bell and others.

Erica walked into the living room. “Surprise, baby! Mommy found so many more princess stories to read together.”

I flipped through the book. It was easily twice as long as the other one and full of blank spots for images.

“Erica, please.”

She shook her head. “No more stories tonight. You’ll have to wait until next Friday to find out what happens to the big, strong daddy.”

I felt on the verge of a breakdown, mind racing with images of Friday nights to come. If she’d really dug deep, she’d have found filthy, nasty stuff. Messages that made the texts seem tame in comparison.

“Please,” I croaked out.

“Please what, baby?”

“I can’t do this. I can’t handle another six months.”

She paused, hands on her hips and a pensive look on her face. She shrugged and smiled. “Okay.”

“Okay? Really?”

“Really.” She handed me the bottle.

I brought it to my lips and started sucking, unwilling to do anything that might make her change her mind.

“Since you’re having so much fun, we’ll start doing story nights Saturday and Sunday, too.”

I yanked the bottle from my mouth. “No, that’s not what–”

She got a dreamy look on her face. “And maybe Sunday afternoons, too. Mommy would love to read with you in the swing on the back porch before it gets too chilly out. Or at the park? Wouldn’t that be fun, baby?”

I shook my head, the world closing in around me.

She gave me a gentle pat on the diaper. “We can talk all about that in the morning. For now, it’s time to sleep, baby.”

##

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Most of My Patients Call Them ‘Briefs’

The faint scent of pee drifts through the waiting room air. I think it’s coming from the blue-hair sitting directly across from me. She’s gone to the bathroom three times in the twenty minutes I’ve been sitting here. Every time she’s bolted out of her chair like there’s a tack in it, clutching her purse to her chest.

Or it could be the guy in Carhartt cutoffs and a Porter Concrete shirt. He’s wincing and shifting a lot. The bulge in his crotch looks suspicious. But it could just be the way his shorts are bunched up…

I lean forward a bit to get a closer look.

He clears his throat and glares at me.

I lean back in my chair and pretend to be engrossed in the People magazine draped across my lap. The last thing I need is some guy thinking I’m eyeing his junk. Explaining the truth probably wouldn’t help much, either.

I turn to Becca. She’s sitting with her hands folded in her lap, legs crossed. She’s not looking at her phone or a magazine or anything else.

“Can you believe this?” I say, showing her a photo of Brad Pitt and Jennifer Anniston frolicking on some tropical beach. “This thing’s an antique. Could probably sell it down at the flea market as a collectible.”

I’m careful not to lift the magazine toohigh, as I still need it for cover. The jeans underneath bulge outwards. Not like Carhartt guy’s shorts, where it could just be the way they fold and wrinkle. And not like I’m some 80s rockstar packing a massive cock, either. If anything it’s the opposite–my manhood is entirely buried under a dome of soft padding.

Becca counters my grin with a frown. “Have you looked at the literature over there?”

Should’ve kept my mouth shut.

She nods at the plastic rack next to the receptionist’s desk. It’s the second time she’s mentioned it. I pretended I didn’t hear her the first time, when we walked past the rack. I really don’t want a stack of incriminating evidence in my lap. I mean sure, it’s a urologist’s office, but I’d prefer people think I’m here for my prostate or something. Hell, even ED might be better than the truth.

She stares at me like she’s waiting for me to come up to the white board and solve an equation.

I drop the magazine onto the table between us. Aside from some muted typing sounds in the receptionist’s alcove the room is silent.

I stand up carefully, my legs as far apart as I can reasonably manage. The more space in my jeans, the less room there is for things to rub and fold and collide and crinkle. Or at least that’s my theory. It’s part one of my two-part plan for stealthiness.

Part two involves scuffling my way across the room like an old geezer, dragging my sneakers across the mustard-colored carpet. It was a little trick I read about in a forum. It looks stupid, but it masks the worst of the rustling sound. Or maybe it just adds to it. I can’t really tell. But it feels like I’m doing something.

I feel better imagining that half the people here are wearing diapers too, and I haven’t heard them crinkling like a bag of last year’s Christmas wrapping paper. Then again, they probably wear those terrible cloth-backed medical things–the kind with “discreet” and “undergarment” all over the package. The kind that bend over backwards to convince you they aren’t actually diapers.

The phonebook-sized monstrosity I’m wearing harbors no such delusions. It knows what it is. And so do I. At least it’s plain white–that was the one saving grace of this whole thing. I can only imagine what Becca would have said if she’d found a bag of diapers with cartoon dinosaurs or something on them instead. Or the ones with teddy bears I bought last month. We might be talking to a divorce attorney today instead of a doctor.

I quickly snag a few brochures off the rack and scuttle my way back to the chair. Once I’m comfortably seated on my padded throne, People magazine back in place, I scan the room to see if anyone noticed. My heart beats far faster than it should. I’m not sure what I’ll do if anyone makes knowing eye contact with me. Luckily, blue-hair and Carhartt dude seem engrossed in their own little worlds.

Becca plucks one of the brochures off my lap. “Your body after pregnancy?”

“Must’ve picked it up by accident.”

“Why aren’t taking this seriously?” she says in her best disappointed voice. She’d used that voice a lot, lately.

I rapidly flip through the rest of the brochures: kidney stones, menopause, bladder cancer.

I hold up the last brochure like it’s a carnival prize. It has a black and white photo of an old couple holding hands on the beach, smiling. ‘Managing Incontinence’ it shouts in comic sans.

Becca looks at me and shakes her head.

“I am taking this seriously,” I tell her. I lean closer. “I just don’t want the whole friggin’ world to know about it too.”

Her eyes search mine for a full minute and a half.

“What?” I finally ask.

“Why not?”

“Why not what?”

“Remember last year, when you broke your ankle skiing?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Were you embarrassed then?”

“No.”

“Or when you had strep three years ago? You begged me to drive you to the hospital and whined to everyone in the waiting room about how miserable you were.”

An all too familiar knot twists in my stomach. “This is just…different.”

“I know this is uncomfortable for you. Speaking of which…” she raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

She looks meaningfully at the old denim backpack in front of her chair. I’d never seen the stupid thing before today, probably because it’s too small to hold much of anything. But it is large enough to carry one item, I’d learned.

“Oh, no.” I glance around the room again to see if anyone was paying attention. I don’t know why she had to keep talking about this. We’d discussed the topic in excruciating detail this past week. How often did I wet? Was it better or worse at night? Did I do –ahem–anything else in my diapers?

I lied through all of them. Except the last one–messing wasn’t my thing. Never had been. Sure, I’d thought about it. I think we all do at some point. But the smell–and the thought of it mushed against my skin–was just too much.

“Are you wet?” she asks.

I feel a flush of heat in my cheeks. “No.”

She looks down at her phone. “It’s been at least two hours since we left home.”

“So wha–” I stop myself dead. Right. Two hours since I’d changed into this diaper. In my off-the-cuff brilliance, I’d told her that I was frequently wetting a little. Plus some random, more severe accidents. It was a stupid explanation for a bunch of reasons, not least of which it locked me into this situation. It beat telling her the truth, of course, but now if I didn’t wet every little bit she’d wonder what was up.

“Just a little,” I whisper.

Her expression softens. She slides the bag toward me with one foot.

I pick it up and eye the bathroom door. The tapes on these premium diapers are the size of an envelope and as sticky as Loctite. Pulling them off will sound like someone shooting off a pack of cherry bombs.

She just keeps staring.

I stand up and head towards the bathroom door to escape that gaze as much as anything.

“Grant Andresen?”

I stop halfway between my chair and the bathroom, frozen in place like I’m caught in the prison yard spotlight.

The nurse smiles at me from the hallway. She’s clutching a clipboard I’m sure is packed with embarrassing details about my little problem.

Becca hops up. “That’s us.” She gives my butt a gentle pat as she walks past.

Carhartt dude definitely smirks at me this time.

I hope the bastard’s prostate is the size of an overripe cantaloupe.

I follow Becca and the nurse down the hallway, holding back as far as I can and scuffing my feet the whole way. How anybody gets off on wearing these out in public I’ll never know. Every step feels like I’m waving a neon sign that says “hey, look at me and my big fat diaper.”

We step into the exam room and the nurse wheels over a stand with a laptop on it.

“You don’t have to stay here,” I tell Becca. I’ve told her that five times, at least, but she insists. She doesn’t say it, but she thinks I won’t listen to whatever the doctor says. And she’s right, because I’m not actually incontinent. This is a bit of theater to get her off my case. Answer some questions, discuss some options, and go home. In a few days, my little issue will magically clear up and that will be that. Diapers can go back into the closet until her next business trip.

She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “It’s okay, I want to be here.”

“OK, Mr. Andresen. I’m going to step out of the room for a few minutes,” the nurse says. “There’s a gown on the exam table. Please strip down to your underwear.”

“I think there’s been a mixup.” I laugh nervously. “I’m just here for an initial consult.”

The corners of her mouth draw down slightly and she looks at her laptop again. “It says here that you’ve been experiencing bladder incontinence. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Both daytime and nighttime accidents?”

“Yes,” I croak out.

She gives me the self-satisfied smile of someone who does all of their tinkles in the potty. “Well then. Dr. Siegler will want to examine you. Standard procedure.” She closes the door behind herself.

I stare at the thin, baby blue gown sitting on the table.

“Do you want to change your diaper before the doctor gets here? I can ask them to wait,” Becca says.

“Why would I want to make any more of a production of this than I have to? It’s bad enough the doctor is going to see me sitting in a diaper.”

“I just thought you might want to be dry when you get examined,” she says.

“Oh, right.” Oh, shit! I’m supposed to be in a wet diaper. Becca would notice. She noticed everything. If I was sitting there in a dry, pristine diaper she would want to know why: why it was dry, why I lied in the waiting room, and so on. Why why why.

The problem is, I have a shy bladder. That went double when I was wearing a diaper. I’d spent the last seven years sneaking a diaper session here and there, when Becca was out of town or had a girl’s night out. It didn’t leave many opportunities to practice actually usinga diaper. It also didn’t help that I had a raging hard on most of the time when I was wearing one.

After an embarrassing event in a crowded movie theater restroom, I read up on a little technique for shy bladders. Push almost all of the air out of your lungs and then hold your breath. Thirty seconds or so later and the floodgates will open. A little fight-or-flight response that evolution probably didn’t intend for public diaper wetting, but hey, I’ll use what I can.

But Becca will notice if I’m standing here, red in the face.

“Can I have a little privacy to change?” I ask.

Becca sighs. “Grant…”

“What?” I glance up at the clock ticking away on the wall.

“This all started because you weren’t sharing things with me. I just think–”

“So what, now you’re going to follow me into the bathroom? Make sure I brush my teeth? Wipe my butt?”

She frowns. “Have you been having those kinds of accidents too? You know…number two?”

“Jesus. I told you no. I was just making a point.”

I hear footsteps in the hallway and I hold my breath.

They walk on past.

“I just want you to…” she shakes her head.

I don’t have time to ask her to continue that thought. I make a show of walking over to the counter and looking at the shelves above it. Really, I just need a little space between us.

I push the air out of my lungs.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

I get up on my tiptoes to look at some stuff on the shelves. It occurs to me that pretending to look at my phone would have been a better option. Too late now. My lungs are starting to burn as my body tells me to dump the C02.

“Grant?”

Spots flit back and forth in my vision, but I keep holding it. I hope it comes soon or I might black out.

Then it happens–that warm, naughty trickle. More than a trickle, really. Two coffees worth, at least. The warm stream hits the front of the diaper and flows back and over my dick, then my balls, and finally into the seat of the diaper.

“Are you ok?” Becca is standing next to me now. She squeezes my arm.

I realize I have a stupid half-grin on my face and quickly clear it. “Yeah, just looking at what they have for, you know, diapers or whatever. In case the news today isn’t good.”

It was half a lie. I had a shameful, lifelong habit of looking at whatever stack of diapers they had on the shelves at the doctor’s office between the chux and bandages. Usually something ridiculously thin. Diapers had been a secret part of my life for so long–the stuff of late night internet sessions and the occasional indulgent weekend–that seeing them in the wild was a trip, like a lion walking down Main Street.

“Okay,” she says. She looks concerned.

I feel like a piece of shit for the hundredth time since she confronted me with the bag of diapers. She’s really worried about me and I just keep piling lie on lie. But if I can make it through just a few more, then we could put this behind us.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just not excited about the doctor seeing me in–”

There’s a knock on the door.

If I hadn’t just emptied my bladder I think I would have wet myself.

The door swings open and in walks Dr. Siegler. Call it misogyny. Call it whatever you want. I just assumed the doctor would be a balding old guy in horn-rimmed glasses. He’d be world-weary. Over it. He’d have seen it all before–including grown men in diapers.

This…this was more difficult. Prime universe Dr. Siegler is a woman. She looks like she can’t be more than a few years out of med school–tall, cute, and definitely not balding. She stands in the doorway, no doubt wondering why I’m examining a jar of cotton balls.

“I’m sorry. Debbie was supposed to give you a gown,” she says.

Yes, let her think it’s Debbie’s fault.

“She did,” Becca says.

Ugh. It was like she was trying to make all of this as difficult as possible.

Becca looks at me. “Grant just…”

“I, uh…I’m just a bit embarrassed Dr. Siegler,” I say.

“That’s not necessary.” Dr. Siegler smiles. “I’ve seen it all before. And you can call me Andrea.”

I sincerely doubted she’d encountered my exact situation before, but if I kept myself together she wouldn’t need to know that.

“I have some questions about these notes.” She looks down at the tablet in her hand and I see the hint of a frown. “Why don’t you change into the gown while I review them again.”

She doesn’t give me time to answer, but instead pulls a curtain along a track in the ceiling, closing off the exam table from the rest of the room. Becca, thank god, is on the outside. The last thing I need is to give her a little stripshow.

I have some questions about this file. That’s disconcerting. I hadn’t expected to get caught–no one does, I guess–so my explanation to Becca probably didn’t jive too well with real-world incontinence. I didn’t worry about it in the moment–it was all about steering the conversation away from the truth–but she obviously paid very close attention.

Now I’m standing in nothing but a diaper with a soggy, yellow splotch adorning the front. The diaper is still warm, which is a contrast with the cool air and downright chilly floor. Goosebumps break out across my arms.

I quickly slide the gown on and do my best to lace it up. As expected, my butt hangs out the back. What I didn’t expect was that it would look like I have a basketball tucked down the front. The gown hangs off the bulging diaper like a curtain.

My heart’s racing. I picture both women standing on the other side of the curtain, arms crossed, waiting for me to emerge.

I peek around the curtain. Becca’s eyes glance down at my bulbous midsection and then quickly back up. She gives me a smile I’m sure is supposed to be comforting, but comes across as pitying.

“Okay, I’m ready,” I say to the doctor.

She pulls back the curtain. I count to five in my head, giving her time to process the sight of me, then turn around.

Doctor Siegler’s eyes dart to my midsection, but they linger longer than Becca’s. “Please have a seat and we’ll get started,” she says.

I lower myself onto the exam table, the diaper crackling almost as much as the paper covering.

Doctor Siegler sits on a stool and wheels herself closer, her knees almost touching mine.

My heart thuds faster in my chest.

“So according to the notes you provided–”

“My wife provided,” I interject.

“Excuse me?” she says.

“My wife called.” Now that I say it out loud, it sounds ridiculous. Like I’m a child. “I’m not sure exactly what she told you.”

She looks down at her tablet. “Ah yes, it says here that your wife scheduled the appointment. I understand you were resistant to the idea?”

“Well, I–”

“He was,” Becca cut me off. “But I felt it was important.”

The doctor’s eyes travel back and forth between us, then she shrugs. “I understand incontinence is a challenging topic for many. There’s a social stigma attached. But you need to understand that it’s nothing to be ashamed about–you can’t control it, after all.” Her smile is warm and understanding.

I sink a bit deeper into the exam table. “You’re right.”

“So let’s talk about these symptoms. The notes say that you are leaking urine regularly throughout the day, but that you also sometimes experience stress incontinence?”

I nod. “Yeah, that sounds right. Things at work have been tough lately. I just got a new boss and–”

“Oh, no. Stress incontinence means you leak when you cough, or laugh, or engage in exercise.”

“OK.”

Her brow furrows. “So you’ve been experiencing stress incontinence?”

I nod, hoping that’s the right answer.

She taps some notes on her tablet. I try to see them, but I can’t make anything out.

“Is that…okay?” I ask.

She looks up and opens her mouth, pauses, then continues. “It’s not common in men your age. We most often see it after a man has had prostate surgery, or when there is some other underlying health issue.”

“I’m pretty healthy. I don’t floss as much as I’m supposed to, but otherwise…” I chuckle.

“Mmmmmhhhmmm.” She’s still staring at those notes.

“When did you first begin to experience incontinence?” she asks. “And did it begin with the overflow or stress incontinence?”

About a week ago, when Becca caught me red-handed. “It’s been a couple months now.”

“If I’d known, I would have brought him in sooner,” Becca says. “But he kept it secret.” I can hear the disapproval in her voice–like I’m some delinquent child who found an injured barn cat and decided to keep it as a secret closet pet.

“Mmmhmmm. And how have you been managing it?” the doctor asks.

She’s trying to be polite about the massive, plastic-backed elephant in the room, but in doing so is going to make me say the ‘D’ word out loud. “I’ve been wearing…diapers.”

She cocks her head to the side a little. “Diapers?”

I feel a flush of heat up my neck. I nod, afraid that if I say anything it will just come out as a squeak or a croak or some other unmanly sound.

“Most of my patients prefer to call them ‘briefs’ or ‘protection.’”

“Oh. Well, diapers are what they are, I guess. So…”

“If you feel more comfortable with ‘diaper,’ then that’s what you should call them.” She smiles at me again.

I wish we were here to deal with something easy, like a brain-eating amoeba.

“Now I’d like you to undo the laces on the back of the gown and recline on the table,” she says.

I reach back for the laces. The first knot comes apart easily, but my fingers are shaking and the second one is difficult. I twist and fumble awkwardly as the two women watch and wait.

“Here, let me help,” Becca says.

I immediately drop my hands and my eyes. Her soft fingers graze my back and a moment later the gown loosens.

“Thanks,” I mumble. I lie back on the cool table and stare at the tiled ceiling. I shift a little and get a whiff of urine–can’t blame that one on blue-hair, can we?

Doctor Siegler looms above me. “I’m going to move your gown aside and touch your abdomen. Is that okay?”

I nod, the paper covering crackling beneath me.

She gently moves aside the thin material and I’m fully exposed from the chest down. I don’t look at her, just at the ceiling. Her hands begin poking and prodding.

“Let me know if anything hurts,” she says.

“Okay.”

“I’m looking for any masses that could be impinging on the bladder,” she says. She’s turned to Becca.

I should be glad she’s ignoring me–the last thing I want right now is a conversation–but it feels condescending.

“Like cancer or…?” Becca asks.

“That’s a possibility, but I wouldn’t want to jump to conclusions. Even if there is a mass, it wouldn’t mean it’s cancerous.”

Her hands trace lower, poking and prodding. They’re dangerously close to the top of my diaper. Then she stops.

“Okay, you can sit up now, Grant. The good news is, I don’t feel anything abnormal.”

I sit up, shifting the gown back into place. Good thing you can’t feel fetishes with a medical exam.

“I’m happy to see you’re taking steps to manage your incontinence responsibly. You have no idea how many patients refuse to wear any kind of protection. It can really have a profoundly negative impact on their lives and relationships.”

I nod. Yeah, responsible patient of the year, right here.

“Did you buy these briefs–I’m sorry, diapers–at a medical supply store?”

“I, uh–”

“He purchased them from an internet drug store. Right, Grant?”

“Yeah, an internet drug store.” Two of those three words were the truth, at least.

“I’m going to write you a prescription for a more discrete product. You can purchase these at CVS, Walgreens–pretty much any pharmacy. In person or online.”

“A prescription?” I ask. “But can’t anyone just, you know, buy them?”

She chuckles. “Yes, but if you want your insurance to cover the cost, you’ll need a prescription.”

Insurance cover the cost… “That’s great!”

Becca frowns. Doctor Siegler purses her lips, her pen frozen above the prescription pad.

Fuck. That was not a normal reaction. “I mean, we pay so much in premiums, right Beccs? It will just be nice to actually get something for it, you know.”

“That’s a great attitude, Mr. Andresen,” Dr. Siegler says. “I wish everyone looked at it like that.”

She hands me a slip of paper. The golden ticket. Our godawful insurance company would be paying for my diapers from now. Better yet, I had cover–a piece of paper saying I neededto wear diapers. This was amazing.

“This will help you manage the issue until we get some additional testing,” Dr. Siegler continues.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m going to schedule you for a CT scan. Next week, if possible.”

“I, I–”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she says, it’s not painful. They will give you contrast liquid and then put you through a machine. The liquid makes you feel warm all over, like you might have wet your pants, but it’s not that bad.”

“Do you think that’s necessary?” I ask.

“Of course it’s necessary!” Becca says. “What if there’s a tumor?”

“Well, it seemed like–”

“Do you want to be wearing diapers your whole life?” She throws her hands up in the air.

Yes.

“No. You’re right. Let’s schedule it,” I say.

“There is an alternative to diapers,” Doctor Siegler adds. “I typically don’t recommend them, but for some patients they are the best option.”

“What would that be?” Becca asks.

“In-dwelling catheter. Also called a Foley catheter. They are sometimes recommended for patients with overflow incontinence.”

“That’s okay. I don’t think we need to explore–”

“Could we get some more info about that?” Becca cuts me off.

I turn around to face her. She’s staring at Doctor Siegler, pointedly ignoring me.

“Absolutely. I can provide some information for you two to go over together. They do come with a risk of infection. And they aren’t appropriate for all types of incontinence.”

Becca nods. “Thank you.”

Doctor Siegler nods. “The front desk will reach out to you for scheduling. Also–”

“Which kinds aren’t they appropriate for?” I ask.

“Excuse me?”

“Which kinds of incontinence aren’t they appropriate for?”

“We typically don’t use them for…”

I zone out as she begins her explanation. Whatever she says, I can’t change my story at this point to match it. It’s flimsy and inconsistent enough as it is.

Becca is listening to every word as if it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever heard.

A future of expensive medical exams and catheters for my nonexistent incontinence is sickening. A cruel, ironic joke. There is one option–one out. The trump card that will take catheters off the table. But I’m not sure I can do it.

I look down at the slip of paper in my hand. A doctor telling me to wear diapers–telling me that my insurance should pay for it. I’ll never get another opportunity like this.

I take a deep breath, bend my knees slightly, and bear down. For a second, it seems like it’s going to be difficult, but then the two coffees help things along. I feel the mess come out of me and push against the seat of the diaper. There’s resistance, so I bear down harder and the mush spreads throughout the diaper. There’s a lot–more than I could have imagined–but at least it’s quiet.

Then it’s done. There’s no going back. I burned the bridge and took a dump on the ashes.

Becca and Dr. Siegler are still talking, unaware of the war crime occurring a few feet away. How do you interrupt someone to tell them you filled your pants?

In unison, both of their noses twitch.

Then it hits me. It smells bad. Ismell bad. Awful, actually. Like a bag of trash left to bake in the summer sun. And with every passing second, it gets worse.

“Ummm…”

Becca turns to me. Her eyes go wide. “Grant…?”

“I’m sorry. I think I…”

“Oh,” Dr. Siegler says quietly. “That’s…not a problem. Let me get some wipes and a chux pad.”

Becca just stares at me, jaw slack. Her eyes dart from my face, down to the mess trapped around my waist, and then back again.

“I’ve put some supplies on the–”

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Doctor Siegler says.

I’m not talking to her.

“Thank you, doctor,” Becca says.

“You have the room as long as you need,” Dr. Siegler says. “See the front desk when you are done. This indicates a more significant issue might be at play, so I want to get that CT scan scheduled soon, okay?” She gives me one last pitying look, then lets herself out.

Becca and I stand a few feet apart, staring at each other. The stench has filled the room now. I want to get this thing off me, but I don’t want to do it with her here.

Tears brim in the corners of her eyes.

“Beccs, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

She just shakes her head, then stares at the floor.

“I…” the elaborate story I’m about to spin collapses in my mind. “I don’t need to wear diapers.”

She looks up at me.

“This whole thing…it’s…I’ve been lying to you. I’m not incontinent. I haven’t been having accidents. There’s no tumor or anything else. I just…like to wear diapers.”

I brace for the response. Becca isn’t a screamer. At least I don’t think so. But I have no idea how she’ll react. Storm out and leave me stranded here? Melt into a puddle of tears and confusion? Demand a divorce?

“I know,” she says quietly.

“What!?”

She dabs the tears away with the back of her hand. “You forgot to clear your browser a couple months ago and I found…a lot. Everything. At least I hope it’s everything.”

The room is spinning. I sit back on the exam table to steady myself and immediately regret it as the mush squelches up my crack.

“You…then why?” I throw my hands up in the air. “Why all of this?”

“I wanted to give you a chance to be honest with me. To tell me the truth. Nothing was working, so… here we are.”

“You aren’t mad? Or grossed out?”

She laughs.

“What?”

“I mean, you shit your pants at the doctor’s office instead of telling your wife about your fetish. That’s pretty gross.”

“Sorry.” It sounded lame, even to my ears, but it was sincere.

She shrugs. “It’s okay. I don’t mind the diapers. I think I can get used to them, anyway.”

“Really?”

“Really. Just no more secrets, okay?”

I nod.

She wraps her arms around me. She’s warm and soft and smells like lavender and vanilla. Far too good for me, standing half-naked in a loaded diaper. But she doesn’t let go–she just keeps holding me. So I hold her too.

She steps back. She has that look again–a bit stern, a bit condescending. “Now get yourself cleaned up before they call in the hazmat team, okay?”

There are a million things I want to tell her. A million things I want to share about the little world I’ve been hiding from her for years. But there’s no rush–she isn’t going anywhere.

##

I hope you enjoyed this story. If you did, check out my other tales of diapers and dominance on Smashwords!

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Another Mikey story. 18+

While this short story stands alone, you’ll enjoy it more if you’ve read the previous entries in Mikey’s saga:

Mikey’s New Babysitter

Safe and Secure

Safe and Secure: Part 2

Safe and Secure: Part 3

Baby Shower

For a FREE PDF copy of all the Mikey stories, plus a new chapter that’s not available anywhere else, sign up for my newsletter. 

———————————————–

“Get in the car! I don’t want to tell you again!” Brad yelled up the stairs. 

Mike stood in the nursery doorway. His heavy overnight diaper drooped between his legs. 

Down the hallway, the vanity lights were on in the master bedroom. There were faint clicks as Vivienne worked her way through an array of polishes, bases, toners, and highlighters.  

Mike started to walk towards the master bedroom for the third time in ten minutes. And then he stopped. Brad had made the rules about going into their room exceedingly clear. 

“Did you hear me?” Brad yelled again. This time he sounded like he was at the foot of the stairs. 

Mike padded to the top of the steps and yelled down. “I’m not–” he awkwardly ran a series of euphemisms through his mind - “dressed.”

A pause. Mike didn’t need to be in the same room to see Brad’s exasperated look.  

“Put on some pants and let’s go!" 

"But, Vivienne hasn’t chang -" 

Brad came storming up the stairs, his feet thudding on every step as if he could take out all of his frustrations on the carpeted boards. When he reached the top, his eyebrows were dangerously close to his hairline. 

"Are you kidding me? I’ve seen how much those fucking things hold." 

Mike self consciously covered the soaked diaper with his hands. "Yeah, but Viv -" 

Brad raised an eyebrow in warning. 

Mike sighed and rolled his eyes. "Mommy always changes me in the morning. Right after I’ve -" 

Brad stepped closer. He was a good six inches taller than Mike. "Put. On. Your. Pants.” He pointed at the nursery door. “Now.”

“Fine!” Mike stomped into his nursery and threw open the closet doors. He shoved aside hangars with rompers and onesies and shortalls until a single item was left. It was the final holdout from his adult life. Sweatpants. Grey, stained, and too baggy. The drawstring had long since been swallowed by the washer machine. Vivienne had always hated them, which only enhanced Mike’s appreciation.

He yanked the sweatpants up over his swollen diaper until the waistband rested near his bellybutton. Even the loose, yielding fabric of the sweatpants bulged out from the swollen mass of an overnight diaper underneath. He tugged his white t-shirt over the waistband and trudged down to the driveway. 

Outside, the late-summer sun beat down hot and bright. Mike increasingly disliked going outside on days like this. He felt even more like a bug under the microscope. At least in the winter, heavy coats and layers concealed the worst of the odd bulk and bulge that was unavoidable in diapered life.

He slid into the backseat of Brad’s black SUV and closed the door. It was full-sized. A real gas guzzler. Chrome rims. Leather interior. AC always blasting, circulating Brad’s too-strong cologne throughout. It was the car version of Brad, now that Mike thought about it. Forsaking any notion of class or subtlety for ‘big’ and 'bold.' 

Mike snickered at the thought. Then he thought of his own tiny Aveo with its rusty rocker plates and french fry-scented interior. He hadn’t driven it in…too long even to recall anymore. The laughter died in his throat.

Vivienne settled herself into the front passenger seat a moment later. She’d spent an hour and a half on her makeup and outfit selection. And, as usual, the effect had been worth it. She looked as good as the day they’d started dating. 

“OK, ready,” she said.

Brad shook his head. “I’m not sure who’s worse, you or him.” He jerked a thumb towards the backseat. “I told you I wanted to leave half an hour ago. Frankie says they’re already forming a line out front. Tickets won’t last long.” He put the car in drive and pulled out of the driveway. 

“He’s been changed, right?” Vivienne asked. 

“Nope." 

"What do you mean, 'nope’?" 

"I mean, it’s not my problem. You said you’d change Betsy Wetsy."  

Mike would have been sleeping on the couch for a week if he’d used that sort of tone. Or at least it would have when their relationship was sane - now he just lived on the metaphorical couch 24/7. But Brad got away with anything. Including shirking his changing responsibilities. Not that Mike was complaining - the three brusque changes he’d endured at Brad’s hands in those first weeks had been the most humiliating moments of his life. 

"Well, it’s gonna be your problem when he leaks on your seat,” Vivienne said. 

As if on queue, Mike’s stomach turned. His guts had always worked like clockwork - toilet or diapers it didn’t matter. He could hold it off for awhile - thirty minutes, maybe. Then again, thirty minutes had been the upper limit back when 'holding it’ was part of daily life; he hadn’t exercised that particular skill set in awhile. “Um, where are we going again?” he asked. Somewhere with large, single-occupant family restrooms, he hoped. Well lit and regularly cleaned.

“Samson’s Bar,” Brad said. 

The pristine facilities of Mike’s imagination evaporated, replaced with dingy flickering lights, rusted stalls, and Bud Lite in all of its body-processed forms. 

He could hold it. He had to hold it. 

Vivienne turned around to face him for the first time. The corner of her lip curled up. “Those sweatpants? Really? What about the shortalls I bought you last week?" 

"With Winnie the Pooh on them? Yeah, no thanks." 

Vivienne ignored his response entirely and turned to Brad. "Starbucks?" 

"Sure. But only the drive-through."  

Wonderful. Another delay. Mike quietly shucked his white velcro sneakers and tucked his right foot up under himself. It was a trick he’d learned on long rides to soccer games in middle school. If there’s no bathroom in sight, bar the gate. Or at least try to. His diaper was like the world’s grossest beanbag - a million piss-swollen polymer beads strapped to his body. It made getting his heel into position nearly impossible.

As they pulled into the Starbucks lot, Mike’s heart dropped into his storm-tossed guts. A line of cars snaked around the building and almost to the road. He closed his eyes and began counting backward from 100 to take his mind off the war raging inside him. 

99, 98, 97, 96 

Cramp 

95, 94

Cramp

93

Cramp Cramp

92 

CRAMP!

Mike felt the mess begin to escape his body, and he sucked in his breath. No no no! 

He shifted, trying to dig his heel in further and instead felt the floodgate open. There was no stopping it now. He lifted off the firm leather seat. Immediately, the hot mush filled the seat of his diaper. The maxed-out overnight diaper was already stretched and swollen, leaving no flexibility, no room for expansion, so the mess almost immediately spread forwards and backward.    

He let out a whimper as his guts finally calmed. 

Vivienne turned around. "Are you…?" 

He nodded, fighting to keep the tears back as he hovered above the seat. 

"Unbelievable."  

"What?” Brad asked. 

“Don’t worry about it. Just get me my usual,” Vivienne said. 

“And Betsy?" 

"I think he’s got plenty to keep him occupied,” she said with a chuckle. 

Brad placed the order.    

As they rounded the corner, Mike panicked. He would be eye-level with the cashier. His arms were locked straight, knuckles white. The pendulous mass of shame hung above the unyielding leather below. He looked at the cashier’s window, then at the bulge between his legs.  

He slowly lowered himself into the warm mess. 

Squellllccchhh 

It was like the sun-warmed mud he’d played in by the side of the river as a kid. Nothing more than that, he told himself. Nothing more than that. 

“What the fuck is that smell?” Brad said half a beat later. 

Vivienne laughed. “That is why you change a baby after his morning mess. Before you leave the house."  

Brad stared at her for a moment, brow furrowed, then he whipped around. "You did not." 

Mike held his hands out in front of himself as if that could stop the pending verbal onslaught. "I told you -" 

"You disgusting little shit. I just had this detailed!” Brad snapped. 

“That will be $9.14, sir,” the cashier’s voice interrupted. 

Brad didn’t respond. He didn’t even turn in her direction. “Are you leaking on my seat?”

Mike shook his head, vigorously.

“You’d better not. You’d better fucking not."  

"Sir?” The cashier asked again. 

Mike looked up at her. 

Young. Cute. She had a little upturned nose with a spray of freckles across her cheeks.

Brad turned around slowly to face her.

“Sorry for that,” Brad said. “This guy in the back here - he crapped his pants." 

It was like watching a car crash. Mike couldn’t look away. 

She cocked her head sideways, the gears grinding. Then her eyes went wide and that little nose wrinkled up. "Eeeww, really? Is he, you know, special or something?" 

Brad chuckled. "Special? Sure. But probably not in the way you mean.” He leaned closer to the window. “Secretly, I think he likes it,” he said in a hoarse, faux whisper. 

“I don’t!” Mike yelped from the backseat. 

The clerk yelled something over her shoulder. A moment later, two other twenty-something employees appeared next to her. A guy and a girl. She said something inaudible, and then all three burst out laughing.

Mike slumped down in his seat, settling deeper into the cooling mush. 

A lifetime later, two coffees came through Brad’s window, the scent of hot coffee mixing with that of a freshly-filled diaper. 

One of the three Starbucks employees gave him a coy little wave followed by an exaggerated wink. Then all three burst out laughing.

Mike squeezed his eyes shut until he felt the car moving again. 

They pulled into a parking spot in the Starbucks parking lot. Vivienne pulled the diaper bag up onto her lap and unzipped the top. 

Mike had never been so happy to see the crisp, white silhouette of a fresh diaper. The feeling of soft, dry material wrapping around him. The soft crackle of plastic that hadn’t been stretched to its breaking point. 

“What are you doing?” Brad asked.  

“I’m going to change him,” Vivienne said. She stopped — clean diaper half-removed from the bag.

Mike saw his fate hang in the balance. Starbucks bathrooms weren’t half-bad. He’d have to run the gauntlet of guests and staff, but it would be worth it. 

“Where are you going to change him?” Brad asked. 

“Uh, in the back. Your trunk is huge. It -" 

"No!” Brad and Mike yelled in unison. 

Their eyes met for a moment, and Brad glared. Mike shrunk down into his seat.

Brad turned to Vivienne. “No way are you changing him in the back. You’ll get shit on the carpet." 

Vivienne’s brow wrinkled, and she pursed her lips. A potent mixture of pouty and indignant.

"Uh, no, I will not,” she said. “Do you know how many dirty diapers I’ve changed now?" 

"Not happening."  

"I -" 

"NOT happening,” Brad said. 

Vivienne opened her mouth to say something further, hesitated, and then stuffed the diaper back into the bag with a huff. 

And with that, Mike’s one shot at salvation was lost. Once Brad had made a decision, no matter how stupid, there was no changing it. He practically had 'obstinate’ tattooed across his forehead. Mike would just needlessly degrade himself by pleading for a change. They’d add it to the ever-growing list of things they teased him about when he griped about his early bedtime or baby food punishment. He could already hear his own words quoted back to him in a singsongy voice when he knocked on their door to ask for an early morning change. 

No, he’d hold steady, whatever the cost. 

“Well then, we’ll just have to go home,” Vivienne said. 

Thank god — a voice of reason for once. 

“Nope, not going to miss the raffle,” Brad said. “The rest of the guys already have tickets. If Marcus gets that fucking man cave because of him?” He shook his head. “Not gonna happen.”

Vivienne sighed. “Well then what are you suggesting? You realize he doesn’t exactly fit on a regular bathroom changing station, right?" 

"I know where we’ll go,” Brad said. He slipped the car into gear and began driving toward the exit. 

All of the windows began rolling down simultaneously.

“And where is that?” Vivienne asked. 

Brad reached down and cranked the air to full blast. It was like a wind tunnel. But at least it dissipated the stench. 

“Where I first got your number,” Brad said. 

Vivienne’s eyes got wide, and then she smiled slyly. “Yes, I suppose that will work. Might be busy on a Sunday, though." 

Brad shrugged. "Puts us closer to Samson’s too." 

"So where are we going?” Mike asked. 

They ignored him. He settled back into his seat, the mess in his pants slowly cooling, and watched the world fly past.

TO BE CONTINUED

##

I hope you enjoyed this story. If you did, check out my other tales of diapers and dominance on Smashwords!

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18+ Only.

While this short story stands alone, you’ll enjoy it more if you’ve read the previous entries in Mikey’s saga: 

Mikey’s New Babysitter

Safe and Secure

Safe and Secure: Part 2

Safe and Secure: Part 3
——————-

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Mike stood in his backyard and surveyed the small pile of presents. They were arrayed on his hand-sewn sheep blanket, each one meticulously wrapped.

“Are you excited, baby?” Vivienne asked. She was lounging in a wooden lawn chair, long legs crossed. She was in fine summertime form: oversized black sunglasses; strappy leather sandals; bright red toenails. A languorous Jackie O.

“Sure,” Mike answered without looking at her.

“Which one will you open first?” Jim Gray asked. He was seated three chairs down from Vivienne’s spot in the semicircle of chairs. He was wearing neatly pressed khakis and a polo. It was the first time Mike had seen Vivienne’s middle-aged coworker out of his scrubs.

Jim’s wife Penny gave him a playful jab to the ribs. “They’re his gifts, let him decide!”

Seeing Jim’s attire reminded Mike of his own clothing - or lack thereof - and he tugged his t-shirt shirt down over the waistband of his diaper. But as soon as he stopped pulling, it popped back into place over his midriff. Vivienne had insisted he not wear pants “because of the heat,” but they both knew it was to ramp up the humiliation for his ‘baby shower.’  

Mike looked at Jim, then at the ground. “I’m not sure which I’ll open first.” The truth was, he didn’t want to open any of them. He wanted to dropkick each and every single ‘gift’ into the ocean. But until they were all opened and he’d made the proper, polite noises, he’d be stuck out here in the summertime sun, on display for family, friends, and neighbors alike. 

“You can start with mine, Mikey,” Amanda said from her spot on Vivienne’s right. “Can’t miss it - it has a green bow.” 

Mike sighed and settled himself onto the childish blanket at the group’s feet. His perpetually wet diaper squished as he flopped down on it. 

He pushed aside a box and revealed a green bow. The bow was on the end of a long wooden paddle. 

“Hold it up so everyone can see what you got,” Vivienne demanded. 

Mike lifted the paddle up, feeling the weight of it in his hand. It was at least eighteen inches long, with a number of small holes in the end. There was an amused round of chuckling from the group. 

His eyes met Amanda’s. The bitch was smirking at him. 

“Amanda!” Vivienne said in mock outrage. She giggled.

“It was the least I could do after breaking two of your hairbrushes,” Amanda replied. 

Mike tensed up at the mere reference to those hairbrushes. She’d broken the first across his butt for swearing at her during a particularly long babysitting session three months ago. The second had been because he’d looked at her tits too long. Or so she said. 

“Bring it here, baby,” Vivienne said to Mike. She held her hand out for the paddle, a broad grin on her face. With the opaque black lenses and her perfect white teeth, she looked like a shark - cold, predatory, and soulless.  

Mike bit his tongue and stood up. He walked over to Vivienne’s chair and placed the paddle in her outstretched hand. 

She brought the paddle down onto her palm with a loud THWACK! 

Mike winced. 

“Mmmmmhhhmmm, this will do nicely,” Vivienne said. The corners of her mouth turned up in that self-satisfied smirk of hers. 

“I’ve started babysitting another boy like Mikey,” Amanda said. “His mommy had one hanging on the wall and I’ve put it to good use.” 

Someone like him? There was some other poor chump out there stuck in his position?

“Mikey, did you hear what Amanda said? There’s another boy like you,” Vivienne said. “Mikey?” 

“I’m not a boy. I’m a man,” Mikey mumbled. He dropped down onto the blanket again.

“Yes, we’ll have to get you boys together for a playdate soon,” Amanda said, ignoring him completely. “Petey is so well behaved - I’m sure Mikey could learn a thing or two from him.” 

“That sounds lovely,” Vivienne said. “And in the meantime, I’m sure I will put this to good use reforming pissypants here.” 

Vivienne’s aunt Gladys raised her straw sunhat to better see the paddle. “You know, when I was raising my boys, every mother on the block had a good paddle hanging in the hallway. Boys were certainly better behaved in those days. None of this business with the drugs and the running around.” She wagged her finger at Mike. 

Mike wondered if it had ever occurred to the crazy old bat that he was in his late twenties, not elementary school. But he knew better than to disagree with her. 

“Open the yellow box next. That one is from me,” Gladys said. She smoothed out her old fashioned floral sundress. 

Mike pulled a large yellow box onto his lap and slowly removed the paper. He lifted the lid off what appeared to be an antique hatbox and set it aside. He reached inside the box and removed a stack of thick, white cloth. A year ago he would have had no idea what those were. Cloth diapers would have been way down the list of guesses - somewhere between “most boring dish rags” and “most boring hand towels.” But now he knew he’d be wearing these wrapped around his waist sometime soon. His own personal toilet. Ignorance had been bliss.   

“Hold them up so everyone can see, dear,” Gladys said. 

Mike held one of the soft pieces of cloth up for the guests to see. 

“And the rest of it,” Gladys said. “Show them the rest of the box.” 

Mike sighed as quietly as he could and put the cloth diaper down again. He reached into the box and removed a handful of oversized baby pins. Some had plain white or blue heads. Others had ducks. A few had teddy bears. Below that were three pairs of plastic pants. 

“Oh, what’s that?” Vivienne asked. 

Mike held up each pair of pants, one at a time, for the group to see. A yellow pair. A pink pair. And one with little trains and blocks on it. Each was thick and crinkly, with tight elastic leg gathers. Each drew polite “ooohhs” and “aaahhhs.”

“Aren’t those adorable,” their neighbor Etika said. It seemed like she meant it. 

Gladys beamed. “I know you young folks like those paper diapers, but you can layer the birdseye on nice and thick. And having to clean and hang them on the line will be good discipline for your little wetter here, Viv.” 

Vivienne got out of her chair and walked over to aunt’s chair. As she bent over for a hug, her full, heart-shaped ass was a mere foot from Mike’s face. So close he could taste it, almost.  

“Thanks, auntie. Next time I send him over for babysitting I’ll be sure he’s wearing one,” Vivienne said. 

“Oh, more than one, dear! And be sure to twist them first. If he’s a heavy wetter, that’s essential.” 

Vivienne settled back into her chair. “Oh, he’s certainly a heavy wetter. I mean… “ she trailed off and pointed in Mike’s direction. 

Mike blushed as everyone’s attention was directed to the swollen, soaked padding around his waist. 

Amanda snorted and shook her head. 

Mike was burning inside. He picked up a box so he didn’t have to look at them anymore. He tore into it with gusto, shredding the paper. Then he opened it and removed a tangle of black leather straps. “Ummmm…”

Etika and Sue looked at each other and giggled. “There’s more in there,” Sue said. She brushed her long curly hair up and over her shoulder and leaned in closer. “Keep going.” 

Mike shifted several layers of pink tissue aside and then his fingers settled on something. It was firm, yet yielding. Cylindrical. He slowly withdrew it from the paper like the sword from the stone and held it aloft. A big, black dildo. 

“Oh my,” Gladys said. She covered her mouth. 

Jim snickered. 

“We’ve tried a number of different rubber cocks and this one is the best,” Etika said. 

“Hands down,” Sue added. “It will really fill you up. Stretch you out.” 

“You might be glad you have that diaper on afterward,” Penny said down the line. She immediately put her hand over her mouth as if she’d farted at a funeral. 

Vivienne laughed. “The little stinker doesn’t need any more help in that regard.” 

As hot as it was outside, Mike felt a wave of heat bloom in his face. 

“And when he does need help, it’s nothing an enema can’t fix,” Amanda added.

“Mikey, bring it here,” Vivienne said. 

He dutifully carried the harness and cock over to her. 

She lowered her sunglasses and held the harness up in front of her face. 

“Just let us know if you need any help,” Etika said. “We’d be happy to come over and show you how it works.” 

“Give you a little demonstration,” Sue said. She reached up and grabbed Mike’s butt and gave it a quick squeeze. 

He gasped and looked down at her. 

She winked back at him. 

“That’s soooo sweet,” Vivienne said. “Maybe we can have you over for dinner and a show, of sorts? Sometime next week?” 

“That would be lovely,” Etika replied. 

“Great, I know Brad has been looking forward to meeting both of you,” Vivienne said. 

Mike’s head whipped around. “What did you say? Who the hell is Brad?” 

“Don’t worry about that.” Vivienne crooked a finger at him. Come here and let me check your diaper.” 

Mike shuffled over, distantly aware of the sodden yellow diaper hanging between his legs but barely caring. “I said who is –” 

“Sshhhhh,” Vivienne said. She reached out and squeezed his diaper. He barely felt it through the thick padding and chastity cage. “You’re soaked. We’ll get you changed after one more present.” 

“But I -” 

“One more present,” she said. 

Mike flopped down on the blanket. He wanted to press the issue, but he knew Vivienne had made up her mind. She wouldn’t back down. Especially with an audience. If he could finish this ridiculous process, at least he could go inside. 

He pulled the wrapping paper off the final present and removed a baby monitor set from the box. 

“We use the same set for our vacation home,” Jim said. “They have audio and video.” 

“You can even access them on your phone. There’s an app,” Penny added. She was beaming. “We thought, you know, it might be handy to keep an eye on the little guy. No more situations like…before. With the whole work thing.” Her smile faltered.  

Mike slouched down even further. A few months ago, he’d woken up full of rage. That was nothing new; he’d felt that way many times before over the past year. What was different was this time he did something about it. He’d changed out of his nighttime diaper and into a pair of sweatpants. He’d driven to the hospital where Vivienne worked and demanded to see her boss. He was going to spill it all. Whatever happened to him after that, she’d be fired and disgraced. 

Except it didn’t go down that way. 

While waiting in the lobby, he’d pissed himself. Royally. Before he knew it the hot stream was running down the gray leg of his sweatpants and into his right sneaker. Jim had arrived just as he was realizing that the familiar warmth wasn’t being soaked up by a diaper and was instead pooling on the floor. The rest was history. 

“Don’t you think so, Mikey?” Vivienne was saying. 

Hearing his name snapped him out of the terrible memory. “Huh?” 

“I said, ‘don’t you think the monitors will come in handy?’” Vivienne repeated. 

Gladys was shaking her head. “Boys don’t need privacy anyway. They get up to the devil’s work. Can’t keep their hands off their parts.” 

“Oh, well, we took care of that tiny little problem awhile ago,” Amanda said. 

Vivienne snorted. 

“Excuse me?” Penny asked. She was turning back and forth between the two women.

“Locked his teeny peeny up,” Amanda added. 

Vivienne withdrew the key from between her breasts and dangled it on the chain for all to see. 

Penny nodded. “Ah, I see.” It was clear that she did not. But from the subdued chuckles, the rest of the mob clearly did. 

Mike put his head in his hands, unable to meet their judging eyes for a single second longer. “Can I go up to my room now? Please?” 

“Yes, I suppose so,” Vivienne said. “Tell your guests thank you for their generous gifts.” 

“Thank you,” Mike blurted out. He stood up and began striding towards the house. Just thirty feet of close-cropped Kentucky bluegrass and he’d be sheltered from their condescension. 

“There’s just one more present,” Vivienne said behind him. 

Mike froze. 

“You didn’t think Mommy would forget to get you a gift for your baby shower, did you?” 

Mike slowly turned to look at Vivienne. She was still sitting in her chair, facing away from him, but everyone else had turned to look at him. 

“It’s up in your room. Big red bow. Can’t miss it,” she said. 

“And then…after I open it? I can stay inside?” Mike asked. 

There was a pause. 

Mike held his breath. 

“Of course. Spend as much time with your new gift as you want,” Vivienne said. 

Mike consciously relaxed his muscles and took a deep breath. Whatever was inside couldn’t be worse than staying out here, facing all of these people. 

He rushed towards the door and threw it open. He raced down the hallway, his bare feet slapping against the wood, and skidded into his room. 

In the center of the nursery sat a huge wooden crib. Mike stepped closer and ran his hands down a rail. It was real wood - solid, unyielding. The railing reached up almost to the ceiling. A thick mattress, covered in a midnight blue sheet with white stars and moons, sat on the frame. A spaceship mobile hung from the headboard. 

He let out a slow, wistful sigh. This was the final step. He was never going back to Vivienne’s bed. Never going back to his former status as husband. She saw him as a baby now, and that’s what he had become. He’d reached the bottom. 

“Hey, champ.” 

Mike turned around to see a man leaning against the door jam, arms crossed.  

Mike tried covering his diaper with his hands and then dropped them to his sides. There was no use hiding anything at this point. “Uh, hey. You must be the installation guy from…whoever sells oversized cribs. Thanks for putting this together. I guess,” Mike said.

The guy’s brow knitted. “Installation guy? Oh! Right. Forgot something.” He disappeared into the hall and when he came back a moment later there was a red bow in the center of his gray henley. 

A small knot was forming in Mike’s stomach. “I, uh, don’t get it. Isn’t that supposed to go on the crib?” 

The guy cocked his head to the side quizzically. “She didn’t tell you?” 

Mike’s blood was ice in his veins. “Tell me what?” 

There were footsteps down the hallway. 

“Tell. Me. What?” Mike demanded. 

Vivienne appeared in the doorway. 

“Viv, I need you to -” 

Mike’s question died in his throat as Vivienne wrapped her arms around the man’s neck and got up on her tiptoes for a kiss.  

When she broke away her face was flushed. “You don’t like your present?” she asked breathily.

“My present? My present?! Screw the fucking crib! What the fuck did I just see?” 

“Well, baby, I wanted it to be a surprise: meet Brad, your new daddy.” 

The world dropped out from beneath Mike’s feet. “New daddy? What are you saying?” 

“Your mommy and I have been seeing each other for awhile now,” Brad said. He grinned over at her and grabbed a quick handful of ass. 

Vivienne squealed and swatted his hand away playfully.

Brad turned back to Mike and his expression became serious again. “And we decided it was time to move in together.”

“You decided?” Mike said. “YOU decided?!” 

Vivienne walked over and wrapped Mike in a long, warm hug. She put her lips to his ear. “You’re my baby. You’ll always be my baby. And I love you for that. But Mikey, I need a man, too. This is going to be much better for all of us.” 

She stepped back and smiled at him as if seeing him in a new light. “Now it’s time for your diaper change.” 

“What? No! No no no! I’m not gonna stand for this!” Mike said.  

Brad chuckled. “Sounds like someone is a bit cranky.” 

Vivienne sighed. “You see what I put up with?” 

Brad stepped into the room. “There’s a Chilean white chilling in the fridge. Why don’t you pour us both a glass and I’ll get Mikey here changed and into his new crib.” 

Vivienne looked at Mike and then back to Brad. “That sounds wonderful.” 

She turned around when she reached the door. “Night night, sweetie. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

The nursery door clicked closed behind her.  

##

I hope you enjoyed this story. If you did, check out my other tales of diapers and dominance on Smashwords!

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NOTE: As usual, 18+ ONLY. 

———————————————————————————————————–

Safe and Secure

Safe and Secure: Part 2

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———————————————————————————————————–

For all his masculinity, Kurt didn’t hesitate to listen to Amanda. He walked over, put a hand on Mike’s chest, and pressed him down onto the changing table.

“Hold still, Mikey. This will go much easier for you if you hold still and relax,” Amanda said.

“Relax?! Fuck you!”

At that, Kurt increased the pressure on his chest. “Don’t talk to her like that, sissy.”

Down below, Mike felt the tip of the rubber cock beginning to press against his sphincter. He tried to squirm away, wiggling his hips and then lifting them off the table.

Kurt took his other meaty hand and brought it down forcefully on Mike’s waist and held it there, pinning Mike to the table.

“Ooooff!” Mike gasped. That had knocked the wind out of him and much of the fight along with it. He relaxed against the table and turned his head to the side - the last thing he wanted to see during this was Kurt leering over him.

The sensation below intensified as Amanda slowly worked the head in deeper. Then, all at once, the thickest part popped through and the long shaft was sliding into him with little resistance. It was a wholly new sensation for Mike.

He’d never been into any kind of butt stuff - at least not as the recipient. The dildo was long, thick, and felt oddly warm inside of him.

“There we go,” Amanda said. “All done.” She gave the base of the thing a little pat, which sent a shiver of sensation up through his core.

Kurt took his hand off his chest and waist as Amanda taped him into his same diaper again. It was cold and slightly wet, now, but he only briefly noticed that. His attention was focused instead on how the diaper held the dildo up inside of him, keeping it in place.

Amanda walked around the table and looked down at him. She put one hand on his cheek, almost tenderly. “How’s that feel, baby boy? Nice and full?”

Mike didn’t respond.

“I can imagine so - that’s a big cock for anyone, much less a little virgin like you. Or did you lie - are you used to taking stuff up there?”

“I’m not into that shit,” he said.

“Ha! We’ll see about that after a few weeks - or months - in that chastity device. You’ll be begging for any kind of release you can get, pissyboy.”

They didn’t really plan on leaving it on him for weeks, did they? Was that even safe?

“But for tonight, I have other plans,” Amanda said. She turned, stepped up on her tiptoes and kissed Kurt sensually. He was engaged in his phone, but that got his attention. He reached down and grabbed a handful of her plump ass, which was only inches from Mike’s face, and squeezed.

When they finally broke off the kiss, Amanda turned to Mike. “OK, diaperboy. Time for some more fun. Follow me…”

She took Kurt by the hand, much the way she’d taken Mike by the hand earlier, and led him out of the room.

Mike considered his options, but they were limited. He slid off the table carefully, trying not to push against the seat of his diaper too much. Not that the pressure was painful, but it was alien, and he couldn’t handle too much more in that department.

When he stepped out into the hall, he heard Amanda and Kurt’s voices, coming from the master bedroom. What were they doing in there?

Mike stepped into the master bedroom to find the two of them making out beside the bed. He sighed loudly. “Can we go watch some TV now? Or something?”

Neither responded. They were focused on vigorously kissing and groping.

“Excuse me, can we-”

Amanda abruptly broke off the kiss and looked at him, eyes ablaze. “Take off his pants.”

Mike looked at her quizzically.

“Now!” she barked.

Mike bent over, reached out hesitantly, and began to unbutton Kurt’s jeans. He’d never been this close to another man’s crotch before.

“Hurry it up, Mikey!” Amanda said above him.

Mike began working the button faster, finally feeling it pop loose. The straining, half-hard cock pushed forward against the gray underwear when the button was undone and the pants unzipped themselves. Mike backed up suddenly, as if shying away from a striking cobra.

Both Kurt and Amanda laughed loudly and Mike felt his cheeks burning as he stared at the floor.

“Am I done now?” he asked. He already knew the answer to that question; she’d never have brought him in here just for that.

“Aww, Mikey, I think you know the answer to that. No, no you aren’t. I’m going to pop into the bathroom to freshen up a bit, but I don’t want to leave this handsome guy waiting and bored, so I want you to keep him company.”

“Keep him company?”

“Don’t play dumb, sweetie.” She leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Suck his cock like your life depends on it.”

She stood back up, smoothed the front of her shirt and walked into the bathroom.

Mike looked to the bathroom, then up at Kurt, who was staring down at him, a million miles above. He reached a tentative hand out, leaving it hanging in the air halfway between his body and the throbbing member in front of him.

Kurt chuckled, but didn’t move.

Asshole. He was going to make him work for it. Mike dropped onto his knees fully and reached out with both hands and yanked down the pants and underwear in one swift motion.

He’d hoped it would he a surprise - just rough enough to annoy Kurt and diminish the moment slightly, but not so bad that he’d bitch to Amanda. But instead, Mike was the one who was surprised, as the mostly-hard cock sprung up and whacked him on the chin.

Kurt’s dick was…a dick. Mike had never really paid much attention to cocks that weren’t his own. At worst, they were something to make him grimace at the gym shower. At best, they were avatars for his own cock, plowing big-titted chicks on xtube. But now that he was face to face with one and had to interact with it, he noticed details, like how long and thick it seemed. Impossibly thick, actually. He knew he was supposed to put the thing in his mouth, but he wasn’t sure it would even fit.

“Suck it, bitch boy,” Kurt growled.

Mike reached out and grasped it with one hand. It was hot, hard, and foreign. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and felt it slide past his lips.

The taste was underwhelming. A bit salty, like old sweat. But the size and texture of the thing was overpowering.

Kurt was groaning above him, beginning to rock with the movement.

Mike worked the head in and out of his mouth, trying to take it a little deeper each time. Maybe he’d get through this somehow.

Then, Kurt grabbed the back of Mike’s head, yanking a handful of hair. Mike opened his eyes wide and looked up, frozen in place.

Kurt was grinning down at him. He simultaneously rammed his cock forward and pushed on the back of Mike’s head, forcing inch after inch into his throat.

Mike, in absolute panic, began to piss his diaper in fear. The stream shot out of him, hot and unbidden, against the front of the diaper. He barely noticed it, though, as he was desperately trying not to choke and gag on the dick that Kurt was now rhythmically pumping into his throat. Once again, he was completely at the mercy of his circumstances, trying desperately to keep it together as he felt his own pee fill the already wet diaper, running down over his balls.

Kurt never missed a beat. If anything, he only picked up the pace as Mike’s muffled moans intensified.

Then finally, wonderfully, he stopped.

Mike felt the dick pop out of his mouth as suddenly as it had entered. He was still on his knees, but dropped back onto his butt with a wet *squick*!

Amanda was standing in the room now too, nude except for a pair of black panties. She was kissing Kurt vigorously and after a moment the two of them dropped back onto the bed.

Mike was finally - gloriously - forgotten. His head was swimming; tiny black stars flitting across his vision as he caught his breath. He looked down at himself, sitting in a swollen, yellow-tinged diaper - on the master bedroom floor. HIS bedroom floor.

Kurt and Amanda writhed around above him, at least from what little he could see on the floor. Amanda had slipped out of her silky black panties and was now grinding down on Kurt’s dick. From the moans, they seemed completely caught up in the moment.

Mike began to slowly crabwalk backwards. It rubbed against his plug and felt incredibly awkward, but he knew raising himself any higher would draw their attention.

He made it to the doorway.

A little further…

Then through it.

A little further!

He was almost around the corner and out of sight.

Amanda gasped. “Where do you think you’re going?”

They were both looking at him. Amanda was furious that he’d dared to do something without her explicit permission. Kurt just looked confused and annoyed to be interrupted.

“Get back in here!” Amanda ordered.

Mike began to crabwalk back into the room, realized how absurd that was, and then stood up and walked the rest of the way. He stood next to the bed and waited.

Amanda smirked. She was still straddling Kurt, who was staring daggers.

“For that, you’ve earned yourself a special chore, diaperboy,” Amanda said. “Now don’t you fucking move a muscle.” She dropped onto her back next to Kurt, who swiftly mounted her, burying his cock inside her.

Amanda gasped a little and Mike imagined for a split second how good it must feel to be inside that tight, wet pussy.

Kurt began thrusting hard, rocking the whole bed as he rammed into Amanda again and again. Her moans kept pace with his thrusts, but her eyes were locked on Mike the whole time, the smirk still on her face.

Amanda’s breathing intensified, as did the rocking of the bed. Then, without warning she threw her head back and cried out. Kurt grunted, gave three final thrusts of diminishing intensity, and rolled off Amanda and onto his back. A moment later he walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

Amanda’s smirk turned into a grin. She crooked her finger and made the come-hither gesture.

Mike hesitated only a moment, then he stepped to the end of the bed.

“Come on up, Mikey,” Amanda said sweetly. “Isn’t this what you always wanted? To be in bed with me?”

Mike bit his tongue. Of course it’s what he wanted. He’d wanted to fuck her since they’d met..almost as much as he’d wanted to be out of diapers. But neither of those things was going to happen tonight - that he knew.

He climbed up onto the bed reluctantly, crawling on his hands and knees to kneel at her feet.

“There we go.” She spread her legs a bit wider. “Now I want you to clean me up.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “OK…but I need to go get a towel or something. I’ll be right back.” He began to slide off the bed when Amanda cut him off.

“Stop!”

He did.

“I want you to go down on me, Mikey. We both know you’ve wanted to taste this sweet pussy since I first walked through that door. Haven’t you?”

Mike stammered. “I, uh…yeah. But not like this. Not with -” he gestured at her pussy, slightly reddened from the pounding, with cum leaking out of the slit and onto to the comforter.

Amanda threw her head back and laughed. When she was done, she looked at him incredulously. “You think you can get in any pussy - even with your tongue - in a soaking wet diaper? No woman wants to touch you.”

Mike clenched his jaw but didn’t respond.

“No, I didn’t think so. Now get over here and earn your next change, pissypants.”

Mike moved up between her legs and began to lower his face down into her cleft. He closed his eyes and leaned in the remaining few inches. It smelled strongly of sweat and pussy…and cum. He gingerly placed his tongue against her lips, trying not to think about what he was doing, but the smell and the wetness was overwhelming.

Without any warning, Amanda grabbed his head and shoved it down against her body.

Mike tried to cry out, but it only came out as a gurgle as his mouth was filled with pussy and cum. His eyes shot open. Over the top of her pubic mound he saw Amanda smiling down at him. She winked.

Mike closed his eyes and began to lick.  

THE END…for now

##

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The doorbell surprised Mike. He was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, zoning out as Amanda watched a mindless house-flipping TV show.

“Is Vivienne home already?” he blurted out. She wasn’t supposed to be home for a couple more hours, at least. Midnight was what she said, but that usually meant 2 or 3 AM. Mike had stopped asking where she was and what she was doing - he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Amanda didn’t answer him. She jumped up and skipped over to the doorway.

Mike stood up, frowning.

Amanda threw open the door and in walked a man.

Mike immediately dropped onto the floor again, his diaper sending up a light *pfftt* of baby powder scent. Fuck! She wasn’t supposed to have anyone over. It was bad enough she’d seen him like this. But someone else? He peeked his head over the top of the couch, stealthy as a ninja, then dropped right back down again.

The guy was young, probably around Amanda’s age. Tall, handsome, imposing - everything Mike wasn’t, at least in his current state.  

“Hey, babe. Work kept me a bit late,” the man said.

“It’s good. You’re here now,” Amanda replied. Her voice was a bit muffled. “You ready to meet Mikey?”

“That little pantywaist you told me about?” the man asked.

Mike’s heart was thudding in his chest. Every fight-or-flight instinct in him was looking for some sort of escape. If he bolted across the room quickly, at ground-level, he just might make it to the hallway without them noticing. From there, his bedroom. But then what? Vivienne had removed the lock on his door, so it wasn’t like he could truly hide anyway. At least not for long.

His frantic scheming was interrupted by Amanda and the stranger walking into the living room. “No fucking shit! You weren’t kidding!” the guy said.

Amanda laughed. “Told ya. I couldn’t make this up if I tried. Kurt, meet Mikey.”

Mike looked up at them. He felt incredibly exposed, sitting in the middle of the living room in his diaper, looking up at these two.

“Mikey, if you’re gonna be rude, your mommy said I could spank you,” Amanda said.

Mike climbed to his feet, painfully aware of the crinkling of his diaper. “Hi,” he said.

Kurt burst out laughing and Mike felt his cheeks go fire-truck red from anger and embarrassment. Amanda chuckled. I guess you saved yourself from a spanking, diaperboy. At least for tonight. But…“ she said.

"But?” he asked. 

“But, I have another fun little toy for you.” She grinned wickedly.

Kurt looked at her questioningly and she ignored him too. “Yes, something to keep you occupied tonight, diaperboy.”

Mike, in spite of himself, had to speak up. “Um, what do you mean, exactly?”

“Mikey, hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s more powerful to show than it is to tell? I think we’re going to go in your nursery - Kurt will loooove to see that - and give you your other gift.”

She grabbed his hand and began pulling him toward the bedroom. As she did, Kurt gave him a smirk. Not a frown or even an arched brow - he didn’t see him as a man, much less a threat.

Mike followed along behind Amanda, aware of Kurt’s presence behind him. This would be the second person to see his nursery after Amanda. In some ways, it felt even worse - with Amanda, he’d embarrassed himself in front of someone who’d be a prospective lay in other circumstances. Being seen like this in front of Kurt, on the other hand, was shameful in a different way. He felt like he was about to be expelled from that 3 billion member club of men. That he was a joke and a fraud who’d finally been found out. 

When they stepped into the nursery, Mike saw it through fresh eyes. Somehow, he’d grown almost accustomed to the infantile accouterments. Now he saw it through Kurt’s eyes - eyes that were presumably not much different than his own a few months ago.

“Holy shit, dude. This is your room?” Kurt asked. He turned to Amanda who was clearly enjoying the moment. “This is his bedroom?”

“Yes, it is. Although I guess it’s more of a diaper changing room and a nursery than a bedroom, right Mikey?”

“Can we just do this? Whatever new torture you have for me? I’d like to get it over with,” he replied.

“Oh, fresh! But yes, I suppose so. Let me grab my purse - I’ll be right back.” With that she stepped out of the room and Mike was left there with Kurt, who was looking around as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Dude, what the fuck? What is wrong with you?” he asked Mike. He seemed genuinely confused.

“I, I…I’m not sure. I don’t know what happened. It started…different.” Mike replied. He shrugged, as if that could fill in the gaping holes in his explanation. The truth was, he didn’t know how it had gotten to this point.

“I’d never let this happen - not for any bitch,” Kurt said. A new expression dawned on his face and he looked at Mike intently. “Your old lady, she must be super fucking hot for you to put up with all of this, right?”

Mike grinned. “Yeah, she is. You oughta see-”

“You oughta see the ass that Mikey hasn’t touched in months,” Amanda said as she walked through the doorway, purse in hand.

“That’s not true!” Mike blurted out.

“Oh, isn’t it? I guess I could call Vivienne out at the club and ask her.”

Mike looked at the floor, hoping she wouldn’t do that.

“Or, you know, we could just look at the fact that you wear diapers and sleep in a nursery.”

Kurt snorted and shook his head. Amanda gestured to the changing table. 

Mike complied, climbing up and lying down. He wished it would just swallow him up. He’d sink down into it like Ewan McGregor’s character sunk into the floor in Trainspotting, the top closing in around him.

But it didn’t. Instead, he felt Amanda untape the diaper and pull down the front.

“Oh, a little wet, hhmmm? Looks like you have quite a bit left to go in this diaper though. Does your mommy keep baby oil in here somewhere?” She bent over and rummaged around through the drawers beneath his changing table. “Aha! I thought she might.” She produced a bottle.

“Can we just not do this? Don’t you think that, you know, your other gift was enough for tonight?” Mike asked her.

“Oh! That’s right! I didn’t even show Kurt the gift I got you. Kurt, come here.”

Kurt was looking at his phone, having lost interest in the situation. “Huh?”

“Come look at Mikey’s new present, baby,” Amanda said, gesturing to Mike’s chastity device.

Kurt walked over and looked down, a frown of disgust already on his face. An element of confusion was introduced. “I don’t get it. Is it, like, some doctor thing?”

A doctor thing? What a dunce, Mike though. Still, this man was sleeping with Amanda and presumably using the toilet, so who was the real fool?

“No, no that’s not it at all. It’s actually -” she paused and placed a finger to her lips dramatically - “actually, I think I’ll let Mikey explain this one to you. Mikey?”

He knew there was no escape from this - best to get it over with as quickly as possible. “It’s a chastity device.”

Amanda sighed. “And what does it dooooo?”

“It-” he started to say.

Amanda cut him off. “Don’t tell me, silly. I know. Tell Kurt.” She cocked her head in the big lunk’s direction.

“It locks my dick up,” Mike said to Kurt, then turned back to Amanda. “There, you happy?”

“Nope!” she said gleefully. “Explain why, Mikey.”

He turned back to Kurt, who looked as confused as ever. “It keeps me from getting an erection or cumming or whatever.”

“For real?” Kurt asked.

“Yes, for real.”

“That sucks,” he said.

Amanda reached over and grabbed at Kurt’s crotch. “Don’t you worry, big boy. I won’t ever lock this beast up.” Kurt grinned back at her, his place in the world reaffirmed.

Mike hated them both so much.

“But, back to the matter at hand,” Amanda said. She withdrew from her purse a big, black dildo.

Or almost a dildo, Mike thought. He’d seen some dildos before. A lot in porn, a few in person as Vivienne had sometimes indulged.This was almost like those, except it had a flared base, like it was meant to sit on a nightstand in place of a lamp.

Amanda squirted a wet glop of the baby oil into her hand and began applying it up and down the veiny shaft.

No. Oh no, no, no no, he thought. “Where is THAT, going!?” he asked in a panic.

“You know exactly where it’s going,” she replied. “I have a real man to fill me up. And Kurt? He doesn’t need a cock. So, that leaves you.” She smiled at him sweetly and brought the tip of the monster up to his tight hole.

“No way. I let you put that stupid thing on my dick, but this is too much. Not happening.” Mike crossed his arms across his chest before realizing how inane that looked with him lying on the changing table. 

Amanda eyes narrowed. “You LET me? I don’t think you understand this situation. At all. I am your babysitter, pissypants. Kurt,come hold this little brat down while I fill him up.”

##

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——–

“But Viv, why her? There must be a ton of other babysitters out there,“ Mike said. 

Once again, he was following along behind his wife as she looked for the perfect top to wear out that night.

"Oh, you’re certain, hmmm? There are quite a few babysitters, but how many big babies are there like you? That’s the real question.”

She pulled out another shirt on a hanger and dropped it onto the bed next to two others. Two were black, one was red. All three were incredibly revealing.

Mike seethed. “I’m not sure, Vivienne. Seems like only you would turn a simple accident into a whole…thing!” He knew he came across as flustered, but felt it was justified. He was standing in the master bedroom - a room he no longer shared with his wife - in a huge diaper. The front of it had a band of teddy bears and alphabet blocks. The plain white medical diapers had been bad enough; these were absolutely absurd.

In addition to the babyish design, they were loud. Whatever plastic they were made out of seemed to crinkle when he so much as breathed. In addition to the diaper, he was wearing a plain white t-shirt and socks. No pants or shorts. Vivienne felt that his diaper should be on display whenever they were home. It made checks and changes so much easier, she said.

She turned to face him. “Do you really want to expose yourself - this whole ensemble - to someone else? To someone new?” She gestured at him dismissively as she said this.

“No. I mean, I don’t want HER to see me like this either.”

Vivienne slipped out of her shirt and threw it into the corner, sliding into the sheer red top and posing in front of the full length bedroom mirror. She almost acted as if he wasn’t there at all anymore. “She told me all about last time, you know.”

Mike’s heart almost stopped. “Uh, last time?”

“Oh, don’t play the fool with me, Mikey. And besides, do you think I care?”

He wasn’t about to give in and let on that he knew what she meant. “Care about what?”

She momentarily stopped viewing herself and shot him a disdainful look. “Coming on to the babysitter?. And don’t bother denying it. She told me everything.”

He didn’t respond to that. It made sense Amanda had told her about their little liaison that never quite happened. She’d teased and flirted, but when she took his diaper off, she’d just laughed and put him to bed horny and frustrated.

“I simply don’t care anymore,” Vivienne continued. “I mean, look at you. It’s pathetic.”

“You did this to me!” he snapped. “You put me in these stupid fucking -”

His tirade was cut off by the doorbell.  "It’s unlocked! Come on in!“ Vivienne yelled.

A moment later, Amanda stepped through the bedroom doorway. She was dressed in tight jeans and a white halter top. She was also carrying a small, red gift box with a golden bow on top. She addressed Vivienne first. "You’re looking good, girl! Ready for another fun night on the town, I see.” She lifted her eyebrows dramatically.

Vivienne grinned back at her. “Damn right. Sometimes a mommy needs a break from changing diapers, doesn’t she?”

Mikey knew better than to say anything.

Amanda turned to him. “And how’s my favorite VERY little guy?” Amanda asked with an amused look on her face. Vivienne chuckled from across the room.

“Fine.”

“Aww, you seem kinda upset, little buddy. I know what will cheer you up - a present!” She held the gift box out to him.

He didn’t want to admit it, of course, but he was intrigued. He’d assumed the package was for Vivienne - Amanda seemed the type to suck up to an employer, after all - and was pleasantly surprised to learn it was his instead.  

Mike reached for it, a quizzical expression on his face. “It’s for me?”

“Yah, silly. Open it up!” Amanda said.

Vivienne walked over and stepped between them. “I think we should all open that together in the living room.”

Whatever small bit of excitement Mike had felt for a moment withered. If Vivienne knew what was up, or was involved in any way, it couldn’t possibly be good for him. But then again, he didn’t have much choice, so he reluctantly trudged out of the bedroom behind his wife and babysitter.

The women positioned themselves carefully on the living room couch and Mike flopped down between them.

Amanda handed him the small gift box eagerly. He took it reluctantly. He undid the ribbon and pulled the golden bow off the top. He removed the box top slowly, as if that could save him from whatever was lurking inside.

He set the box top down on the couch next to him, aware that Vivienne and Amanda were both perched in anticipation, their eyes fixed on him. He looked down and was…confused.

“What is it?” he asked.

Both women burst out laughing.

Vivienne was the first to respond. “After her experience with you last time, Amanda did a little research. She found something to help with your little problem.” Amanda snorted at that.

He was even more confused than before, looking from one woman to the next. “Little problem?”

Amanda chimed in this time, her face red from stifled laughter. She pointed at his diaper. “Yes, little and a problem.” Vivienne chuckled again.

He looked down at the box again, this time more carefully. Inside, resting on a small satin pillow, was a clear plastic tube and ring. The women were watching him expectantly, as if he’d somehow figure it out.

“I give up. I don’t get it.” He threw his hands up to signal his surrender.

Vivienne sat back on the couch and shook her head. Amanda spoke up. “May I?” she asked. Vivienne nodded, her interest in this situation clearly diminishing by the moment.

Amanda grinned. “So, Mikey, this is your new best friend.” She reached out and poked his diaper. “You’re just a little guy, in every sense of the word. Well this-” she plucked the plastic device off the pillow -“is going to help you remember that. All the time. OK?”

Mikey frowned at her. “No, not OK. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

Amanda looked to Vivienne, who was focused on her phone. She waved a hand without even looking up.

“Enough talking, I think it would be so much easier to just show you,” Amanda said. “Lie down.” She pointed at a spot in front of the TV.

Mike looked at her, then at Vivienne, who didn’t even acknowledge him. He let out a dramatic sigh and dropped onto the spot Amanda had indicated, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the inevitable.

She sat down next to him. It brought up memories of the last time they’d been here, in this position. She’d been teasing him, hinting that she’d meet his needs. Then she didn’t just leave him hanging, she’d mocked his manhood.  

She reached over and began untaping his diaper, while he kept his eyes focused on the textured white ceiling. Getting excited was a dead end, he knew that much. And besides, shouldn’t he be ashamed to be lying on the floor while this attractive girl removed his - admittedly wet - diaper?

For her part, Amanda was businesslike about it. She popped all four tapes and pulled down the front of his diaper. She smirked when she did and made sure he saw it. She held the plastic object up as if it was the Holy Grail. “OK Mikey, time to say hello and goodbye. Hello to your chastity device. Goodbye to sex, masturbation - hell, even erections!”

He sat upright, shocked. “Wait, what did you say?”

“Oh, I think you heard exactly what I said, you just don’t like it.”

“You’re damn right I don’t like it! And I’m not going to put that fucking thing on,” he yelled.

She laughed. “Oh, is that right? Doesn’t look to me like you’re in much of a place to make decisions, does it? Looks like you’re just a little fella who needs someone to take care of him: feed him, clothe him, change his diapees.”

He jumped to his feet. She rose slowly, calmly to stand too.

“I’m not doing it.” He turned to Vivienne, who was staring there bemused. “Viv, tell her to take the stupid thing back to, to…wherever you buy crap like that!”

Vivienne walked across the living room, the sweetest expression on her face. But rather than address him, she turned to Amanda as a wicked grin spread across her face. “I want to lock it on him.”

—

Getting the device on proved to be a bit of a chore - another good reason it would be staying on a long time, the women had agreed. They’d taken him into the master bedroom and made him lie down on the bed. It was the first time he’d been on it in a long time, Mike noted sourly.

He imagined for a moment what it would be like to be in this same scenario - two beautiful women holding him down on the bed, each intently focused on his genitals - without the chastity device and diaper. It’s the sort of thing he would have fantasized about previously.

But now? Now his fantasies were of getting this over with as quickly as possible. He’d considered resisting, physically, even. He was still stronger than either of them, and probably stronger than both combined. But it wasn’t just a contest of physical strength. If he overpowered them, leapt from the bed heroically, then what? Run out of the house naked, screaming to the neighbors that his wife and babysitter were forcing him into a chastity device? Yeah, that would go over well…

So instead, he resigned himself to his fate. It seemed inevitable, really. The slippery slope sent him sliding further into the abyss of dependency and infancy.

When it came to putting on the device itself, his dick was limp. Once they started handling it - it felt like Vivienne’s soft hands, but he couldn’t bear to look down and see - he began to spring to life in spite of himself. Amanda greeted his hardening with a chuckle, but Vivienne was less amused: she slapped his balls hard. He cried out and began coughing. Once it had subsided and he had regained his faculties enough to berate her she slapped them again.

Red-faced, he collapsed back onto the bed, his mind reeling.

It was then he felt the cool plastic slide onto his now noodle-soft penis. It was tight and confining - even more so than he’d imagined. Was it the right size? Would they even know how to find one the right size?

He began to protest, his voice quiet, almost beseeching. “Are you sure it’s big enough? It feels awfully tight.”

Amanda was the one to reply. She leaned over, ensuring that he was looking at her, not at the ceiling. “I’m guessing that’s the first time anything has ever felt tight on that tiny peepee, isn’t it?”

Vivienne chuckled, continuing to fasten the hated thing on him.

*Click!*

He heard the faint sound and knew it must be the lock Amanda had waved in his face earlier.

“Well now, that looks much better, doesn’t it, Amanda?” Vivienne asked.

“It sure does. A perfect home for a worthless little peepee like his.”

Mike slowly sat up and looked down between his legs. Even he would admit his penis wasn’t something to write home about, but this somehow made it look even more diminutive. The plastic was clear, so he could still see it crammed into the tiny thing. On top of the device, a small, heart-shaped lock.

“Well, what do you think, Mikey?” Amanda asked. “Do you like my gift?”

“It’s a-”

Vivienne held up two small keys and jingled them between her fingers. “Think before you speak, Mikey. I literally hold the keys to your manhood - if you can call it that - in my hands.”

She was right, of course. His position was even more precarious than before. The diapers were bad enough. This? This was something else entirely. He’d lost control of his ability to use the toilet. Now, he’d lost all access to that which made him a man.

Vivienne handed one of the keys to Amanda, who looked down at the key and then up at Vivienne, as if she couldn’t believe it.

Vivienne grinned. “It was your idea. Besides, I think you’re going to be babysitting Mikey quite a lot. So it seems like you should have a key.” She turned to Mikey. “Not that she’s going to need to use it. That thing is staying on a long time.”

“How long?” Mike croaked out, ashamed of his own voice.

“Indefinitely,” Vivienne replied. “Now why don’t you two go have some dinner while I finish getting ready? But diaper him up first. You know where the diapers are, Amanda.”

“OK, Mikey. Don’t want to leave you out of a diaper too long, do we? Might have an accident on Mommy’s bed,” Amanda said.

He wanted to respond that he didn’t have accidents and she wasn’t his mommy, but wasn’t sure which to reply to, so he said nothing, just got up and followed her down the hallway to his bedroom. As if it could even be called a bedroom. In reality, it was slowly turning into a child’s nursery. All it was missing was a crib - he shuddered at that thought. It seemed like every terrible thing he could imagine happened - best to not tempt fate.

Instead of a crib, he slept on a single bed. Vivienne had put colorful sheets on it. She’d also painted the walls baby blue, with a white band of trim at the top. Well, in reality, he had painted at the walls on her order. He probably wouldn’t have even minded the color if she hadn’t made a point of showing him the can, with the “Baby Blue” label on it. Or the fact that he had no say in the color of the room he’d been banished to.

But as much as the paint and the bed irked him, the real centerpiece to his anger stood against one wall: an adult-sized changing table. She’d special-ordered it from a company that provided equipment for nursing homes and other assisted-living facilities, she’d told him. Long, white, with a green vinyl top. Underneath, there was plenty of room for his thick stacks of crinkly diapers and all the other accoutrements of a diapered life: Pampers wipes, baby powder, and baby oil - all scented, of course.

The only thing out of place in the room was the hot young woman standing bent over in front of his changing table, presenting her wonderfully curved butt in the tight jeans. Once upon a time, he’d have made a pass at a woman like this. But now? What would they talk about? His preferences in diaper brands?

Amanda patted the top of the changing table. “This is nice! I’m excited we are going to get to use it this time. I bet it makes it so much easier for your mommy, doesn’t it?”

“Why do you keep calling her that?”

Amanda cocked her head quizzically. “Well, what else would I call her?” She patted the top of the changing table again, this time more forcefully.

Mikey walked over, stepped up onto the bench and lowered himself down onto the cool surface of the table. “I’d EXPECT you to call her my wife. You know, which she is?”

Amanda snorted and looked down at him. “Are you serious? Your wife? She makes all the decisions around here, doesn’t she? I mean, she literally changes your diapers, and now she even controls your little peepee. Does that sound like any husband you’ve ever heard of, diaperboy?”

He didn’t say anything, he just scowled up at her.

“That’s what I thought. Lift your butt.“

Mike complied and Amanda slid one of the nursery print diapers underneath him.

He hated the thick, crinkly things almost as much as Vivienne loved them. They were wide - so wide, in fact, that they made him waddle. It was just a little waddle when he was dry, but a lot when he was wet.

She pulled out the powder and applied a hefty shake. The smell was overwhelming; it lingered in the bedroom air and on his skin, constantly reminding him that he had no more standing than he’d possessed in his first months of life. But he’d learned not to grumble too much about it, as the powder helped make the diapers slightly less uncomfortable.

Amanda pulled the front of the diaper up - it rose almost to his belly button - and taped it close. "How does it feel having your little peepee doubly confined now, hhhmm?”

‘Humiliating’ was the obvious answer. But physically? The new device was tight and confining, but not uncomfortably so. “It’s fine,” he replied in monotone.

She leaned down so their eyes were inches apart. “Just wait until later. Once mommy leaves, we’ll see how fine it is.”

To be continued in “Safe and Secure: Part 2.″

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I hope you enjoyed this story. If you did, check out my other tales of diapers and dominance on Smashwords!

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