QH Archives: Old Flame: Past Lives (Patreon)

“I’m going to count down now, okay? Five…”

“N-no,” I pleaded. “Not now. Not here.”

---

I had once learned the hard way that it wasn’t the best idea to withhold such divisive desires from someone you cared about. Everything comes out eventually, and if you’re not in control of that information, you’re in trouble.

Her name was Diane, and nearly a year’s worth of maintaining a mostly healthy relationship couldn’t dissuade her from packing up her things shortly after stumbling upon things I forgot to remove from my search history. “Get help,” she told me. “Or, at least, find someone who doesn’t mind that you’re a fucking pervert.”

After that, I made it a point to start being a little more candid about those sorts of things early on. It usually went one of two ways - complete indifference or complete displeasure. It didn’t matter much anyways, things rarely lasted that long. I blame that on myself more than I do the confessions of my interests. I had been noncommittal and pessimistic towards potential partners, and it probably showed.

---

“Four…”

“Look,” I said, “there must be another way? Another place? J-just wait a little bit. Please?”

--

Caroline was different, which she made apparent immediately. She exuded confidence and curiosity in spades, both of which greatly appealed to me. Her happiness was infectious, and I found that I was happiest when I was making her happy.

A few weeks into our courtship, we started teasing each other about what sorts of dirty little secrets we kept - the type that we were probably too modest to just come out and say. I found it hard to believe that she had any secrets herself; she seemed far too much of an open book for that. But I also suspected then, as I do now, that she could simply see right through me. She could sense I had thoughts and wishes that I struggled to open up about, and she was giving me an easy point to reveal myself. 

Things were different with her. In my lovelife since Diane, I had little trouble opening up about these sorts of things to potential partners. However, my apprehension with opening up to Caroline made me realize that perhaps I had only been more open with others because I knew that I’d be rejected and that I had nothing to lose.

So, whilst snowed in at her apartment one Saturday morning and with little else to do but lie in bed and talk about ourselves, I told her everything.

---

“Three…”

Panicking, I tried to quickly weigh my options. Really, there were only two: obey and face humiliation, or disobey and face punishment.

---

She was neither disgusted or interested immediately. I’d hesitate to say that she was indifferent, because I could tell that this information was important to her, but she needed to digest it a little. She assured me that she didn’t feel any different about me, nor did she think I was a freak in anyway. It was just new to her, that’s all.

Weeks went by, and it was mostly ignored. Occasionally she’d tease me a little. She’d ask if she should spoon-feed me dinner, or as I stepped into the shower, she’d ask if I’d rather she bathe me. It was playful and exciting. I could also since that it was leading somewhere.

Then, one night while we cuddled on the couch, a thought came into my mind. I asked: “You know, you never told me about your little secrets.” 

She smiled, and replied: “Oh, I just like to be in control.”

---

“Two…”

I was running out of time, quickly, and I had to make a decision. I made one last attempt to stop this - or at the very least, delay it: “Please...not here.”

---

In the moment, it felt like we had taken our time. In hindsight, it all seems like a bit of a blur. There was that first night where I stumbled out of the bathroom in a cheap grocery store brand adult diaper, blushing as brightly as I could while she did her best to not giggle in my face. Maybe it was hours later, or maybe it was days, I was over her knees as she spanked me for daring to remove my diaper when she hadn’t told me to. Jumping ahead again, I was crawling on my hands and knees to her, tugging at the hem of her dress and asking to be changed.

I don’t really have the patience anymore to make my way through all the memories. Things happened. It eventually became more than just a kink. We weren’t just playing - it had somehow become a big part of our lives. Maybe it was just our life, and everything else was just secondary.

She loved it. I loved her - which is a little different than loving what we were doing. It was still more important than anything else, that I make her happy. Her happiness mattered to me more than anything else, and I would do whatever she asked of me to keep that harmony.

There began to be rules. I liked rules, as they gave me goals and structure. They were definitive things I could do for her without having to second-guess myself. I could simply follow the rules, and she’d be happy. Except that her rules were difficult and demanding.

I was to be in diapers at all times.

I was to use my diapers. I could not remove or change my own diapers - I would have to either seek her assistance or at least her permission to do either. Worse, when I was to use my diapers, I had to tell her so in advance. It didn’t matter where we were, what we were doing or who we were with. If we were at the grocery store and I could no longer hold my bladder, I’d have to immediately tell her that I was about to wet my diaper. There were times when it was simply too difficult to wait until the right time to tell her I needed to use my diaper, and I ended up telling her after the fact. Those times did not make her happy and she was sure to let me know.

Spanking was the most common punishment, if only because it was the easiest. No matter how erotic a spanking could be in concept or in hindsight, a good spanking over her knee would leave me in tears for a while. She would get more creative with punishments. She had begun to tell some of her closest girlfriends of my pathetic new life, and photos of me in my thick drooping diapers could be sent to any of them at a moment’s notice should she feel that I needed to be reminded of my place. This would usually prompt that friend to call or text back, and I’d be privy to hearing them cackle about it at my expense.

But the rules changed over time. New ones would be added. Old ones would be adapted. Sometimes on a whim. No longer was it good enough for her to wait until I had to use my diaper. Instead, she would tell me when to go. At first, it hadn’t been easy to just go on command, but eventually it became the new normal. I would hold it, no matter how long it took, until she told me to release it. It usually came with a countdown. Again, we could be anywhere, doing anything, at any moment, and she’d start her countdown. And I’d have until the end of that countdown to use my diaper.

--

“One.”

“But...I…” 

Surrendering to her expectations, I sighed, squatted down, and released everything into my diaper. It hadn’t taken much effort or strain on my part - she had waited for most of the day to give me this command, and I had spent the last few hours fighting wave after wave of uncomfortable cramps because of it.

It had all come at once, like a violent tidal wave. There was a loud squishing ‘flop’ in the back of my diaper while I unleashed a jetstream of urine into the front.The concept of humiliation was the farthest thing from my mind while I reveled in the momentary comfort of just having been able to finally use my diaper.

“Do you see?” I heard her say, slowly bringing me back to reality. “Not only diaper dependent, but he uses it on command.”

She wasn’t talking to me, I realized, and suddenly our situation came back to me. We weren’t at home, we were at the house of a friend of ours. More of a friend of hers than a friend of mine. To my horror, I had just squatted and completely loaded my diaper in front of someone I barely knew. My pants were a few feet away, discarded when Caroline had asked me to stand up and reveal my diaper.

“Unbelievable,” said Travis, as he sat back in his chair, legs crossed casually. “He...stinks. Don’t you get sick of that?”

“I won’t say that I like it,” Caroline said. “He can be rather pungent. But I think it adds something to his humiliation, wouldn’t you say? His dirty bottom, and our disgust towards it, only goes to further his shame.”

“Does he get off on it?” he asked.

“Only if I allow it,” Caroline said with a shrug. “And I usually only allow for it while he’s in a dirty diaper.”

“I could do without seeing that,” Travis said.

“Well, even if he wanted to, I’m afraid there’s not much he can do about it tonight,” Caroline said, holding up a single small key in her hand.

Travis laughed and shook his head. “Is that for a…”

“It is. All locked up in his stinky diaper.”

“Well I’ve seen enough of...this,” he said, waving his hand in my general direction. “We talked before about how you were in need of the attention of a real man, yes?”

“Ah, well…” I had never seen Caroline blush before. It would have been charming if I wasn’t feeling so absolutely degraded at that moment. “I did say that. And you’ve been offering since I first told you about my little project started months ago.”

“It was the least I could do,” he said with a grin. “You’d go crazy looking at giant diapers like that every day if you weren’t getting fucked well when you need it.”

Caroline smiled and glanced over to me and then back to Travis. “Well...whenever you’re ready, I suppose.”

“What about your baby?” Travis asked. I remained frozen in place in the center of the room, feeling their eyes on me as I wore only my shirt and my obviously filthy diaper.

“Well that’s up to you,” Caroline said. “Should I change him first? Or…”

“Leave him as he is,” Travis said. “For now.”

Travis stood and approached Caroline putting his arm around her and they began walking out of the living room. They had almost made it to the stairs leading up to the master bedroom before Caroline stopped and turned back to me: “Well? Are you coming or what?”

I blushed and shrugged a little. I had I pretty good idea of what her plan for the evening with Travis was, but I didn’t realize I had to be there for it.

“I...you want me to…”

“Come on, diaperboy,” Travis taunted from further up the stairs.

Carefully, I waddled my way over to the stairs, my head hung in shame.

“Do...do I have to be, like, in the room?” I said to Caroline, hoping to reason with her.

For a moment I thought there was a glimmer of sympathy in her eyes. But either I was wrong, or she quickly abandoned that thought. “Yes, of course. Besides, I can’t have you crawling around, getting your dirty diaper all over everything.”

“I...wouldn’t…”

“Come on,” she said, more hurried. “Let’s not keep him waiting.”