Hey Daddy, Part 1 of 2 (Patreon)

Part one of a 2-part story, with the other half coming later this month. Trying something a little bit different with this, in terms of the type of relationship showcased here. If you like this, and want to see more of it, let me know! 

I’m sipping a now-lukewarm latte while pretending to read a novel. I’m actually more interested in my phone, which I’ve positioned just under my book. Periodically I flip a page in the book, as if I had to prove to anyone that I was actually reading it. My attention is really on my social media timeline; I’m a sucker for digital voyeurism. I want to see everyone’s lunch. I want to hear about everyone’s bad day at work. I want to laugh at poorly scrawled out political rants.

Occasionally my eyes leave my little phone/book array and wander around the coffee shop. Young couples and students, mostly. A few businessfolk, with expensive looking clothes and a complete lack of emotion on their face as they refuel. Truthfully, I’d probably much rather watch them than my phone, though...people tend to dislike being stared at.

This guy catches my eye, and I catch his. He’s a businessman, or so I assume from his fancy suit and expensive jacket. He flashes me a little smile. A little: Hello, I see that you have seen me. My heart flutters a little. He’s a little older. Some salt-and-pepper hair, a little facial hair? Hello, Daddy.

He orders his coffee and I go back to pretending to read my book. I glance up once in a while to see what he’s doing now. He’s waiting. He’s ordering. He’s paying. He’s waiting. He has his coffee. He’s walking over...to me?

My heart races and I scramble to turn off my phone screen so that it looks like I’m actually reading the book.

“Reading anything good?” he asks. A smooth masculine voice. It’s exactly what I would’ve imagined it sounding like.

“Ted Chiang,” I responded. It’s not a great response.

“Is that your name?” he asks with a smile, “or is that the author of the book?”

“The author,” I say, praying I don’t look as bashful as I feel. “We don’t have the same name.”

“Chiang,” he says, almost to himself, as if he’s chewing the name and processing it. “He’s...science fiction?”

“He is,” I state. “Are you a fan?”

“I know the name. I don’t read much, honestly. It’s shameful to admit, but it’s just a hard thing to find the time to do.”

I’m already in love with this stranger. I spit out: “I’m Alex,” while holding my hand in front of my face.

He grabs and shakes it firmly. His hands have a decent grip and a surprising amount of roughness to them for a man with such nice clothes and in this part of town. “Karl. With a K. Which I suppose doesn’t actually matter. But I find that people like my name more when they know there’s a K instead of a C.”

He’s right.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, stupid grin plastered on my face.

“Do you come here often?” he asks.

“Yes. I live close by. Do…you?”

“I’m in town for a week or two,” he says with a shrug. I can sense fatigue in his voice. Maybe he doesn’t want to be in town. “I’m an artist. Sculptures and shit.”

“And shit,” I say, nodding. “Impressive.”

“Are you...into art?”

“I’m into a lot of things,” I say. I’m being a little - oh, what’s the word - naughty? Teasing, maybe. He didn’t come over here for no reason, and I intend to take advantage of my good fortune in reeling him in.

“But how about art?”

“I like art. I don’t know much about sculpture.”

“What’s there to know?” he says. “You look at it and you either like it or you don’t.”

I’m getting sassy now. He feels like he’s on the hook. “Do artists - sculptors - always dress so well?”

He laughs. He can probably see right through me, but he sees nothing that’s surprising. “Only when I have to make a presentation to important gallery and museum types. I’m on my way back to the studio space I’m renting now, actually. But, you know, priorities.” He held his coffee cup up in the air as he said this.

“Where abouts are you working out of?”

“45th and...Pine?”

“Oh, that’s right around the corner from here.” I add: “And, like a block from my place.” If it sounded a little like an invitation...well, maybe it should have.

“Do you...want to take a look at some sculptures?”

We learned a little more about each other during the short walk to his studio space. He was 20 years older than me. Single; not that it mattered. He preferred the Rolling Stones to the Beatles. No children...that he knew of. I told him about my waning interest in graduate-level courses and how this Ted Chiang novel was actually quite boring to me.

Within ten minutes of him closing the door behind us in his studio space, his pants were down around his ankle and I was sucking on his cock. There was something absolutely perfect about it. It had a respectable size and shape, yet it didn’t seem too big or showy. It was sleek and practical.

“Would you rather wear it? Or swallow it?”

It really didn’t matter to me. I attempted to answer him, but it came out as a series of grunts and silly noises while I slobbered over his shaft. When he finally climaxed, he shot it right down the back of my throat. He apologized for being aggressive, but I assured him that I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. It was my pleasure to serve.

“Come here,” he said a few minutes later. He was sitting on an aged couch, his pants were completely off now, and his shining cock rested between his legs. I put down the glass of water I had grabbed for myself and went to go sit by him on the couch. “No, no,” he said, as I tried to sit down. “On my lap.”

I blushed and smiled. I did as he asked, sitting on his firm and muscular legs. It had been the first time I could remember sitting on another man’s lap since, probably, when I had sat on my own dad’s lap as a child.

“You’re a good boy,” he said. “Very obedient. But frisky.”

“I feel like I should call you Daddy,” I said.

“I’d be upset if you didn’t.”

Fuck. I blush again.

“You know where I am now,” he said. “You should come by more. Anytime you want to. Day or night. Just knock on the door and I’ll let you in if I’m around.”

“Will you let me suck you off everytime?”

“Do you want to?” he said with a laugh. “I’m not opposed.”

He reached between my legs, grasping my cock now. It had already been erect. Sitting on a strong man’s lap...that was more than enough to do it. He pulled on it and stroked it a little through my pants.

“Cute,” he said with a sly grin. Any other time, I could’ve imagined a comment like that absolutely tearing my ego into pieces. In his lap, it was a compliment.

“I want to be cute for you...Daddy.”

“Do you?”

“Very much so.”

He was mulling it over, I could see it in his eyes. His hand didn’t leave my crotch, and he continued to stroke me. “Wear something cute tomorrow, then.”

“What do you consider to be...cute?”

“Surprise me.”

With just his one hand, he managed to unbuckle my belt and slide his hands into my pants. He didn’t have to work too hard to get me to blow my own sticky load directly into his hand. When he withdrew it from my pants, he seemed to admire it in the light, looking at my milky glaze run down his fingers. He tasted it, smiling. Then, he offered his hand to me. I too stretched my tongue out to his fingers, tasting myself.

He showed me sculptures later, after pouring us some wine. Pieces of wood and metal in various abstract shapes and designs. It was interesting, but frankly, my mind was miles away from art. I nodded and smiled, all the while wondering what I’d wear the next to day to satisfy his request for something “cute.”

“What time tomorrow?” I asked as he walked me to the door later.

“I’ll be around all day. I might be using a saw or a torch or something, who knows. But just walk in if the door is unlocked.”

I nodded.

“Remember: something cute.”

There were moments, that night, where I wondered if I was already in over my head. It was one thing to flirt with an older man - I was certainly no stranger to that. It was another to, quite literally, throw myself into his lap. Yet everything about Karl excited me. His name, for sure. His hair. His facial hair. His perfect cock - a work of art in itself. His confidence. His subtle ability to just control the room. Nobody had ever made me feel like this before.

I lay awake in bed, contemplating what I needed to wear the next day. Cute? I didn’t want to just impress him - I wanted to floor him. I wanted to make a statement that he’d later reflect on and see as art.

If he was Daddy, then who was I? As I drifted to sleep, ethereal thoughts slowly came together in my mind, and by the time I woke up, I felt like the answer was pretty obvious.

I went to class first thing in the morning, but I skipped the lecture I had scheduled after. I’d get the notes from someone else later, probably. I had more important things to attend to. I went to Target, made a purchase, and then got myself looking presentable for him.

Deep breaths. Compose yourself. I lifted my hand to knock on the door, but stopped myself. Instead I just opened the door and walked in.

Music poured from the stereo, filling the studio while he chiseled away at a hunk of wood. I couldn’t name the artist or the song, but it was something that seemed...smart. New-wavey, or post-something.

He saw me, immediately placing his tools down and wheeling his chair back to lower the music. He approached me with his hand outstretched for a moment - as if he wanted to shake mine. But by the time he made it to me, he had thought better of it and hugged me instead. I hugged him back.

“I’m glad you came, kiddo.”

Certainly, nobody had called me ‘kiddo’ since I was an actual child. Again, I liked it. A warm feeling spread throughout my body.

“Me too, Daddy. What are you working on?”

“Part of a new piece, actually.” He took me by the hand and led me to it. It was a large wooden block, with intricate pieces having been chiseled into it in an almost psychedelic design.

“What is it about?” It was debatable if I actually cared or not. But I wanted to hear him talk. I wanted to hear him talk to me.

“Youth,” he said. “There’ll be more to it by the time it's done. This is just a small piece of it.”

I gripped his hand a little tighter in mine. I liked the feel of it. The weight of it, the texture of his skin.

“I’m excited to see it completed,” I said.

“Well, we’ll see. I only started it today, and...well...I suddenly have more distractions than I had yesterday at this time.”

I smiled and shrugged. Aw shucks, I thought. I was surprised I didn’t say it out loud too.

“Let’s have a good look at you,” he said, stepping back from me. He held a hand up to his chin and scanned my body over. “Plaid shirt. Tight jeans. Scarf. Shoulder bag. Essentially a variation on the same outfit you had on yesterday. It’s cute. But...I hoped for cuter.”

“You...haven’t seen the cuteness yet,” I said slyly.

“No? So it’s...under all of this?” he asked, waving a hand over my very typical daily ensemble.

I nodded.

“And so then are you going to take your clothes off for me? Or will I need to do it for you?”

I nonchalantly shrugged and began to stroll around the studio, pretending to take closer looks at some of his pieces. “I suppose I could take them off when I’m ready. If you’re patient.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Maybe my mistake was asking at all.”

In a few steps, he was right next to me. His arms wrapped around me and with a humiliatingly small amount of effort, he lifted me up and carried me back to the couch with me bear-hugged in front of him. He put me down, sat down, and then just began taking off my belt.

I had been feeling so confident and cheeky about my choice of “cute,” but now that I was manhandled across the room and in the process of being disrobed by him, I worried that I had gone too far.

“What is...this?” he asked, tugging my pants down to my knees.

“They’re...for you. Cute, right?”

I had purchased them just this morning. Boy-sized underpants, straight from the kids department. Light blue with dark blue trim. A cute cartoon frog printed on them.

They barely fit. No, they really didn’t fit at all. My big boy parts hung out of them, unable to be contained, and I could feel the tight legbands slowly limiting my circulation. But, goddam, these looked cute on me.

He stared at them, taking in what he was seeing. He was surprised, but also seemingly impressed.

“Is this how you feel? Like a little boy?”

“I just...I mean...calling you ‘Daddy’ and you sitting me on your lap and all… I was feeling inspired.”

“I like it,” he said. “This is cute.” He smiled while staring into my eyes. I leaned forward without any hesitation and landed my lips on his. We exchanged a few wet sloppy kisses, my face wet from his. While we kissed, his hands felt and caressed me through the little tight underpants. We both moaned.

“Am I your little boy, Daddy?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

He grabbed me by the waist and I felt his body shifting forward. Before I even realized it was happening, he was standing up, and his strong arms hoisted me into the air as he stood. As he turned around to face the couch, I felt so helpless and tiny in his hands. I was a rag doll. A baby. He tossed me down onto the cushions, with me landing on my belly. I began to reposition myself, but he pulled my legs to the end of the couch so they dangled over the end of it.

I could see where this was going. I made no effort to stop it. Above me, behind my back, I heard him unfastening his belt and unzipping his pants. The shuffle of skin and fabric as he positioned himself. His hand was on the back of my ludicrously tight boy underpants, and when his fingers gripped the waistband, the sound of the fabric ripping echoed throughout the vaulted ceilings of the studio.

There was no pause or hesitation. He had either sufficiently pulled down my pants or he had torn them to the point where it didn’t matter if they were on me or not. He prodded my exposed ass with his firm cock, playfully teasing me with what was to come. Unconsciously, my legs spread wider - as if my body wanted to give him a more obvious landing place.

“You want this?” he asked.

I nodded. Though my face was already buried in the couch cushion and I wasn’t sure he could hear me. I lifted my head and said aloud: “Yes.”

“Tell me what you want, then.”

“I…” I had been so shameless up to this point. So...cocksure. But my voice still trembled as he stood behind me, waiting to hear the words. “I want you to fuck me, Daddy.”

I couldn’t tell you if his member was lubricated in any way. One moment he was teasing my skin, the next he was inside me. Completely inside me. He filled me in a way I had never been filled before. All these hipster fucks and nightclub pill-poppers...none of them came close to filling me like this. This was a real man.

“Daddy!” I didn’t so much moan it as I did bellow it.

“Oh, do you like that, boy?”

Another noise of some sort. What was that, a moan or a scream?

He held me down with his strong hands - not that I was going anywhere - while he found a fascinating rhythm inside me. I tried to imagine it in my mind. Elliptical? He was a man who knew what he was doing. No doubt, there were other boys before me. Given that his stop in this town was a temporary blip in his life, there’d be more after me. But right now…

“I’m your boy. I’m your boy.”

“That’s right,” he said, working the words out in between satisfied grunts.

“I’m your boy. Your little boy. Your cute little boy. Your baby boy.”

I didn’t even know what the hell I was saying anymore. I was babbling. The ‘baby boy’ line almost made me laugh, just because it felt so...spot on, somehow.

“Yeah? My little baby boy?”

“Yyyeah,” I said, my consciousness floating further and further from my body as his perfect rhythm gained tempo.

His fine work in my ass would have been plenty, given more time, I’m sure of it. But in this position on the end of the couch, every cycle of his cock entering my tight hole shoved my own stiff member into the couch cushions. At some point, I realized I was just humping the couch while he humped me. I had no idea if this was my doing, or just what his movements were doing to me. But I didn’t care enough to stop it.

“You’re okay?” he asked.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” I spat back. He laughed.

“Such a good baby boy for Daddy,” he said. Goddamn. For such a weirdly humiliating thing to have blurted out, he had turned it around by leaning into it.

“Such…” I muttered between gasping moans. “...a little baby...boy…”

“I’m going to fill your little ass,” he said with a steady and calm tone.

“Yes! Please! Fuck me. FIll my little baby asshole. Please!”

“I…” he stopped himself from saying more, instead just focusing on getting a few last thrusts in. He was bent over now, hovering just above my back. I could feel his body’s heat radiating onto me as he unleashed one final guttural moan. Then, he exploded inside of me. Hot. Wet. Fluid in motion. Filling everything in its path. It was in me. Deep in me.

If such a thing were possible, he’d have impregnated me for sure.

Like a bolt of lightning, I exited the ethereal cloud above and slammed back into my body. Without even a single second advance notice, I too climaxed, blasting my load into the couch.

If such a thing were possible, I’d have impregnated the couch for sure.

He collapsed on top of me and we stayed like that for a few minutes. He was inside of me still, and I felt him dripping and dribbling out of my ass and down my scrotum. Beneath me, a moist couch cushion. Feeling his sweaty body on mine, holding me down, I felt like a rag doll.

“A baby boy, eh?” he finally says.

“I...said it in a moment of passion,” I say, feeling less certain about being assigned such descriptors now that I’m in a post-coital state.

“I didn’t hate it,” he says as he slowly pulls out of me and slides off of my body. He gives me a playful slap on the ass, forcing a yelp from my ass. He laughs.

I stay on the couch without changing position for another minute. I’m nervous to see the hell I’ve wrought on the couch cushion, and I’m nervous to see his reaction to it. I can hear him behind me moving about, likely putting his pants back on. I finally sigh and ease myself off of the couch myself.

“My my,” he says almost immediately. “Did you do all that?”

I blush and give a boyish shrug. Fitting, it seems.

“I’m thankful that this isn’t my couch. But...I suppose I shouldn’t leave this couch in worse condition than I found it.”

“I can clean it…”

“It’s not your fault,” he said with a grin. “I’d like to think that I caused that to happen.”

“You most certainly did.”

“See? Besides, you’re a...baby. Right?”

I blushed. It felt like that was going to end up sticking. I didn’t know how I felt about that.

“I think it’s cute,” he said, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder to help ease me. “I wouldn’t mind if you...leaned into it more.”

“Oh? And how does one...lean into being your baby boy?”

“You’re already calling me ‘Daddy’ and wearing little boy shorts. I’m sure you can figure something out.”

“Should I bring a baby bottle? Crawl around on my hands and knees?”

He laughed and shrugged. “I won’t lie to you, I think I’d like that.”

“Yeah? What if I wore a diaper for you?”

He smiled and laughed, walking away from the couch to get some water from one of the tables he had been working from. It was the first time I had ever seen a little embarrassed.

“You’re naughty,” I teased. “You would! You really would like that, wouldn’t you?”

He shook his head and laughed again as he grabbed his hammer and chisel so that he could go back to the wood block he had been working on.

“I’ll do it,” I said. “If you want it. Just say the word.”

He struck the chisel with his hammer a few times before laughing and letting out a sigh. I kind of enjoyed seeing him a little flustered like this.

“Alright,” he finally said, placing his tools down and turning back to me. “Yes, I would like that. I think I would like that a lot. And I think you would like that too.”

“Well of course I would,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. “I’m a baby boy, remember?”

“Okay then,” he said. “It’s settled. Diapers.”

“Diapers,” I confirmed.

“You could probably use them anyways,” he said, turning back to his work. “If you’re going to crawl around here staining the furniture, I think this is for the best.”

It was my turn to blush. “F-fair enough. But just to be clear - you’re the one who’s going to need to change my diapers.”

He laughed again. “Is that so? Planning on using them too, are you?”

“It’d be a waste not to, right?” I shrugged.

“Sure. You go ahead and do whatever you want in your little diaper. And if you do? I’ll change you.”

Truthfully, I had just been teasing him. I was pushing to see how far I could push, but he surprised me by pushing right back. He might have even pushed harder in the end. He was daring me to call his bluff. I badly wanted to work up the courage to put his statement to the test.

“You know how to change a diaper?” I asked. I could feel the sass dissipating from my voice. There was a sincere curiosity in my tone that I hoped he didn’t catch.

“I had baby siblings. I mean, I haven’t changed the diaper of a baby as big as you before. But I imagine the skill scales nicely.”

I was feeling flustered now. Goddamn it, I thought, he’s going to make me want to go out and buy diapers for myself. And I knew, without a doubt, that I would.

Later that day, I found myself at the drugstore exploring the incontinence aisle for the first time in my life. I hadn’t come here without any ideas, though. I had spent most of the last three hours looking up photos of grown men in diapers. Imagine the lack of surprise on my face when I found how plentiful such a thing was. How had this little community escaped my knowledge for so long?

If I was going to do this, I wanted to do it right. This drugstore was not going to get me there. These “incontinence briefs” and “bladder protection pads” seemed just about useless. Where were the ridiculously thick diapers, or the ones with the infantile prints like what I saw online? I suppose it made sense that the local drugstore wouldn’t have them, but there was no way that I would squander any of the already-limited time I had with Karl waiting for a delivery of extra-naughty diapers.

In a move that was likely a desperate hail-mary, I reached out to said online community. I put it out there that if there were any local perverts into wearing diapers - I’d be willing to buy a few from them for myself. This time I was surprised. While I assumed that there was either no local representation or nobody willing to part with their precious padding, I received five responses in less than an hour.

“You wanted to wet yourself so badly that you couldn’t wait a week for shipping?” he said with a smug sneer.

His name was Caleb. He was a little older than me and, to be quite honest, not at all my type. But he had shown me photos of a sizable diaper stockpile in his home and was willing to share some of his riches at cost, which was a better deal than some of the other local pants-wetters who offered single diapers at inflated prices. We had met in the parking lot of a retail chain that was smack in the middle of our locales.

“An opportunity has presented itself,” I replied, “and I wanted to strike while the iron was hot.”

“It must be pretty hot.”

“It is.”

“You need help with those?” he asked, nodding to the brown paper bag that held the package of diapers he just handed me.

“Help?”

“You know...like, I could help put one on you.” He had a smug smile that never seemed to go away, it just varied in its level of smugness. At this moment, I’d say he was at an eight out of ten on the Smugness Scale.

“I’m probably good, thanks.”

“You’re cute,” he said with a shrug. It wasn’t the first time I had heard that today. “I bet you’re cute in diapers.”

I bit my lip as I felt my cheeks warm. “Th-thanks, but I should get going.”

For a moment, I was worried I’d be turned off from diapers by Caleb’s attempt at flirting. But if anything, it had only further fueled me. This morning I had been awkwardly busting out of a pair of little underpants. Now I was desperate to be in diapers, and the only two men who knew anything about it seemed very onboard with it.

I would be a cute baby. I’d be the cutest baby.

I hadn’t planned on going back to Karl’s studio, but now that I had diapers and semi-hard cock, I was ready to crawl around for my Daddy.

I rushed home, and the door wasn’t even fully closed yet before I began ripping off my pants. My tiny boys underwear were hastily pulled off and tossed straight into the trash can. I tore open the package of diapers, pulling one out. They were called “Safaris,” bulky white diapers with I colorful cartoon animals printed on them. I had no idea how to put a diaper on anyone, let alone myself. But I had time and the Internet. I’d be fine.

An hour later, I was back at the door of Karl’s studio. Once again, no knocking - I just barged into the studio. I confidently strutted in, closing the door behind me, tossing my backpack down near the door.

Might as well do this right. Let’s go all the way. I got down on my hands and knees and began crawling through the studio as I looked for him. The floor was a little dusty, but it gave me no pause. Good. I hope it makes me filthy.

I rounded the corner of one of the work benches, and I could hear him talking.

“...three or four pieces interconnected,” he was saying. “While I have a specific arrangement in mind, I think you could rearrange them and they’d still work. That’s not a coincidence, though; this is by design.”

“You’ve done this before, right?” asked a feminine voice. Was that a phone call? No, it sounded too close. Too clear.

I scrambled back behind the table again, quickly getting back on my feet, brushing the dust off from my knees and hands.

“I have. I don’t know what to call it. Modular...something-or-other. It’s got a ways to go, but…”

His voice trailed off as he made eye contact with me. He smiled warmly, not a trace of frustration or resentment that I had returned. The woman he spoke to, maybe closer in age to me than he, turned to see what he was smiling at. She offered a polite nod.

“S-sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Oh you’re fine, Baby. Why don’t you hang out for a few minutes and then I’ll come say hi.”

With that, he turned back to the young woman and they went back to discussing his art. Just like that. Either she missed the part where he called me “baby,” or she had just been willing to let that roll off her back. Meanwhile, I had to hide in the corner to catch my breath after having been called that in the presence of a stranger. Hell, he was a stranger still.

What the hell am I doing?”

“...you have everything you need?”

“I think so,” she replied. “But if I need to do a follow up I can…”

“Just email me,” he said with a smile. “It was a pleasure talking to you, Tabitha. You enjoy the rest of your day.”

“You too, Mr. Adams.” She turned to me and warmly nodded on her way out the door.

Once the door closed, we both looked at each other. For a moment or two, neither of us said anything. Finally he shook his head and laughed. I laughed too.

“Why do I feel like you came close to making a spectacle of yourself just then?” he asked.

“Because that’s exactly what almost happened. I was crawling on the ground.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten up,” he said.

“You called me a baby. Right in front of her.”

“I did not call you a baby,” he said with a smile. “I called you ‘Baby.’ Your name.”

I opened my mouth, but I was speechless and flustered.

“That was Tabitha Stanley,” he continued, ignoring my dumbfoundedness. “She’s a writer at some local arts paper. Maybe for a college? Honestly, I should’ve paid more attention. I was distracted. Especially at the end.”

“Distracted by...meeee?” I said, likely pretty obnoxiously too.

“You really are just an overgrown toddler aren’t you,” he said as he shook his head. “You think everything is about you. And if it’s not, you’d sooner make it about you.”

I shrugged, feeling a little silly. A lot cocky. “But you were thinking about me, yes?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I suppose I was.” He walked past me, sniffing the air deeply as he did so.

I tilted my head in confusion. “Expecting something?”

“Something more...infantile, maybe. You oughta start wearing baby powder, unless you want to end up with a rash on your caboose.”

I blushed. “What? How did you know that… How could you tell that I was…”

“A lucky guess,” he shrugged. “Or you’re walking funny and making crinkling noises as you walk. Or some combination thereof. You really wasted no time getting yourself diapers, didn’t you?”

I shrugged, hoping it came off more playful - thus hiding my shame for having been detected almost immediately.

“Well, you might as well show me now,” he said. “No reason to keep me waiting.”

“N-now?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was there supposed to be a big reveal later? A cake, maybe, that we cut into?”

“We can’t both be sassy,” I retorted, hands on my hips.

“Fine, you be sassy. I’ll be Daddy. Now then, Daddy wants to see your diaper.”

Him saying the d-word, especially now that I was wearing them, only made my humiliation intensify further. What had I gotten myself into? Yesterday I was pretending to read a book and now I was wearing a goddamn diaper.

I huffed and sighed, likely putting on a good childish show as I worked my pants off my hips and down my thighs revealing my thick “Safari.” He held a hand to his chin, like he was staring at a piece in a museum. He soaked it all in, really staring hard at my ridiculous new undergarment.

Finally: “You can’t be trusted to put a diaper on yourself. You did a terrible job.”

“Excuse me. I was excited! Besides, I’ve never had to put a diaper on myself.”

“Did you bring the rest of your diapers?” he asked.

“No, why would I…”

“Well, if you need your diaper changed, what am I supposed to do?”

“They’re...back at my place.”

“You live alone?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe...we go back there?”

It was such an inevitable conclusion since our initial encounter. Of course it was a good idea. Of course that was exactly what I wanted.

I lead him to my place by the hand. Truth be told, I had never been especially into PDAs. Maybe it was a subconscious survival instinct - years of repression and being stuck in a closet will do that to you. But those days seemed behind me. I tightly, proudly, gripped Daddy’s hand and dragged him all the way to my apartment. I was waddling. I was crinkling. I was loving it.

“Things have changed,” he said, walking into my apartment for the first time.

“Hm?”

“I don’t know. Aren’t there supposed to be band posters on the wall? Where are your Pavement and Guided by Voices posters? Where’s the bookshelves made of cinder blocks and 2x4s?”

My head tilted and my eyes scrunched together in confusion. “You must have me confused for someone from TV. That’s like an undergraduate thing. From 1995.”

He ran a finger across the top of my bookshelf, glancing at my collection. “It looks like a Pottery Barn catalog in here.”

“Ikea and Goodwill,” I said with a shrug. Another confused glare. “When’s the last time you were even inside a Pottery Barn.”

“We have them where I’m from too.”

“And where is that, anyways?”

“Seattle.”

“You’re a long long way from home, then.”

He shrugged, thumbing through the small stack of vinyl records on another shelf. “Dave Brubeck, Chicago and Switched On Bach. I assume this collection is also courtesy of Goodwill?”

“Don’t change the subject,” I said. “You think you can march into my city, fuck me, get me in a diaper and then trot back across the country?”

“Well I didn’t plan it quite like that,” he said with a chuckle. “Though I suppose that’s how it worked out.”

“How many other baby boys do ya got around the country, huh?” It was all in jest. Though I suppose part of me hoped for some honest answers. “Do you have some boy in pampers over in Nebraska right now? Getting a diaper rash while waiting for you to come back and change him?”

“Nebraska? No...I’ve never been to Nebraska.”

He smiled. I smiled.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked.

“Not unless you have ingredients for a negroni.”

“Will you settle for a hard seltzer?”

“No thank you.” He paused, then added: “Actually, you know what you can do for me?”

“Hm?”

“Take your pants off. I see no reason for you to hide your cute little diaper.”

I felt my cheeks warm a little and I nodded, almost immediately complying. I slid my pants down to my knees, letting gravity do the rest. Stepping out of them, even knowing that he had seen the diaper before in the studio, I felt more exposed and vulnerable than I had yet with him. And considering the things he had seen, and the things we had done, that was saying something.

“Good boy. Now, when were you going to piss yourself for me?”

I had to be blushing now. My face was on fire. “Uh...any minute now,” I lied, cracking a mischievous smile. I had somehow forgotten what diapers were actually for. “Assuming you want that.”

He had taken a seat on my sofa. He nodded.

I could do that, I thought. Easy peasy.

I froze in place, pushing on my bladder. When that didn’t work, I closed my eyes, doing my best to channel whatever inner-body energy I could to trigger the waterworks.

“Oh,” he said with a smug grin. “You’re just going to...do that right now?”

“Give the audience what they want,” I said, before going back to my fruitless pushing.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he said. “Eventually you’re going to have to go whether you want to or not. No rush.”

I sighed, disappointed that I couldn’t just piss myself on command.

Well, not yet.

“Why don’t you come sit on Daddy’s lap?”

I didn’t need to be asked twice. I practically bounded across the room, planting my padded behind square on his legs. His hands massaged the diaper, feeling its squishiness. His hand slid down the front of the padding and between my legs. I was already erect.

“Does that...feel good?”

I nodded enthusiastically. Not that I needed to respond at all - of course it felt good.

“Do you like when Daddy touches your diaper?”

Another obvious question, but one that also felt like a trap. It was  The answer - the honest and open answer - would out me for just how much I was enjoying this new role. I hesitated to answer, instead just moaning again as his hand stroked the front of the diaper.

“You’ll have to tell me,” he said. “If you don’t, I have no choice but to assume that you don’t like it. And then? I’d just stop doing it.”

“N-no…”

“Oh?”

“I...like it.”

“Tell me more,” he says, practically whispering directly into my ear.

I sigh. All of these feelings and thoughts and emotions, most of which I’ve barely processed - let alone defined - myself. I already know that whatever is going to come out of my mouth is going to be word vomit. It doesn’t stop me.

“I like it. I like it when you touch my diaper. I like being in a diaper. I like sitting here, on your lap, wearing a diaper. Wearing a diaper for you. Wearing a diaper for you, while I sit in your lap, and while you touch me.”

He smiles and nods. “Anything else you want to add to that?”

Fuck, you have no idea. Another deep breath. Here comes round two: “Keep me in diapers. Make me your little baby. Stick a pacifier in my mouth...or a baby bottle. I don’t know...baby food? Make me piss myself while I’m sitting on your lap. Make me crawl around for your amusement. Tease me. Humiliate me. Strip away any remnants of my dignity and adulthood. Make me…” I had a thought but I couldn’t get it out of my mouth. I tried again: “Make me...go…”

“Yes? Go where?”

“No. Like...go…” I felt like my face was going to melt off. “Make me...go...to the bathroom in the diaper.” That wasn’t exactly what I meant. Trying again: “Make me…”

“Make you mess in your little diaper like a baby?” he asked.

“Y-yes.”

“Okay,” he said. It sounded so flat and devoid of emotion, as if he was responding to some much more mundane question.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” he said, shrugging. “I’ll make you do that. I’ll make you do all those things.”

The vestiges of my dignity were fading. In this place, in this state, a new headspace was washing over me. It was more powerful than I could’ve imagined it to be, and it felt at odds with the person I was normally.

I collapsed into his shoulders, wrapping my arms around him. My face was buried in his chest, and I took in his scent - wood, sweat, faint traces of some sort of cologne. There were tears in my eyes. I wasn’t even sure how I felt at first. Humiliated and emasculated, perhaps - that was at least part of it. It was more than that. Something that seemed almost primal or fundamental.

“Are you...crying?” He didn’t sound annoyed, nor did he sound like he was mocking me. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly.

I took another deep breath or two, taking in more of his strong comforting scent as I did. I slowly composed myself.

“When you’re ready,” he said. “I want you to show me how much of a baby you are for me. I want you to flood that diaper. I want you to fill it.”

I nodded, my face rubbing against his shirt as I did.

All the mental guards were down. I could do just about anything in this state, so long as he asked me to do it.

Releasing my bladder into my diaper - there in his lap - was the easiest thing I had ever done before.