Mommy Lessons, Chapter 3 (Patreon)

Lesson Three: Keeping Them Wanting

I have had boyfriends who sprung things on me long after they should’ve been open about them. For example, I once dated someone who waited an entire year to tell me they were married.

Neil had been different in that he wore his heart on his sleeve most times. It was what I liked most about him, honestly. He wasn’t the most confident man in the world, but he always made it clear what he was feeling. Early in our relationship, I mistakenly perceived it as oversharing, but over time, I came to realize that it was just someone communicating their needs - a welcome change of pace in relationships I had before that.

One day, seemingly at random, he just sat down next to me and told me that he had a diaper fetish. He wanted to be treated like a baby. He loved feeling submissive and humiliated.

It was a lot to take in at once, and out of nowhere, I had a vague idea about the existence of diaper fetishes and that sort of thing, but it just never seemed very relevant to my life. If I’m being honest, I don’t think I handled it well. I became closed off for a while, and sought some distance from him.

But whereas he saw it as a rejection of him as a person, and his interests and needs - it was really about me. In my isolation, the real question I hoped to answer was about how I could give him what he needed. And what would happen if I couldn’t.

Finally, I made it clear that I was willing and ready to try anything. If it was important to him, then I wouldn’t ever just dismiss it. He should be allowed to experience the things that he wanted to, without fear of judgment, especially in his own house.

We started slowly, and mostly at my urging. I’d encourage him to wear a diaper in front of me, or to at least wear one to bed. While he was thankful for the space to explore this side of him freely, it always felt kind of awkward and stilted. I knew he wanted more. I wasn’t sure what “more” was, but I did my best to figure it out.

I slowly began to piece together what he was looking for. It wasn’t just that he wanted to wear infantile things or to act like a baby - he wanted to be forced to do those things. Despite it being what he wanted - he wanted it to feel like a punishment. He wanted to be humiliated by it.

I struggled with this - not because I was morally opposed to it, but because I just didn’t know how to be that person myself. If anything, reflecting on my own desires to be manhandled a little, it was a challenge to treat him the way that I wish I could be treated once in a while. Maybe not exactly like it, but the end goals weren’t that far off.

However, I felt like I never even got the chance to explore that angle. Somewhere between my efforts to learn about how to be a more dominant-type woman in the bedroom, and my working up the courage to ask him to give me that chance, he revealed that he had other plans.

He didn’t come out and tell me what he was doing - I had to find out about it myself. A decent amount of money had been taken from our joint checking account one day. He didn’t bring it up, and I was afraid to ask what it was for. We never told each other how to spend our money before, and it’s not like he left us destitute. It was just something he hadn’t done before. It triggered a reg flag in my mind, but I had been willing to let it go.

Not long after, he told me that he was going away for a weekend; he was invited to spend a weekend at his friend Leon’s cabin for a weekend of “boys being boys.” I had absolutely no suspicions about it until after he was gone and I found myself pondering the missing money again. A quick search on Facebook had revealed that Leon and his family were enjoying a nice weekend at Grandma’s.

This seemed completely at odds with the Neil that I knew and who I fell in love with. Worse, I wondered if he thought I was so stupid that I wouldn’t ever put it together.

I waited for him to come home from his supposed weekend retreat and we had it out. He did, eventually, come clean. He saw a professional “Mommy.” It had been something he wanted to do for a while. No, he was clear that it had been something he needed to do. He wanted to do it again. With, or without, my approval.

I had felt backed into a corner. Of course I wanted him to do the things that made him happy. And if seeing this professional had brought him some amount of joy that he wasn’t getting anywhere else, who was I to stand in the way? But he lied to me.

There was another fracture in our relationship that was caused that day. I had gone out of my way to make him feel comfortable. I was willing to give him even more - at a small sacrifice of some of my own desires. Yet he still ran to someone else instead. It felt like a betrayal. It felt like a dismissal of my skills - or even my potential.

And that’s kind of where we left things. We never really recovered or found our footing in the relationship. We were friendly to each other, most days, but any remnants of romance were gone. I’d watch for the withdrawals from our bank account and I’d know when he needed a “weekend away.” The weekends I’d be sure to spend sitting around, drinking wine, wondering why I hadn’t been enough.

And yet.

And yet.

There I was, sitting on the floor of the nursery in Averie’s house. Averie, who had certainly gotten enough of our money already, thanks to Neil. I wondered if we were solely responsible for this custom adult-sized crib. She could’ve at least given us a plaque.

I was wearing the diaper now. I was wearing a onesie and a pathetic little dress. Knee-high cat socks. Hair in pigtails. I was sitting on the ground surrounded by toys.

My intentions were kind of blurry to me now. I thought I knew what I wanted when I came here, but now I wasn’t so sure. I believed Averie when she told me that I’d learn how to be a good Mommy by being a good baby. But now I wasn’t so sure that I wanted anything other than being that good baby.

I wished Neil could see me now. I wanted him to be jealous of what I was experiencing.

I had no way to tell time in the nursery. I wasn’t sure how long Averie had been gone, and I wasn’t sure when she was coming back. She expected me to be wearing a used diaper when she did, though, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. There had been some sort of vague threat about making me use the diaper if I hadn’t used it myself. I was curious - but maybe that was a mystery best left for another day.

It had been a while since I last used a restroom. Using a diaper wouldn’t be a matter of whether or not I had to go, it would be a matter of if I could bring myself to go. I tried a few different positions in my efforts to find which seemed like the most comfortable. Sitting. Kneeling. Standing.

Squatting felt particularly…”age” appropriate. I almost couldn’t bring myself to stay in that position for too long. I went back to sitting down again, thought better of it, and then started squatting again.

It was easy. Too easy, honestly. I was positive that I’d end up feeling pee-shy - that same anxiety I felt in a public restroom when someone sat in the stall next to me. Yet here, with a minimal amount of effort, I was able to just...go.

I had no post-toddler experience with wetting my pants. Even at my most drunk I always maintained a level of control. I always assumed that was a good thing, though now… Now, as I felt my warm piss flood the diaper between my legs, my first instinct was to think: I wish I had experienced this sooner in my life.

It felt dirty and shameful and all those things that my parents and teachers and society told me that wetting your pants would be growing up. And I fucking loved it. I loved feeling the diaper get heavier as it swelled. I loved feeling it get warmer. The way that it felt so squishy.

I remained where I was, squatting above the ground, and I ran my hands over my diaper. I’d take turns running a hand between the front of my legs and then reaching behind my back to feel the other side.

I plopped down onto my bottom, feeling my diaper squish beneath me as I sat upon it. I wondered if I’d get in trouble for pulling up my dress, unsnapping the bottom of the onesie and slipping a hand into my diaper. Probably. But that was also part of what she did as a Mommy - dealt with naughty inevitabilities like this.

There you go, I thought. Another lesson.

I stood up again and slowly toddled around the room, getting a feel for how I walked while in a soaking wet diaper. Slowly, as it turned out; not so much as a walk as it was a humiliating waddle. There, in the full length mirror mounted on the back of the nursery door, I finally got to see myself. The dress had, predictably, done nothing to conceal my bloated bottom, while my bright pink cheeks and haphazardly pig-tailed hair made me look like some child’s plaything.

I kind of liked it. I suckled on the pacifier, feeling a warmth throughout my body. It wasn’t my pissy diaper - well, it was, but it was also this sense of finally having done something for myself. Accidentally, maybe, while trying to do something for Neil - but at the end of the day I’d consider this a win for me.

I patiently waited for Averie to return. Averie? Or Mommy? I wondered what Neil called her.

And when I got sick of sitting, mostly motionless, in my soggy diaper, I decided to practice being a baby. Like any good student would. I crawled about on the floor. I picked up a few of the various baby toys - rattles and thick colorful plastic things that made assorted noises - and shook them around. I went back and forth from sucking on the pacifier to sucking on my thumb. I even, after listening closely to make sure she wasn’t around, practiced my babbling baby talk.

“You’ve been a busy baby, I see,” a voice behind me finally said, just after I had sat back down in my soggy diaper again.

I shot her a surprised look. Had she known what I was doing? Or did she just guess? But then she pointed to the small plastic pod mounted on a small tripod on top of the diaper shelf. A camera. Of course.

“Don’t be bashful about it, cupcake. It made me very happy that you cared so much to explore it a little. You like it, I think?”

I nodded.

“I thought so. And what about your diaper? Did you do as I asked?”

I nodded again. A slower nod. I immediately proceeded to look down towards the floor shamefully.

“Come here, baby. Let me check your diaper.”

I didn’t need to be told that I had to crawl to her. Once again, I saw a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes behind the stoic expression. She held out a hand to stop me. I stayed where I was, on my hands and knees before her, as she walked around to my backside. Her hand was on my bottom, giving my diaper a squeeze through the onesie. She lifted my dress up and popped the buttons on the bottom of the onesie, lifting the backside of that up as well. I felt her pull the back of my diaper away from my back. She even lowered a hand carefully into the diaper to have a better feel. I loved it. I loved all of it. I loved feeling this way and I loved having her hand on me; in my diaper.

“That wasn’t too challenging, was it?” she asked.

I shook my head, still facing straight ahead - away from where she stood.

“Do you think I should change your diaper? Do you think that you’ve earned that?”

I nodded. I had, after all, been a good girl, right? I had done everything she said. I’ve already begun to feel myself fall deeper into this role than I expected to. Did that not count for anything?

“Ah, such a naive little baby,” she said, giving my diapered bottom a playful swat. To my surprise, she began to pull the onesie back down again, snapping it closed over my diaper. She pulled my dress back down as far as it could go - ultimately leaving me in the position I was in just before she checked my diaper.

Was she not going to change my diaper, then? I was confused and the tiniest bit hurt.

“I dislike giving babies exactly what they want. At least right away. They’ll eventually get what they want - they wouldn’t keep coming back if they didn’t. But not until I’m ready. And right now, I’m not ready.”

My heart beat a little faster as she walked back in front of me. I looked up at her, feeling a little pathetic. By her design, I was sure.

“I bet you’re wondering when you’re going to get that diaper changed then, yes?”

I nodded.

“Give me some babytalk,” she said. “I want to hear you talk like a little baby again.”

I sighed, my heart beating even faster. I had just been practicing this. For her, no less. I slid the pacifier out of my mouth, carefully balancing myself on my other hand.

“Gah...gah ba moo...nu…”

“My goodness, cupcake, you’re a natural!”

I smiled, sliding the pacifier back into my mouth.

“You think I’m kidding, but I ask all the little boys who come to see me to talk like a baby, and they’re terrible at it. Just dreadful. But you! You’re trying, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“A mommy can tell.” She paused for a second before adding: “In fact, I think that deserves a reward. I’d say Baby has just learned her first word.”

I tilted my head with curiosity.

“Mommy,” she said. “You may call me Mommy. It’s the only word you may say besides your little baby babbling.”

I nodded. It was such a small thing; it was barely a reward at all. It felt humiliating for her to give me the “privilege” of just saying her title; a self-given title at that. Yet I felt this warmth within me. I had earned something. I had impressed her. It made me so so happy to please her.

“Maybe you should try it out?”

I pulled the pacifier from my mouth again. It was such a simple word, and an almost meaningless one for me in any other context. But now, when it was the only word I had, and one that only served to reiterate my new dependence on her, it felt like the hardest word I ever had to say. “M...mo…”

“Go on,” she coached. “You can do it.” She sounded it out like a mother would do with a real infant. “MAH-MEE. Mommy! It’s very easy. Now you try.”

“Mommy…”

“Oh very very good.” She leaned forward, kissing me on the forehead. It still felt condescending. It still drove me wild.

“Mommy,” I said again, before realizing that there really wasn’t anything else I could say.

“Yes, little shortcake?”

“Uhm…” I shook my head.

“You’re wondering about that diaper, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“Do you know what the babies who come to visit me like to do? It may just be one of the most popular things.”

I had lots of guesses. Getting her hand across their asses? Getting fed bottles? Diaper changes?”

“They like to make big messes in their diapers. They absolutely love it.”

I wasn’t blushing this time - instead I felt as if all the color from my face - underneath the makeup of course - had drained away.

“I don’t know what it is, honestly,” she continued. “Well...no, that’s not true. I think many see it as the ultimate humiliation. Defecating oneself in a diaper, my my. That is quite...spicy, yes? And in the presence of a beautiful woman? Oh gosh. That must get all the nerves just positively fired up. They love it. They adore it. They’re begging me to do it. You’ve never heard anything like it. Big babies, begging you to make a poop in their diaper.”

I swallowed. I didn’t like where this was going.

“Can I tell you? It's never once bothered me. It's never made me sick. It still pleases me to no end. These little babies, practically tripping over themselves because they want to fill their diapers for me. It’s their safe space here, their safest space in some cases. They could have anything they want - but all they really want to do is make their diapers stinky for Mommy. It warms my heart.” She paused, looking back into my eyes. “Oh...I’m rambling, Baby. Let’s talk about you.”

She didn’t have to say anything else. I’d almost rather she didn’t. I wasn’t sure I could bear hearing her ask me to do what I think she would.

“If it were up to you,” she said, “you’d hold it all weekend and go home to your potty and take care of your business there. I suppose that wouldn’t be hard to do; you’re only here for the weekend. But what would you have learned? Let’s break the seal, then. Either you go ahead and make your diaper even dirtier for Mommy, or I take matters into my own hands. Which will it be?”

I didn’t want to just refuse. Well, part of me did. But I wouldn’t. So I started thinking about the two options. I didn’t know what “taking it into her own hands” meant. But...I was pretty sure that I was never going to be able to just go on my own. We could be waiting for the rest of the weekend for something that would never come.

“M-mommy?” I asked. I had no way to actually ask what I wanted to ask.

“Yes dumpling?”

“Uhm...uh…”

“Do you want Mommy’s help?”

I nodded.