Powertrip (A Continuation of 'Power Lunch') [Tier 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

An earlier version posted had some erroneously repeated sections. This version should fix it, but please let me know if you catch anything that looks off.

Across the sea of cubicles, he could see her office door was open and waiting.

For all the times he had made this trip before, it had never really seemed especially noteworthy. Going to Cynthia’s office wasn’t all that different than going to the watercooler, or the bathroom—just everyday places to visit while at work. Of course, he wasn’t using the bathrooms that much these days. Ditto for the watercooler, for that matter.

He sighed and made the long trek across the office floor, zigging and zagging through the maze of cubicles, boxes, and other bustling coworkers, until he reached Cynthia’s office door where he gave it three gentle raps to get her attention.

“Everett,” she said, a smile growing on her face as she looked up from her computer. “It’s nice to see you. Come in. Shut the door behind you.”

He did so, though he likely would’ve shut it even if she hadn’t asked him to. He took a seat at the other side of her desk. There was something about the padding of her office chairs that were just firm enough to really make his pants crinkle as he sat. He blushed as she let out a little giggle into her hand.

“So, I’m putting in a request with Dawn in HR,” she said. “I was thinking that I could get you transferred over to my team. You’re doing almost the same job right now anyways, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

He nodded. “I...I don’t want it to be a problem with my current team, of course.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “Most of the work you’re doing right now is for projects that I’m in charge of. I don’t think anyone is going to doubt the necessity of this. Besides, I think it’s going to be essential that you’re kept closer to me.”

“Uhm, right...”

She pointed out the window of her office to a cubicle currently being used by a young man. “I’m thinking I’ll move Curtis and put you right there.”

His heart fluttered a little, just thinking about how he’d be under Cynthia’s surveillance all day. It was mostly terrifying, even if he felt the tiniest glimmer of excitement towards it.

“I had the pleasure of speaking with your, er, Mommy, last night,” she said, grinning.

“Yeah… She told me that the two of you had talked.”

It was just a few days ago that Cynthia had caught him in the parking garage. Just two days ago when she watched as his messy diaper got changed right in front of her—before he was then breastfed by his girlfriend, Marianne. Mommy. It simultaneously felt like ten minutes ago and ten months ago.

Marianne had more or less given him the breakdown of how that conversation went. Cynthia had been eager to know everything, and Marianne had been more than happy to dish all the filthy details. Now, it was all out there.

Days ago she was just a coworker, seemingly oblivious to the life he lived with Marianne. Now, she already knew too much. Cynthia, apparently his soon-to-be boss, was now part of this, and there was no going back to the way things had been before.

“What did she tell you?” Cynthia asked with a smug smile.

“She called you my...babysitter.”

“Oh did she use that word?” Cynthia squealed with delight. “I said that in our conversation yesterday, and I’m glad to hear she liked it.”

“She, uh, really liked it,” he said, looking down at his feet.

He turned around one more time to make sure the door was closed. It was—but it was still rather unsettling to have this conversation in a room with large windows that looked out over the office. People were casually strolling past, and he felt like an animal at a zoo.

If only they knew what we were talking about.

“This is all in a trial period, of sorts,” Cynthia said, leaning back in her chair. “More for my sake than anyone else’s. Marianne, your Mommy, wants to make sure I’m up to the task of taking care of her big baby boy. I get that. You’re a lot of responsibility, mister.” Every subsequent use of ‘Mommy’ seemed to add a little extra amusement in the tone.

Marianne had made it quite clear to him the night before: Cynthia was owed all the cooperation and respect he’d afford Mommy.

“What do you need from me?” he asked.

“Patience,” she said. “This is all, obviously, rather new to me.”

But she seemed to have acclimated rather quickly. He thought back to the backseat of Marianne’s SUV, as his dirty diaper was opened in front of his Cynthia. She had barely even flinched.

He had planned on biting his tongue—he wasn’t sure it’d be an especially good look to question his new boss too much, especially considering the amount of dirt she had on him now. But this might have been the only chance he got to ask such things.

“You’re...okay with all this?” he asked. “The diapers and the, uh, accidents and the…”

“From my vantage point,” she said. “They don’t look like accidents. I mean, Mommy herself said that you could go and use a toilet if you actually wanted to.”

“I guess.” He was blushing again.

“I am okay with this,” she said, circling back. “It’s new. But...it’s not that far removed from my own curiosities.”

He supposed he was obligated to ask for some elaboration. “Oh yeah?”

“I’ve tied a man up once or twice. I own some handcuffs. I used to make one of my partners wear my panties. I suppose that’s all quite vanilla compared to what you and Mommy have going on. It’s more or less the same idea though, yes? Control? Humiliation?”

He nodded. “More or less.” He considered, for a moment, unwrapping a candy bar and preparing a beef wellington - both would curb hunger, but the processes were vastly different.

“I understand that she packed your lunch for you today?”

His cheeks flared again, as that question had triggered a string of embarrassing memories. Marianne, last night, sitting on the couch while she pumped breastmilk into bottles as the evening news played on the TV. Watching, this morning, as Marianne dropped the paper bag holding two baby bottles into his satchel—next to his laptop and behind the two extra diapers and the package of baby wipes she had previously slipped into it. The panic he felt after arriving in the office as he tried to find the most strategic spot to hide the paper bag in the fridge so that it wouldn’t be disturbed. He couldn’t write his name on it—he could never let his name be associated with the contents of the bag in case someone got nosey—so he had to just hope that nobody mistook the bag for their own.

But he summarized this all quite succinctly: “She did.”

“She asked that, at the very least, I watch you drink your bottles. She just wants to make sure that you’re getting down every drop since she’s not here to watch you herself.”

“I mean… I can’t do that here,” he said, looking back again to the large windows overlooking the office.

“We could find somewhere more private,” she said. “In fact, I reserved the conference room on the 2nd Floor. It could be just you and me. Locked doors. No windows.”

“And you’d just...watch me? Drink from bottles?”

“Well, let’s not downplay it,” she said with a smirk. “I’d be watching you drink Mommy’s breastmilk out of bottles. And, on top of that, she did offer another enticing idea.”

He winced, already knowing that whatever it was would be embarrassing. “What is that?”

“She suggested that I be the one to feed you the bottles. I mean, that’s your choice, of course. But she thought that maybe the human element would be comforting to you. I imagine it’s bad enough that you’re already left drinking from anything other than a breast.”

He quickly considered whether or not he liked that idea. The answer was, obviously: Yes. But there was an asterisk that followed. Yes*

*Yes, I’d like that a lot, but I don’t know if I want my boss to feed me with a baby bottle filled with my girlfriend’s breastmilk.

“We’ll see,” he said.

“That’s cute,” she quickly replied. “I like that you think you have that sort of willpower.”

“You...don’t know,” he said, knowing full well that both of them knew she was right.

She shrugged. “We’ll see, I suppose. The conference room is reserved for us at noon. That's about a half hour from now. So, I’ll see you there, yes?”

He sighed. “What other choice do I have?”

“You’re welcome to take your lunch—Mommy’s milk—anywhere you want to. But I imagine you’ll want to be somewhere that you don’t have to keep looking over your shoulder. And I can at least guarantee you that peace of mind.”

He nodded; this wasn’t anything he didn’t already know himself. He wanted to think that he’d take the next 30 minutes to really weigh the pros and cons of Cynthia’s proposition, but he already had a good idea of where he’d land.

--

“I assume you had a chance to talk with Cynthia?” asked Marianne.

The first thing he did, after leaving Cynthia’s office, was to step outside and call her.

“Yeah, she told me about...what you and her had talked about last night, I guess.”

“And? Did you need clarification on any of it? I’m not sure while you’re calling me. Were neither of us clear enough?”

“I just… Are you sure about this?”

“Sure?” she asked. “Sure about what?”

“Her? And...the bottles. I mean, she’s going to have me transferred to her team. She’s going to be my boss.”

“And?”

Was there really any other response he could’ve expected? It had been a kneejerk reaction to call her in the first place, and now that he had, he felt stupid.

“I understand that this is all rather new for you,” she said. “And myself, really. Trusting someone who was only recently a complete stranger to me with taking care of my baby?”

He blushed at hearing her say that b-word.

“But this will be good for both of us. Now, look, I’m pretty busy so I can’t listen to you cry to me for too long. But I’ll say this: I have put my trust into Miss Cynthia, and you need to do the same. The sooner you embrace her role as another of your caretakers, the easier this is going to be. There’s only so much resistance you can offer before…”

He swallowed, knowing where this was probably going.

“...well, I’ve given her the authority to paddle any exceptionally misbehaved babies. And, as you said, she’s soon to be your boss. That’s not the kind of person I’d want to aggravate, if I were you.”

“Y-yeah,” he said.

“Are we good here? I can end this call, get back to work, and trust that you’re going to be a good baby boy?”

“Yes,” he said, humbled and defeated.

“One more thing,” she said.

“Uh, yeah?”

“You ought to bring a clean diaper with you to lunch. If I know you—and I think that I do—you’re probably already halfway to needing a change.”

She wasn’t wrong. Since entering this always-diapered phase of his life, he found himself becoming more and more lax about when and how often he had used his diapers. He had slowly drifted away from the habit of having a heavier wetting every few hours and was now wetting himself more frequently, smaller streams each time. It had even been getting to the point where he barely even thought about it all that much.

“B-but…”

“I think I’ve said everything I need to, Baby. Enjoy your lunch.”

--

He knocked on the conference room door, and it opened almost immediately.

“Ah, there you are. I knew you’d come to your senses,” Cynthia said, a very smug smile plastered across her face.

“I...I’m here for lunch,” he said, holding up the paper bag with the bottles of Marianne’s breastmilk inside of it. His satchel—a glorified diaper bag—hung from his shoulder.

It was a mystery as to whether anyone else had peered inside of his bag in the fridge. By the time he retrieved it, it seemed to be in a slightly different spot as when he put it into the fridge in the morning. It could easily be dismissed as just the result of comings and goings of other lunches in the fridge that shifted his bag around, but there was a non-zero percent chance that someone, at some point, had looked inside the bag to see if it was their lunch or not. If they had—what did they think when they saw what was actually in there?

“First thing’s first,” Cynthia said, turning the lock on the conference room door. “Your Mommy said that there was a good chance you’d be waddling in here with a wet bottom. I trust you brought a change for yourself?”

He slowly tilted his head to his satchel.

“Good boy,” she cooed. He felt his cheeks warm at her condescending tone. He was frustrated by how good she was at this already. She had either done her research, or she was just a natural at talking down to infantilized men. “Can you pull down your pants for me?”

“Well, I...but…”

“Oh come now,” she said. “How else am I expected to check your diaper?”

He looked back at the door again, confirming that it was locked. He let out a little sigh and unbuckled his belt before tugging his pants down to his knees. And there he was, once more, down to his diaper in front of his co-worker—and soon-to-be boss.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He had no response, and he just hung his head in shame instead. She reached under him, squeezing the hanging bulk between his legs.

“I haven’t seen many wet diapers, I’ll admit,” she said. “But I don’t think it takes much experience to tell when a diaper is soaked or not.”

He let out a stubborn “Grmph”—both a confirmation and a humiliated distress call.

“The bottom of your diaper is yellow, for one,” she said. “And in feeling it, well, you can tell that you’ve been working on this one a bit this morning.”

He wanted to defend himself. He wanted to tell her that he really didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. If he had to wear diapers all the time, then of course he was going to use them. But he said nothing—she likely already knew these things.

“Your diaper should get changed before you go back to work,” she said. “But maybe that can wait until after we’re done with your bottles. You know, just in case you need to piddle yourself further.”

His cheeks grew rosier.

“Or worse,” she said. “I mean, it was lunch time when I spotted you in the parking garage, right? And you had done far more than just wet yourself. Remember?”

He offered the slightest of nods. He remembered that day all too well, and how she managed to see right through his lies about the stench of his messy diaper being the result of plumbing issues in the garage.

“Is that the kind of thing I can expect from you when I feed you?” she asked. “Will I be feeding you your bottle and then changing your dirty little bottom?”

“N-no,” he said. “I usually don’t, uh, do that during the day.”

“Your Mommy seems to think it’s going to happen much more often as time goes on.”

“Oh?”

“It makes sense, really. The more dependent on your diapers you become, the less say you’ll have in when you go. Or...how you’ll go.”

He ran a nervous hand through his hair.

“But not to worry. Should you make a mess of your diaper while at work, I’ll be more than happy to take care of you. Do you want my advice?”

He was so overwhelmed that he could barely focus. “Uh, okay?”

“Since we’ll be meeting regularly so I can feed you your bottles anyways, you might as well just try and fill up that diaper for me. I think it’d be a lot better than having an accident while at your desk and having to go and find me.”

“But...I could just go and change myself and…”

“Did your Mommy not tell you yet? Soon she won’t be sending you to work with diapers. She ordered new diapers and had them shipped to me. So I’ll be holding onto them in my office. If you need a new diaper during the day, you’re going to have to come to me.”

He did not know that, and he found it to be an especially humiliating idea. Of all the things he wanted to react to, he started with the thing on the tip of his tongue: “I...I don’t need to mess my diaper right now.”

“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug. “But if you need to fill your pants while I feed you your bottles, I won’t judge you.”

He didn’t completely believe that. She’d judge him. Mock him. Poke fun at him. Humiliate him mercilessly, and she’d love every second of it.

But...he didn’t entirely hate the idea of that either.

She took the bag from him, pulling out the two bottles of breastmilk before sitting them on the conference table.

“The one downside of repurposing this conference room as our, uh, nursery is that there’s not a convenient place for me to feed you your bottles,” she said. “There’s no couch or...backseat of your girlfriend’s car.”

He blushed again as he shook his head. It seemed so easy for her to humiliate him—though Marianne’s involvement all but ensured that she had plenty of ammunition to work with.

“I could just drink from the bottle myself,” he said, reaching for one.

She quickly slapped his hand away. “We’re just going to have to get cozy on the floor,” she said. She grasped both bottles and marched to a vacant space on the floor near the wall before sitting down. “Come over here, please.”

He thought back to what Marianne had told him on the phone: I’ve given her the authority to paddle any exceptionally misbehaved babies. As tempting as it was to stubbornly resist, it seemed better to just go with the flow for now. He began to pull his pants up so that he could walk to her.

“Wait,” she said. “You shouldn’t pull your pants back up. Take them off. We’ll need to change your diaper when we’re done with the bottles anyway.”

He sighed and shoved his pants back down his legs again. Then, seeking the easiest way to proceed, he slipped his feet out of his shoes so that he could easily work the pants off of him altogether.

“Much better,” she said, stifling a giggle at the sight of him standing before her in his button up shirt, diaper, and socks.

There was something about having a diaper on—sans pants—that seemed harder to manage than wearing a diaper under pants. Pants at least kept the diaper in place. It was a challenge, but a controlled challenge. Without pants, the diaper sagged more, and bunched up in weird places. There was no chance of just walking across the room like a normal adult—he had a shameful and pronounced waddle, all while being far too aware of Cynthia’s eyes fixated on his sagging diaper.

Just as she carefully studied him, he looked her over again. Sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, it wasn’t the best angle. But her voluptuous chest seemed perfectly framed in her blouse. He thought back to all the meetings he had stared at her chest as she talked and presented information. Now, it was right there—closer than it had ever been before. It’d be even closer soon.

Reaching the wall, he sat down next to her, cringing as his soggy diaper crinkled beneath him.

“Good boy,” she cooed. “Do you want your bottle?”

He nodded.

“Do you...want to lay in my lap like you do when you’re breastfeeding from Mommy?” she asked. Her tone seemed genuine, and with her snide and mocking tone stripped away, he was reminded that he had previously seen her as a kind and sympathetic person.

He worried that he’d look foolish—but he was already in just a wet diaper in a conference room with his new boss. He leaned into her, laying down in her lap. Were this Marianne, she’d cradle his back as she lowered a plump breast into his mouth to suckle from. Cynthia, meanwhile, seemed a little less in her element, though she had a basic idea of what she needed to do. Her left hand supported the back of his head and neck, while her right brought the bottle up to his mouth.

He took the soft silicone nipple between his lips and suckled from it. It was the same familiar, comforting, breastmilk—albeit a little different when chilled. He had worried that the experience would seem far too awkward to enjoy, but it turned out to be exciting in a completely different way. The same surreal thought he had earlier sprung to mind again: His boss was feeding him his girlfriend’s breastmilk.

“That’s it,” she cooed to him. “You’re doing such a good job. Go on. Get every last drop.”

Despite his current humiliation and trepidation, there was something happening in his diaper that seems to betray everything he was feeling emotionally. His manhood stiffened, causing a little tent to form in his diaper.

“Adorable,” she said, clearly noticing the same thing. “Is that for me?”

He let out a muffled grunt that could be taken in any number of ways.

“If I had a free hand,” she said with a laugh, “I’d probably play with that too. If I remember correctly, isn’t that what Mommy does? She rubs your little dick through your diaper while she breastfeeds you?”

He considered responding, but he’s not even sure what he’d say. Yes, all of that is correct. Or maybe, Yes, please rub me through my diaper. Please, please, please.

The first bottle is eventually drained and she set it aside. The second bottle sat right next to her, and he knew it was coming. But first, in this reprieve, she let her free hand wander onto his diaper. He moaned softly as her fingers gently squeezed and explored it again; crinkling and rustling the plastic.

“Do you like that?” she asked.

“Y-yeah,” he stammered, nodding.

“I imagine HR would have a field day if they saw any of this,” she said with a laugh. He found it amusing too, but the sensation of her hand on his diaper required too much of his focus to provide much of a response beyond a small half-smile.

“Your Mommy said that she likes to tease you with the promise of making you, uh, blow your load in your diaper. Only for her to pull away at the last minute and leave you all flustered and frustrated.”

Not only was that true, but he was very disappointed to hear that she remembered that conversation. “She does that, yeah…”

“Interesting,” she said, letting her hand glide back and forth on the front of his diaper, catching his cock between the thick folds of the crinkly padding. “I can only imagine how much more frustrating that might be if you were at work. Like if you had to go back to your desk after this? Gosh, that might be downright painful.”

“Please…” he started. He hadn’t intended to say anything at all, but he wanted so much. He needed. He lusted.

“Please?” she asked. “Please what?”

“Please...let me...finish. In my diaper.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that…”

“P-please, Cynthia.”

“So let me get this straight. I feed you bottles. I change your diaper. I get you onto my team and supervise you while we’re working. And yet you’d like even more from me?”

“I...I just…” He was tempted to say that this was the way things were because she wanted them to be this way. She was the one who had asked Marianne—Mommy—to participate. He didn’t say that.

“If I’m going to do that for you, then I’m going to need something from you too.”

His heart sank. What else was there? What else could she possibly want? She had elbowed her way into his strange kinky life and now she had demands?

Still, he thought he’d hear her out. “What do you want?”

She patted the saturated padding between his legs. “I want you to finish filling that diaper.”

For a moment, he didn’t quite grasp what she was asking for. He had already steadily wet himself throughout the morning and, by her own earlier admission, he was in need of a diaper change. Was she asking for him to wet himself yet again? Or…

“D-do you mean that you want me to…”

She grinned. “Go on, baby. You can say it.”

“You want me to mess myself?”

“That’s right,” she said, nodding. “Can you even think of a better trust exercise between us—a supervisor and her new team member? You’d show me you trust me to take care of you if you made a stinky poop in your diaper. And I’d show you that I can take care of you no matter what you do.”

“I...I don’t know.”

She shrugged. “It’s up to you. Your Mommy certainly didn’t put me up to this, though I bet she wouldn’t be upset to hear about it. If you want me to make you cream your little pamper, then you need to push a dirty little mess into your diaper for me. And if you don’t, well, then no sticky treats for you.”

He sighed, already stressed about this new proposition. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but she had the new bottle of breastmilk at the ready, and she pushed the nipple into his mouth. Immediately, his lips wrapped around it and he automatically began suckling.

“You have until the end of this bottle to decide,” she said. “Then I’m changing you so that we can get back to work—regardless of the state of your diaper.”

As he drank his lunch, he considered this predicament. Cynthia had gone from stumbling into his private world to being a star in it. And now? Was this blackmail? Had she turned it into a game? Or was this just some sort of powertrip?

Because she certainly had power now. All the power.

He knew there wasn’t much time left before he finished the second bottle. The first question that came to mind was: Could I even mess myself if I wanted to? The answer was, embarrassingly, ‘probably.’ The truth was, now that most of his diet consisted of breast milk and baby food, there was an almost constant ache in his bowels during the day. Aside from the incident in the parking garage, he was honestly surprised that he hadn’t unleashed a filthy mess in his diapers while at work yet.

The promise of her playing with him through his diaper until he came—that was a thrilling prospect by itself—but it almost didn’t need to be on the table at all. If Cynthia had only asked him to mess himself because she wanted to see it, he would’ve still considered it. It was yet another fantasy of his—filling his diaper at work while his coworkers watched on, knowing exactly what was happening.

“I know,” she cooed, as if able to read his thoughts. “It’s a hard decision, isn’t it? It’d probably be pretty embarrassing to go and make a stinky diaper while I fed you in my lap. But, then again, maybe that’s exactly the kind of thing you want.”

Fuck, she was deep inside of his mind right now.

Time was running out. It was now, or not at all—at least until tomorrow. And then he’d just spend the next 24 hours obsessing over everything that could’ve been.

Fine, he thought. I hope this isn’t the stupidest thing I ever do.

While the silicone nipple remained in his mouth, he ceased suckling on it for a moment so that he could draw in a deep breath. With a long moaning sigh, he pushed on his bowels as hard as he could. Which, as it turned out, was far harder than he would’ve needed to.

He exploded into the diaper with an almost comical ‘pop’ that was quickly followed by a humiliating string of sloppy, wet, emissions. His bowel movement—the same soupy glop that had slowly become the new normal—filled every nook and crevice in the back and bottom of his diaper, with the mass hungrily eating up any vacant space that it could find. Worse, he felt like he couldn’t shut it off once he started. Wave after wave of rank mush filled his diaper, each summoning soft groans and embarrassed squeaks from his mouth.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh my. I...I didn’t think that you’d actually…”

The deed was done and there was little else to do about it. He resumed suckling from his bottle.

She shook her head, smiling. “Such a stinky, stinky, little boy. Is this what you do with your Mommy? Soil your diaper while suckling from her breasts?”

He offered a slight nod of the head.

“I suppose I should consider myself honored then,” she said, “that I’d get the same treatment.”

He finished the bottle soon after, offering a satisfied little belch as she pulled the bottle away from him to set it next to the other empty bottle.

“Now then,” she said. “We have some other business to tend to.”

He said nothing, lost in a mix of humiliation and pleasure.

“First things first, I believe I promised you a sweet treat for filling your diaper like a good baby.”

He nodded, probably much more eagerly than he had meant to.

Her hand was already on the front of his diaper, stroking the stiff lump through the crinkling plastic. “Does it turn you on?” she asked. “Getting rubbed like this while you stink up this room something awful with that putrid diaper?”

“W-well...”

“Communication is key,” she said. “That’s always been my motto in this company. And if you’re going to be working for me, I think it’s important that you communicate clearly and effectively. So maybe you ought to practice now.”

“Practice?”

“Well, sure. Like, you could try telling me about how badly you want to be made to climax in your smelly pampers.”

“I, uh…”

“Go on,” she said. “You’ve already done the worst of it with barely any hesitation. This can’t be that much worse, right?”

It was, somehow. Doing it was one thing. Talking about it—putting it into words with Cynthia as his audience—was another entirely.

“I...uhm...really want to…” He paused and took a deep breath. She was absolutely right—the worst of it was already over. He unleashed an apocalyptic mess into the back of his diaper while he drank a bottle that she fed to him. What good was a sense of shame now?

“Yes?” she asked.

He cleared his throat and tried again: “I really want you to make me come in my diaper. I...want to feel so pathetic and disgusting, getting rubbed off by you after I just pooped my diaper like that and…”

Her hand was already stroking the lump in the diaper again. His voice trailed off as he moaned.

“That’s a good boy,” she said. “Let’s get it all out of your system. After all, you’ve gotten everything else out of your body and into your diaper for me.”

He moaned again, a strained and primal noise.

“Has there ever been a luckier baby?” she cooed. “Not one, but two women who just want to dote on you and treat you like a giant toddler? My my, you’re going to make all the other babies so jealous.”

“I… I’m going to…”

“I must confess, I don’t know how I can keep all this excitement to myself. Looking out my office window everyday and seeing you at that desk? Just knowing that you’re making a little puddle in your diaper? I almost want to dress you like a literal baby, and keep you in a playpen in my office all day. That would be your job—office baby. And just think of how much the other women would adore that. Julia from accounting. Nadia in receiving. Jackie? Michelle? Annette?”

“Gonna…” the word morphed into another guttural non-word before fading into silence, giving way to just the sound of his diaper crinkling as he thrust himself up and down a few final times.

“It sounds like that did the trick,” she said.

She took the lack of a response on his part as confirmation.

“So, I guess this is the part where we need to get you cleaned up so we can get out of here, huh?”

He offered a meek nod, still mostly adrift in pleasure.

She carefully slid him off her lap so that he was laying squarely on his back on the ground. Next, she opened the satchel, finding a new diaper and a package of wipes waiting for her.

“I worry that I’ve bit off more than I can chew,” she says with a nervous laugh. “I definitely didn’t consider just how pungent this room would be in the wake of your dirty little mess. I’m worried it’s going to stink like this for the next week.”

He blushed, wondering if any other meetings were scheduled in this room after they were to leave. One whiff, and one curious search through the schedule, could point back to Cynthia—who might have some explaining to do.

“It’s actually not a problem,” she said, tapping at her phone. “Nobody else is scheduled to use this room this afternoon, so I’ll just go ahead and book it for the rest of the day. Here’s to hoping our little smelly secret goes unsniffed, hmm?”

He shrugged nervously, though he was feeling a little relieved.

“Now then. About this diaper…”

She slowly peeled back each tape that held the diaper around him. It could have been psychosomatic, but he swore that with the sound of each tape being removed, the stench of his mess had become thicker and more pervasive in the air around him. By the time all the tapes were removed, he almost wanted to gag at the scent of himself. He couldn’t begin to imagine what she was thinking.

But to her credit, she held it together as she pulled back the front of the diaper, revealing the—no doubt—nightmarish mess within. She giggled, holding a hand up to her mouth. More out of surprise than anything else. Embarrassingly, this wouldn’t have been the first time Cynthia had seen him in this state.

“I have to say, Everett, this is some impressive work. You put this kind of effort into our projects at work and you’re going to kill it.” Still, she waved her hand in front of her face, a mostly symbolic gesture suggesting that she was very well aware of just how toxic he had become.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She laughed. “It’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re a baby, after all. Babies do these things. I suppose I might have bit off more than I could chew. I couldn’t just feed you a bottle and check your diaper, right? I had to talk you into doing...this. But maybe that’s not a bad thing. If I can clean this up, is there anything I won’t be able to handle after?”

It was sound logic, though it hadn’t exactly instilled much confidence in him. She was right about this being more than she could handle. It was more than he could handle. He had lost himself in the moment, failing to consider how bad of an idea it was to fill his diaper while inside of his office building.

“We’ll handle this the way I handle any problem at work,” she said. “You start small, and chip away at the larger problem, until the larger problem isn’t that large anymore.”

She drew a moist wipe and spread his legs apart. She began carefully wicking away the splattered mess on his inner thighs. Once his legs were cleaned off, she wiped away the mess around and near his balls. Sure enough, she managed to slowly whittle away the mess one small area at a time until all that was left for him to do was to arch his back into the air so that she could thoroughly wipe clean his bottom. She pulled out the destroyed diaper, replacing it with a fresh one.

“Let’s just seal up this foul thing nice and tight,” she said. “But I’m going to put it in your little diaper bag, and it’ll be up to you to get rid of it. I trust you’ll want to do that as soon as possible—and somewhere outside. My apologies if your bag ends up smelling like a dirty diaper for a while.”

She lacked the speed and precision that Marianne used in a diaper change, but she had made up for it with her methodical thoroughness. The new diaper was secured tightly around him, and that was that.

“All done,” she said, smiling. “I changed my first messy diaper. My first diaper, period. And fed you your bottles. Gosh, what a momentous day.”

He took a deep breath and sighed as he crawled to his pants so that he could put them back on over his new diaper. “That was...good. Thank you.”

“Was that hard to admit?” she asked.

“N-no. I just… Marianne is going to be very happy that this worked out so well.”

“You think?” Cynthia asked, beaming with pride.

He nodded, now working on sliding his shoes back on. He declined elaborating on that thought aloud, but he thought about how Marianne would probably like this too much. He couldn’t even imagine where she’d take this little game now that Cynthia’s willing presence greatly expanded the possibilities.

They stood next to each other, straightened out, dressed, and looking almost exactly as they had before they entered the conference room.

“I, uh, have to take my bag outside,” he said, his cheeks maintaining the near-constant state of pink they had been in for the last several minutes.

“Yeah?” she asked with a playful smirk. “And what do you have to do?”

She knew damn well what he had to do—they had just talked about it moments ago. “Well...you know…”

“I just want to hear you say it again.”

The answer could have been as simple as saying ‘I’m going to throw something away in a dumpster outside,’ but he already knew that wouldn’t be good enough.

“I...have to take my dirty diaper outside and throw it in the dumpster,” he said. “Because, uh, otherwise it’s going to...smell really bad.”

“Oh, it already smells plenty bad,” she said, waving her hand in front of her nose. “It’ll just smell worse.”

He nodded; no arguing there.

“Let’s get on with it then. You go toss out your poopy pamper outside. I’m going to make sure nobody plans on using this room for a while, and then I promised your Mommy that I’d call her and tell how things went.”

“Okay…”

“And then at some point, I’ll have to call you into my office again for a diaper check. And maybe I’ll have an update for you on your transfer to my team.”

He sighed again, nodding. He wasn’t distressed or upset at this as much as he was reminded that this was going to be the way things were going to be from here on out.

Baby at home. Baby at work. The sooner he accepted that, the easier it’d be.

He made the long trek out of the office, winding through the hallways, stairwells, and lobbies while praying that nobody he passed could smell the toxic bundle he carried around in his satchel. Outside, he shamefully dumped his cursed parcel into the dumpster at a moment when it seemed least likely that anyone could’ve seen him.

Shortly after, he got a text from Marianne: A single smiley-face emoji. No doubt that she either had talked, or was currently talking, to Cynthia.

There was nothing left to do but to waddle back to his desk, while waiting to see what strange directions his life would take him in next.