Doing Business, Part 7 (Patreon)

Seven

From: Samantha Hayden <st.hayden12@xxxxxxxxx>

Date: Monday, March 21 at 5:45 PM

To: Clark Ashburn <cashburn@xxxxxxxxx>

Subject: Internship Check-In

Good afternoon Clark,

I wanted to check-in regarding your internship. Are you enjoying this experience? Do you have any questions. As your academic advisor on campus, it’s my job to make sure all your needs are being met. Please don’t hesitate to reach out to me for any reason.

I actually received an email today from Ms. Gabrielle Heller. She thanked us for matching you with her company and has stated that you’ve already proven yourself to be an asset to the team. I’m incredibly proud of you, and I thought you should know!

Keep in touch.

Samantha Hayden

Academic Advisor, Portsburg University

—

Shortly after stepping off the train in my neighborhood, I stopped at the grocery store on the way home. I walked straight to the baby aisle, looking over the possibilities. A young woman pushed an infant in a stroller nearby, grabbing some diapers and wipes from the shelves. She seemed to have no reaction to my presence, but seeing her–an actual parent of a baby–made me feel strange.

I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong, but I wondered what her reaction would’ve been if I had told her the truth. “Hi, I’m shopping for baby supplies–for me–because my boss is making me use diapers.” Then I’d follow it up by revealing that I was wearing a diaper as I spoke to her.

But I had a hard enough time approaching women in the first place, so there were no worries about me saying something so stupid to a stranger. Though if Ms. Heller was there, I could only imagine her encouraging further interaction.

I tried not to think too much about the extra diapers that Ms. Heller had given me. They were in my messenger bag, slung over my shoulder while in the store. But there was no getting around it, their presence remained on my mind.

I started grabbing the obvious things–the items she had suggested. A large package of baby wipes, thinking it’d probably be best to have a lot of those around. A container of baby powder. I held a tube of ointment for diaper rash in my hands, debating on whether or not I’d need something like this. I opted to add it to my basket–it seemed like the sort of thing that was better to have on hand than not.

I scanned the aisle, looking for anything else that looked essential. Or, at least, interesting or curious.

I spotted diaper pail liners, which seemed interesting. It implied the need for a diaper pail. Should I have a diaper pail? I hadn’t thought much about disposing of diapers at home, but I realized that I probably should. Used diapers, I had quickly learned, could smell. And I didn’t live alone. A good diaper disposal system was preferable to having to explain to my roommate that I was now wearing diapers. I made a mental note to look into a diaper pail later.

Baby shampoo? Thrillingly humiliating in concept, but I’d pass on that for now. Baby lotion? I didn’t really quite know what its purpose was, but I liked the idea of it. I added it to the basket. Baby bottles? I was curious, and added one to the basket. Another pacifier featuring a cartoonish plastic lion? Added it to the basket. Jars of baby food? Sounded disgusting but…maybe that was fun in itself? A few jars were added to the basket.

At the cashier, a feeling of shame washed over me as I placed the items on the conveyor belt. But I wasn’t doing anything wrong–I was just buying things. The cashier knew absolutely nothing about what I was doing with my life, nor did they care. I was the only one attaching any sort of terror to the moment. I’d need to get used to that.

I left the store without incident. I was mostly pleased at this, but a small part of me had hoped for a little more chaos. And while I wasn’t sure what I wanted from ‘chaos,’ I had spent the rest of my walk home considering what could’ve been. For example, the cashier looking down at my haul before looking back up at me. “Is this all for you? Are you the baby?” Highly unlikely, but exciting. Or, perhaps being called out by the young mother in the baby aisle. “Do you even have a baby, or are you going to be the one with diaper rash?”

The excitement of those thoughts troubled me a little bit. It felt indicative of what my future could be–a slave to the growing need for humiliation. How far would I end up going for Ms. Heller?

I tried to imagine the worst case scenario. What was the most humiliating thing that she could possibly do to me? I imagined being marched out in front of the entire company in just a diaper. A full diaper. She stood behind me, waving her hand in front of her face to signal to everyone that I had, in fact, done something dreadful.

Yes, that seemed good. And then she’d change my diaper right there. And tease me with the key to my cage, dangling it above my face. Maybe she’d toss them into the crowd, and I’d have to find out who now controlled access to my shrunken cock.

I felt myself growing hard in my pants. In my diaper. I was supposed to be frightening myself. I was supposed to be seeing the worst case scenario and convincing myself that I didn’t want to go down that path. Yet my throbbing manhood–boyhood, as it was referred to earlier–suggested that this was something I might actually strive for.

“You should’ve told me that you were going to the store,” said Evan as I entered our apartment. My roommate was perpetually home, on account of not only taking his remaining courses online, but having one of those work-from-home jobs that I used to wish I had. Back before I discovered the joy of humiliation in the workplace.

“Oh, uh, this?” I asked, looking down at the shopping bag hanging from my hands. “Shit, yeah. Sorry about that.”

He shrugged. “No worries. Did you get anything good?”

Yes, as a matter of fact. All sorts of baby supplies.

“Just a few…things for myself,” I said.

“I really ought to go to the store sometime,” he said, slowly turning his attention back to the TV.

That was an incredible understatement. He didn’t just need to go to the store, he needed to get outside, period. The man never left the apartment. Ever. Some days I assumed it was just a pervasive weirdness. Others I wondered if it was some form of agoraphobia that he should seek a therapist for.

It usually didn’t actually bother me–we were rarely lacking for our own personal space. But the sudden introduction of diapers in my life had me worried about the prospect of Evan’s constant presence. Even when he was in his bedroom, and I was in mine, there’d be crinkling. Smells. The last thing I wanted was him questioning why the whole apartment smelled like baby powder. Or worse.

“How’s the internship?” he asked, still looking forward at the television.

Yet another question I couldn’t give an actual answer to. “My boss wants to put me in chastity so that I can’t even get off when I piss my diaper for her.”

“Same old, same old,” I said instead. But his question did remind me of one of the many things I needed to think about–Ms. Heller’s job offer. “Actually, let me run something by you.”

“Yeah? Alright.”

“My, uh, boss has offered me a position. Like, an actual job–not an internship.”

“Oh yeah?” He nodded, seemingly impressed. “You must be doing something right, yeah?”

“Well…it’s not a glamorous position. I’d be my boss’s assistant.”

“Like a secretary?”

“Not like a receptionist, no. Well, maybe a little bit. More of an assistant.”

Diaper-wearing plaything.

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“It’s full-time.”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked, shrugging.

“It’s a…commitment. I wouldn’t have the internship anymore.”

“Would you need it?”

It was a fair question. “I guess not. But I’d have to rearrange some of my classes and…”

“It’s a full time job with a big company like that?” he asked, shaking his head. “I think you have to. You want to get your foot in the door, you know?”

He was right. I had come to the same conclusions earlier myself, but it felt good to have it confirmed by someone else.

“Well, I’ve got some, uh, stuff to do,” I said, gesturing towards my room. “I’ll see you later.”

He did his patented Evan finger-guns towards me, his nonverbal way of communicating either ‘hello’ or goodbye.’

It was just me again. Me and my diaper. And my new baby supplies. I laid out all of my new purchases on the bed so that I could look them over. Then, I took the stack of diapers from my messenger bag and laid them out on the bed too. There it all was–my infantile armory.

I picked up the baby powder, turning the cap to open it. I took a big whiff of the faint white cloud that poofed out from the tiny openings. Heavenly. It reminded me of being in Ms. Heller’s office again, lying on my back as she coated me with it just before sealing me into a new diaper.

I missed her.

It was a weird thought. For a moment, it almost felt alien–as if someone else had planted that thought into my subconscious. My first reaction was to brush that feeling aside, finding it disingenuous. Yet, I could still feel that longing inside of me. As humiliating as her game was, and as easy as it was to say that she was just using me for her own means, she still managed to make me feel…noticed. Wanted.

Yeah, I missed her. I missed Mommy.

I held one of the jars of baby food in my hands. Organic sweet potato, apple, carrot, and cinnamon. That was all one flavor, in one jar. I couldn’t even imagine all those flavors together at once, and I found it hard to believe that an actual baby had ever craved such a combination. It sounded like the result of an accident at the baby food factory. But, sure, I’d try it.

First, of course, I’d need to get into Baby Mode. I took off all my clothes, piling them up on the end of the bed to deal with later. I was only in my diaper now. I had wet myself–a tiny little puddle, really–while walking between the store and the apartment. The diaper, so thick and with so much absorbent padding between my legs, showed barely any sign of having been used.

I can fix that. I stood still, and within a few moments, I was wetting the diaper. Once more, the garment grew heavier on me as it swelled and sagged between my legs. That felt so much better. That felt like the sort of thing a baby was supposed to do before eating his jarred baby food.

I sat down on the ground, feeling the soggy diaper crinkle and squish beneath me as I opened the jar with a satisfying POP. I realized that I didn’t bring any sort of spoon or utensil with me. But it was a complete non-issue. I was leaning on my more basic instincts–thinking like a baby, I told myself–and knew the solution was to simply dip my fingers into the jar.

The burnt sienna glop stuck to my fingers and I led them back to my mouth where I licked them clean. The food tasted vaguely of all the ingredients listed on the label, yet none of them seemed especially strong or overpowering. It just tasted kind of bland. Wet cardboard with a subtle sweetness. But this was likely for the best. I liked that it didn’t taste like anything I recognized, and I liked that it didn’t taste horrible. It was for babies, like me.

I felt that longing for Ms. Heller again. Mommy. I wished she could see this. I wish I could tell her what I was doing right now. I grabbed my phone and quickly snapped a few quick selfies. Reviewing them, I could see that my fingers were still stained orange. Traces of orange goo were splattered around the edges of my lips.

“I need a bib.”

The feeling of the diaper’s thickened padding under me was stimulating in all the right places. I rocked my body back and forth on the diaper. Looking towards the bed, I thought of the bottle of baby lotion. I wasn’t sure what the intended purpose of it was, but I knew what I could use it for. While I still could, that was. Someday soon, I might be under lock and key.

The lotion smelled much like the baby powder did. I found it euphoric. I tilted the bottle towards my palm, but quickly changed course. I had a better idea that I wanted to try. I pulled open the front of my diaper and squirted a stream of lotion directly into it instead. When I let the waistband return to its place, the cool lotion was trapped between my skin and the saturated padding, with my stiffening member stuck between them.

Despite not having ever done anything like this before, I had a good idea of what I wanted to do. I laid myself out flat on the ground before flipping over to my belly. And then, with my lotioned diaper pressed against the carpet, I began humping the ground. I was grinding against the diaper, slicked by the combination of the infantile lotion and my own wetness. That was it–that was the shameful feeling I wanted. Needed.

“Mommy,” I pleaded into the air with nobody to hear me. “Mommy, look at me… Look at what I’m doing. I wet my diaper! I’m humping my diaper! Am I a good boy?” The words stuck in my brain and I began to sound like a broken record, timing each word with another thrust into the slippery diaper. “Am. I. A. Good. Boy. Mommy? Please? Mommy?”

My stamina didn’t stand a chance, and I messily erupted into the already sticky diaper. I would stay like that for a few minutes–collapsed face down on the floor.

There was a light knock on the door. “Clark?”

I slowly rolled over and sat up. It was rare that Evan knocked on my door for any reason. “Y-yeah?”

“Hey…if it’s none of my business, just let me know. But... Are you okay in there?”

My heart pounded as I looked down at my diaper. Still plump and soaked. Remnants of white goop dripped down my belly, back into the diaper.

“Yeah, I’m…good.”

“Alright,” he said. “I just wasn’t sure what I was hearing and…well, nevermind. I’ll leave you be.”

I could hear his footsteps walking away from the door. I sighed and shook my head. What the hell had he just heard? The temptation was strong to just hurl myself out the window in embarrassment. I had even made a point to tell myself to be careful with Evan’s omnipresence in the apartment, yet I just had to go and get carried away while pleasuring myself in my diaper.

I didn’t have to confront him now, but I’d have to eventually. Maybe I could stay in my room for a few more years first. Maybe he’d forget by the time I emerged.

Fuck.

It was like a curse. Or, perhaps, I was really bad at being discreet and subtle about these things. First Lyndie and now Evan? Was my mother going to be next? Was she going to call in a minute and complain that I didn’t think of her first if I needed a diaper change?

I took a deep breath. And then another. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as I thought it was. Maybe he only thought he heard something. I’d just walk out of the room and be ready to say that anything he thought he heard was actually something else. As far as I knew–he knew nothing and it was only going to stay that way.

I almost pulled my pants on over the diaper, but quickly thought better of it. There was no way that I could waddle out in this destroyed thing without him knowing. While standing, I tore away the tapes and let it fall to the ground with a heavy SPLAT–a humiliating sound in itself.

“Hey,” I said, finally emerging from my room–fully dressed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bug you before,” he said, twisting to face me from the living room couch. “I just…was worried about you for a moment and wanted to be sure you were okay.”

“Totally fine,” I said, forcing a fake laugh as I attempted to play it off like everything was fine.

“Okay,” he said, shrugging. He seemed a little apprehensive–the look of someone who had questions but was too afraid to ask them.

I should’ve let it go. There was absolutely no reason to continue the conversation. And yet, my curiosity had overpowered my logic.

“What do you think you heard?”

“Oh. It…it doesn’t matter.”

Leave it alone. Don’t keep poking.

“I’m just curious,” I said, digging deeper.

“Well…you were, uhm, shouting about…Mommy? Something about, uh, a diaper?”

I had poked way too much, and as expected, it had disastrous results.

“Shouting? I was…shouting?”

He grimaced and shrugged again. “Well, you weren’t quiet about it.”

“Shit,” I muttered to myself.

“It’s none of my business,” he said, “but is that something you’re, like, into?”

Did he really expect me to answer that question? Or maybe the real question was whether or not I was going to allow myself to answer that. Because so far, I seemed to be my own worst enemy.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have been so loud.”

Evan sniffed at the air. I knew what he was smelling, because it was the same scent in my nose. The baby lotion–and the quantity of it that I had squirted into the diaper earlier–had given me a very strong infantile scent.

“Sorry,” I said again. “That scent is, uh, strong.”

He shrugged. “I don’t hate it? But I suppose I’m wondering if I should be, like, expecting to smell that more often?”

I sighed, weighing all options of how I could respond. I could offer a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ I could run away and avoid answering. Or, maybe, I could tell him everything. Or just enough. Maybe that’d be liberating for me. I could tell him what to expect. Baby powder. Diapers. Dirty diapers. Did I owe him that truth? Would I want to know if he had a similar weird shift in his lifestyle?

“Y-yeah,” I said. “Probably.” I hoped that answer was sufficient.

He chuckled softly to himself before shrugging. “Alright.”

I wished he had said more. He certainly wasn’t obligated to, and I could understand why he didn’t. But I had just given him a lot of information about myself and I knew next to nothing about how he actually felt about it.

Don’t go poking for answers again. This time I listened to myself. If he absolutely hated it, hopefully he would have said as much. The best I could do was to assume it wasn’t a problem for him until he said it was.

I quickly retreated back to my bedroom and closed the door behind me. Nothing sounded better than burying my head under a pillow until the memory of all the mistakes I had made dissipated.

And I’d get to that. But first, I needed to put another diaper on.