Doing Business, Part 12 (Patreon)

Twelve

We were all trying to tread the thin line between just being a bunch of young adults hanging out and being a group of semi-strangers who were all connected by the knowledge of my humiliation fetish.

For one, it felt good to have ‘friends,’ even if I wasn’t sure if that was the word I wanted to use. For this time, and any time after this, I’d be wondering if they actually wanted to spend time with me or if they just wanted to see me embarrass myself. And, of course, I didn’t mind a little bit of humiliation in the name of fun. But…I could use some friends.

For a moment, we had managed to get past my diapers and we were just talking. Three pals, talking about movies.

Ding-dong.

The doorbell chime echoed through the apartment.

“That’s probably the pizza,” I said.

“Are you going to get the door?” Lyndie asked me.

“Me? No way. Not like this.”

“Oh come on,” she pleaded. “It’s not going to hurt anyone. The delivery guy doesn’t know who you are. It’ll be funny.”

“Yeah, but…”

Ding-dong.

“You better do it soon, though,” Evan added. “Don’t want the pizza-man to think we’re not home.”

I kept hoping that Evan would be the voice of reason and would step forward to shield me from Lyndie’s attempts at humiliation. But no. He seemed to be squarely on her side.

“You really want me to answer the door?” I asked. “Like this?”

They both offered a confident nod. I was outvoted. Could I have said no? Could I have refused? Probably. But did I? Of course not.

Ding-dong. This poor and impatient delivery man.

“I’m coming!” I shouted at the door.

I shuffled my way towards the front door without any further pleading needed from the others. The thick diaper crinkling loudly without my pants in place to help muffle the noise. I took a deep breath as I grasped the door knob. Alright, here we go…

The door opened and there she was. She.

“I, uh, got your food,” the young woman said, slowly pushing the box towards me.

“Th-thank you,” I stammered, quickly taking it.

She was taking a moment to study me, taking in the whole picture. “Okay, well…you have a good night.”

“Thanks,” I said. “You too.”

And I’d never forget the smirk I saw on her face as I closed the door. Her eyes were filled with an eager amusement–wherever she was going next, she couldn’t wait to tell this story.

But out of sight, out of mind. The door was closed, Pizza-Girl was gone, and it was almost guaranteed that I’d never know the ramifications of being exposed to her in my diaper.

“Was that as awkward as it sounded?” Lyndie asked when I returned to the kitchen.

“Probably even more than you can imagine,” I said, plopping the box of pizza onto the table. I sat back down in my chair with another comical poof of powder-scented air being forced out of the padding.

Pizza and beer served as the great uniter, and for a few minutes we forgot about diapers. Just bullshitting and laughing together with other humans was refreshing, and it occurred to me that both Lyndie and Evan needed this just as much as I did. The misfits–the lone wolf, the shut-in, and the baby–we were all getting a little reprieve from the everyday.

And then I had to pee.

I couldn’t just tell them that I needed to go to the bathroom. I already knew what the response to that would be–they’d expect me to use the diaper. Truthfully, I already knew that I’d be using the diaper. The question was whether or not I’d tell them that I was.

I decided to say nothing and just do it. My body, it seemed, had become more comfortable with following through on my brain’s perverse requests. It was almost too easy to simply decide that I’d wet the diaper, and for my body to respond by immediately relaxing my control over my bladder. The warmth quickly enveloped the front of the diaper and began to spread under my bottom. The once-fluffy padding congealed into something denser. I briefly looked down between my legs, noting the obvious change in appearance the diaper had taken on. It was one thing to have the color change from white to yellow. But there was something incredibly obvious about just the wetness alone–the shamefulness overwrote any cuteness a dry diaper had.

We stayed at the table for a while longer, just chatting. Eating. Drinking. I began to suspect that everyone had forgotten about the diaper. Even when Evan excused himself to use the bathroom, I expected that to trigger Lyndie into asking me how my diaper was holding up. And I wanted her to ask. I wanted to coyly hint at what I had done until she made me show her my diaper. But alas, it wasn’t a talking point. And after a while, even I forgot about the wet diaper.

“Well, look,” Evan said, dropping an empty can of beer onto the table–his third, by my estimation. “This has been fun. But I have absolutely maxed out my social batteries. Maybe for the year. I need to go lie down for a bit. No offense to anyone here, of course. Even you, Baby Clark.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Lyndie nodded, seeming to understand where he was coming from. “It was a pleasure to meet you. Next time I come over, you’ll hang out with us again?”

“You’re coming back?” he asked.

She laughed. “I’d bet on it.”

“Then, absolutely, I will.” And he got up from the table and returned to his room, closing the door behind him.

“And then there were two,” she said. “How's that diaper holding up?”

There it was. That was the question I had been waiting for. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or upset that Evan had left before we got back to the discussion of my diaper.

“It might have seen better days,” I said.

I expected her to immediately want to see the damage, but she showed restraint. She just smiled, sipping at whatever was left in her current beer can. “Oh yeah?” she said. “You just…wet yourself while we were all talking?”

I nodded.

“Was that hard to do?”

“It was easier than it should’ve been.”

“Do you worry that you’ll ever get so used to diapers that you’ll be, like, un-potty trained?”

I grimaced a little. “I hadn’t thought about that before. I don’t think so. Is that a thing?”

She shrugged. “No idea. I guess it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if it were, right? If you were using diapers that often anyways, what does it matter if you actually just needed to keep wearing them.”

“Probably true,” I said. “Though I doubt your body ever just…forgets how to hold it.”

“For your sake, I hope not. It’s one thing to poop your pants because your boss tells you to. It’s another to poop your pants in the middle of, like, getting your haircut because you can’t hold it.”

I swallowed hard, dreading such a scenario. “Well…I guess I should be thankful that I still have control over that sort of thing. Diapers or not.”

She had a look on her face–a look I had seen before, in The Closet. It was a mischievous look. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” I said with some hesitancy.

“Does it feel good? The wet diaper?”

I nodded. “It does.”

“Do you remember the other day?” she asked. “The first time you showed me the diaper and you wet it in front of me?”

I could feel my face warming at her words. “Y-yes.”

“You got hard in your diaper,” she said. It wasn’t a question. Just a memory. A recalled observation.

I nodded again. “I…I know.”

“Does it make you hard now? Sitting there in your pissy diaper?”

I took a deep breath, nervous about where this conversation would be going. Should I be honest? Was there any reason not to be completely honest? Because up until that point, I had managed to keep my hormones at bay. I wanted to be horny about the state of my diaper, but I knew well enough to keep that to myself for the time being. But with the figurative cat out of the figurative bag, and a giant spotlight on it, I lost the ability to keep my arousal internalized. My cock was springing to life in my diaper–seemingly summoned by her question.

“It’s…exciting,” I said.

She laughed. “I keep thinking about Gabrielle changing your diaper in The Closet today. Like, I just keep replaying everything that I saw in my head.”

“Yeah…you saw some pretty crazy stuff,” I said. “Up close and personal. And you, uh, weren’t scared off?”

She shook her head. “Not really, no.” For a moment, it seemed like that was all she had to say about it, but then she added: “I liked it.”

“Yeah?”

“I really liked it.” she said.

“What, uh, did you like about it?” My cock was fully erect in the diaper now, and in the Mission Control portion of my brain, the horny-meter was off the charts.

“There was something about Gabrielle’s ability to just…lead, right? She just effortlessly waltzed in and made an adult man take his pants off so she could change his diaper. It’s totally absurd, but she never treated it like it was. I dunno…I guess I had just never seen anything like it before. It was hot.”

I laughed and nodded. “Yeah…it was hot.”

“Like…putting a man into a diaper is weird. I think we can agree on that,” she said. “Being made to wear and use a diaper is weird.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.”

“But, damn,” she said. “I just keep thinking about it. You. Diapers. Using them. Getting changed. It’s grown on me. I really like the idea of it. All of it.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I…I can relate to that.” But her admission, while not completely surprising, was still curious to me. “Do you…want to try a diaper on?”

She laughed softly, shaking her head.

“Oh,” I said, feeling a little silly for having asked.

“But,” she said, “I’d be interested in changing yours.”

“Oh.” I felt that revelation in my bones. I blushed while my cock throbbed.

“I’m not saying that I want to now. Just that…I like the idea of it. I think.”

I nodded. I was feeling overwhelmed–mostly with the need to reach into my diaper and grab my cock.

“But you’re hard now?” she asked. She had asked that before, but it occurred to me that I hadn’t really given a clear answer.

“Yes.” It didn’t get any more definitive than that.

“May I see?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Come here,” she said.

And this was what I needed. It was what I always needed–a strong woman to tell me what to do. I gladly did as she asked, sliding off my chair and onto my feet, my soggy diaper immediately sagging between my legs as I cautiously waddled to her seat.

“Oh wow,” she said, reaching to the diaper, feeling the heavy bulge that hung below me. “You really filled this up, huh?”

I nodded.

“Mommy would love this.”

I winced–not from pain, but just an overwhelming sense of desire. I loved the idea of Lyndie inspecting my dirty diaper with the intent of telling Ms. Heller–Mommy–all about what I had done.

“Should I tell her?” she asked.

I nodded.

“What do you think she’d do?”

I shrugged, honestly having no idea. Would she punish me? Take me over her knees to paddle me like a toddler? Or would she just tease me until I came in my diaper for her again?

Though, this reminded me of Mommy’s threat of chastity. The intense sexual energy I felt in my diapers and while being babied, and it would have nowhere to go after she got her device on me.

“She wants to lock me up,” I said.

“Hmm?”

“Like…chastity.”

“Oh?” Her eyes lit up again. “Is she threatening to put you in cock jail?”

I nodded.

Her hand was still on the sagging diaper, and she gave it a little squeeze, forcing a moan out of me. Her hand ventured up the saturated padding until she found the long lump that was my stiff manhood.

“She must think that you like your diapers too much, huh?”

“M-maybe…”

“Is that going to be hard for you?” she asked. “Pun intended. All locked up and no place to go?”

Her hand tightened on my diapered cock, and she began to stroke me through the padding. “Yes… Very.”

“I can’t even imagine what that’d be like,” she said softly, talking directly to my diaper as she leaned forward. “Your pretty Mommy will be touching your diaper, just like I am now, and you’ll want to have a little stiffy so badly. But you’ll have been denied.”

I intended to say something in the affirmative, but I offered only a pleasured grunt.

“I can smell your diaper,” she said. “It smells like pee.”

“Unh,” another pathetic moan as she continued to work my cock through the diaper.

“Is it bad that I like you in your wet diapers?”

“N-no…”

“Is it bad that I want to see you getting off while wearing a much stinkier diaper?”

“You mean, like…”

“Like if you were a smelly baby who went and pooped his pants?”

“No,” I said. “That isn’t bad.”

“You’re a good baby, aren’t you?” she cooed.

“I…I hope so,” I muttered between labored breaths. Her hand was working magic through the plastic padding.

“Mommy has such a good little boy, doesn’t she?”

“I…uhm…yes.” I would say that I was getting close, but it was probably already past that point. It was already happening.

I was coming in my diaper right in front of her.

I obviously couldn’t see my own face, but I could feel it contorting and stretching. I could only imagine how ridiculously pathetic I looked as I spurted my sticky load into the already-saturated padding.

After my moans had faded away, and we spent a few moments in silence to reflect on what had just occurred, she laughed to herself while looking up at me.

“Oops,” she said, playfully.

I sighed, a feeling of deep shame surging through my body to fill the void left by the dissipating pleasure.

I bit my bottom lip, debating whether or not I took a shot at further escalating this evening.

“Yes?” she asked, noting the gears turning in my head.

“Did you want to…like, change my diaper?”

She laughed, though it didn’t feel mocking. Maybe a little condescending, but in that maternal sort of way that Mommy was also good at. You silly baby, she seemed to say.

“Tempting. Maybe next time we play, I get your Mommy’s permission first?”

I nodded, my heart aflutter at the thought of her needing Mommy’s permission. It made me feel…owned. Goddamn, did I need to feel owned. Controlled. I knew what I really needed.

First thing in the morning, I’d ask Mommy for my chastity cage.