Doing Business, Part 21 (Patreon)

Twenty-One

Mommy’s hands were on my belt. Not for the first time that day, and likely not the last either. She knew her way around my pants by now. Maybe she knew her way around pants in general. A practiced skill set coming from years of turning her assistants into big babies.

Actually, I had no idea how many babies there were. Maybe it was just Hillary and I. I would have loved to sit down with Hillary. We could exchange notes and experiences. She could tell me all about her time in Ms. Heller’s care and…

The sounds of my pants falling to the floor snapped me out of my head.

“Well, let’s see what we have here,” Ms. Heller said, pressing on my full diaper with her hand. “Seems quite heavy.”

“It certainly smells heavy,” Ms. Beaufort said from the other side of the desk.

“But you’re no stranger to messy diapers, yes?” Ms. Heller asked her.

“You’d be surprised at the foul things my darling Ava can do in her diaper,” Ms. Beaufort replied, cracking up both women.

I felt the pang of secondhand embarrassment while listening to them laugh about the poor girl’s diaper. But it also made me wonder what Ms. Heller said about me when I wasn’t around.

The very thought made my face feel incredibly warm.

“I’ve smelled her ripe bottom before,” Ms. Heller said, leaning in towards my diaper to take a good whiff. “And I’m telling you right now–this little stinker makes her seem like a heavenly flower.”

If I could’ve melted through the floor, I’d have done it at that moment.

“Well you’re not going to change the dirty little prince in here, are you?” asked Ms. Beaufort.

“Are you suggesting we…”

“We finally have that new office. The nursery. You ought to take him over there–if only so you can breathe easier in here later.”

“A fine point,” Ms. Heller said, standing. “You see, Baby? This is why I consider Neve one of my best friends and associates. Let's take a little stroll to the nursery.”

I nodded sheepishly as I bent over to pull my pants back up over my diaper. It looked like I was about to be on the move again–dragging my smelly pants through more public spaces.

“Will you be joining us?” Ms. Heller asked Ms. Beaufort.

“I should check on my own baby girl,” Ms. Beaufort said nonchalantly. With a playful grin, she added: “But you’ll have to tell me what you think of the nursery. Maybe share some pics?”

“Splendid idea,” Ms. Heller said, before turning back to me. “Now then, let’s be on our way before you further contaminate the floor.”

I pulled my pants up and we were soon on the move. I expected a more casual stroll from her as I followed her through the office floor, but she seemed to have just as much pep in her step as I wanted her to have. I could only assume that she knew better than anyone else that for as exciting as leading me around in my current state was, we were always at risk of exposing ourselves to the wrong person.

“Come,” she said as she briskly walked ahead of me. “Keep up. We mustn’t be slow.”

I did my best, putting my waddle into overdrive–feeling the insides of my diaper further squish and spread about in the limited space as I trotted behind her.

It occurred to me that I knew the path we were taking. I recognized some of these cubicles. There, for example, was Ted Lemire’s desk. This was the path I had taken when I’d come to Ms. Heller’s office from The Closet.

And sure enough, we were suddenly standing before the door to The Closet.

“Here?” I asked as Ms. Heller scanned a key tag at a new sensor near the door.

“Looks familiar, yes?”

“Is this…the n–”

“Come inside,” she said. “See for yourself.”

I stepped inside, the door closing behind us. There was an electronic tick in the door, suggesting that the door was locked automatically. Once again, we were sealed off from the rest of the office.

I almost didn’t recognize this room as The Closet that Lyndie and I had spent our days together in–as briefly as that time in our careers here that was. It seemed bigger, for one, but I think that was mostly because of the large table that was once here was gone. Now, on one side of the room was a modestly sized office desk–with a smiling Lyndie sitting behind it–and on the other side was a large piece of furniture with a padded top that looked an awful lot like a…

“Changing table,” I said aloud.

“It’s nice, right?” Ms. Heller asked. “I actually had this made when Hillary was working here. A shame we never had the chance to use it before she left the company. So, you know, it’s just been sitting around in storage for a while. Until now.”

A changing table, sized for adults. It shouldn’t have been so surprising to me–if anyone could’ve made such a thing happen, it’d have been Ms. Heller.

“We have a ways to go for this to be a true nursery,” Ms. Heller added. “But Lyndie’s first task is to help us acquire a crib. And I trust that she won’t let me down.”

“I’ve already put out some emails to vendors and craftsmen,” Lyndie said. She then turned to me, her face twisting into a more sour expression. “Hello Clark. I think I can guess why you’re here.”

“He simply completed his assignment,” Ms. Heller said, giving my full diaper a playful swat. “But if you ask me, he seems to have gone above and beyond.”

“Well,” said Lyndie, standing up at her desk and motioning towards the changing table. “You’ll find that I’ve stocked the baby’s changing station with everything a mommy might need. Wipes. Powder. A little bin of toys, should the baby need a little distraction. There’s the new diaper bin too–which should seal up the old stinky diapers quite well.”

“You’re a saint,” Ms. Heller responded.

“Just doing my job,” Lyndie said, confidently smiling.

“I do hope that you’re still smiling,” Ms. Heller said, “once you’re inundated with babies in need of getting their diapers changed.”

Lyndie laughed. “Me too.”

“But you,” Ms. Heller said to me. “Let's clean up the little disaster you’ve got tucked away in that diaper.”

For what may have been the 423rd time that day, my pants were dropped to the ground and I stepped out of them–once again bottomless in the office.

“I swear, if we’re going to spend this much time taking your pants off everyday, you should just have to go without them. Save us all some time.”

I blushed, swallowing hard at the thought of being made to toddle around the office in just a diaper and button-up shirt. And once we were on that slippery slope, what was to prevent her from just insisting that I didn’t wear clothes at all?

Sometimes, it seemed for the best that we were still in an office where such things were frowned upon.

Ms. Heller turned me around to show my drooping bottom to Lyndie. “Do you see this? Do you see what he did in his diaper?”

“That’s…quite the load.”

“But do you see this?” Ms. Heller asked, her fingers pointing to something on the back of the diaper. “See how dark the diaper is here? That’s his mess. And look at how high it goes.”

“Oh wow,” Lyndie said. “It’s almost to the top of the diaper. The waistband.”

“Exactly. We were so close to a blowout. And can you just imagine the disaster that would’ve been? We probably would’ve had to have burned his clothing.”

I had no clue how serious she was about the possibility of burning my clothing, and I was afraid to ask.

Lyndie giggled a little. “I’m, uhm, assuming that you’re taking care of this diaper?”

“This one is all mine,” Ms. Heller said. “I’d like to change as many as I can, of course. Diaper changes are an important time for mommies and babies to bond–and I wouldn’t want to deprive him of that. But there will undoubtedly be times when I’m just not able to get this one’s stinky diaper in time. And that’s when I’ll be calling on you.”

“Of course,” Lyndie said. “But…if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to bail on this change. I think I’d much rather grab some fresh air and coffee.”

Ms. Heller laughed. “Very well. But if it’s the smell you’re trying to avoid, plan on being out of the nursery for a while.”

“Works for me,” Lyndie said with a shrug. “See you later, Clark. Have fun.”

I offer a meek wave to her as she departs us–it’s hard to maintain any sort of dignity while my exposed and sagging diaper continues to pollute the room.

“Now then,” Ms. Heller says. “Shall we clean your bottom?”

“Y-yes, Mommy,” I said, nodding.

“Hop up onto the table, then.”

In the unlikely situation that I would be asked if the diaper changes I had experienced so far were infantile enough, I’d have answered with a very certain “Of course.” For one, not only was I in need of a diaper change, but it was someone else who was changing the diaper for me. But also, it was a matter of where the diaper had been changed. On the floor. On a couch. On a table. Any surface could become the site for a diaper change at a moment’s notice, and it reminded me of watching actual parents with actual infants. Did the baby have an accident? No worries, just put them down there–anywhere–and deal with it.

And that had been me. The hapless baby who could be tossed onto any surface for a diaper change if needed. And I found that to be a pleasurably humiliating experience.

But this? Being eased onto my back on the large changing table by Mommy? Nothing had ever felt like this before. Unlike a table or my boss’s carpet, this was a piece of furniture made specifically for babies. For once, Ms. Heller didn’t have to adapt and make the best with what she had available. No–this was a table that had no other purpose than to hold a baby with a dirty diaper on.

Nothing I had experienced so far–not even being made to traverse a gauntlet of ass-smackers and breast-feeders–had made me feel so small. The weight of this realization seemed to pin me to the table, rendering my arms and legs into jelly.

“Aww,” she cooed, looking down at me. “Look at you. So docile and well behaved.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but could only force out a meaningless “Buh…”

“Oh, you know the rules. We can’t just leave the Baby babbling here while Mommy takes care of your diaper. Here’s your pacifier.”

The soft rubber bulb was pressed into my mouth once again, further cementing the infantile headspace I was finding myself in.

Headspace. The word resonated with me. It reminded me of when I had been sent home in my first diaper, and I spent hours pouring over the internet. I had seen references to this idea of babyspace–a seemingly genuine mental regression. Not just looking like a baby. Not just acting like a baby. But feeling like an actual baby.

I had brushed the concept aside before. It wasn’t that I was dismissive of it, I just wasn’t sure that it was a space I could see myself reaching. At least, not any time soon.

Suddenly, it felt like there was something to that. I felt small. Helpless. Needing.

“Let’s see what sort of mess Baby’s left for me in his diaper,” Ms. Heller said. She wasn’t talking to me, but she was talking about me, and that only helped to shrink me further.

Fuck. I wanted to be the greatest, smallest, baby who had ever lived.

I wondered if it was the chastity. With every other diaper change thus far, I had found myself consumed by lust and sexual desire. But that was off the table now. Sure, my cock strained against the metal cage–yearning for release. But for the first time, I felt like I was able to set that lust aside for a moment. I could appreciate, for the first time, just being a baby.

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” she said as she began to peel up the tapes of the diaper. “But I like it.”

She pulled the diaper open, allowing a toxic cloud to immediately expand throughout the room. To the surprise of no one, of course. I was grateful that I didn’t have to look down and see the wasteland between my legs for myself.

Such was the life of a baby, I supposed. Lay waste to diapers all day and then let someone else take care of the rest.

“I regret allowing Lyndie to leave,” she said to nobody in particular. “I could’ve used a hand with this one.”

I suckled on the pacifier, looking up at the ceiling. I could hear the words she was saying, but none of them felt especially important to me.

“But I must admit,” she continued. “Even at your dirtiest–your stinkiest–I think you’re quite adorable. The cutest little thing.”

That, I heard. I moaned a little from behind the pacifier. Not as much a sexual noise as it was pure delight that she felt that way about me.

“Are you my cute little baby?” she cooed, tickling the bottom of my chin.

I giggled and squirmed. Later, thinking back on this moment, I’d cringe a little–unable to remember what it felt like to be so small in this moment.

“I thought so.” She continued on, rifling through the supplies on the shelves of the changing table. “Lyndie bought rubber gloves. Cute, right? I’m tempted to snag a pair for this particular diaper, but I’m also a fan of skin-to-skin contact. Maybe I’ll leave those for her.”

Yes. I needed those hands on me.

“A dirty diaper isn’t really as intimidating as everyone thinks it is,” she said. “It’s like any other problem in life. Or, maybe, every other problem in life is like a dirty diaper. See, all you need to do is break it into pieces, and resolve each of those smaller pieces. One at a time. Then, when you’ve solved all the small problems–you’ve actually solved the bigger problem.”

I was more interested in her tone than I was her words. The lovely melody of her voice–it was almost as if she was literally singing–put me at ease and made me feel light and comfortable.

And she did exactly as she said she’d do–she broke the catastrophic mess into smaller pieces. She started with my inner-thighs, slowly working her way around my crotch and midsection before actually delving into the epicenter of the disaster. One wipe at a time. I couldn’t see what was happening, but I could hear each wipe being pulled from the package–and I heard the sound often. FWHIP.

“We’ll just clean up this little bit here…”

FWHIP.

“And here…”

FWHIP.

“And, I’ve got to be honest with you, I have no idea how you managed to get your dirty little business way over here…”

I was loving it. Having the option of sexual satisfaction taken off the table seemed–at least, momentarily–to be the best thing to happen yet in my short history of needing diapers again.

I’d feel different about it later, of course. I was sure of that. I’d have all the time in the world to mull over this moment. I’d replay it over and over again–from every vantage point and angle I could think of. I’d remember how it felt to have the cool moist wipes sliding over my skin. The smell of my putrid diaper mingling with the baby supplies in the nursery. The sound of Mommy’s voice as she provided her sing-song commentary.

FWHIP.

A moment like this could fuel years of personal erotic time. Yet I knew that this wasn’t the end-all-be-all of the thrills that came from being Ms. Heller’s assistant.

Mommy’s baby.

FWHIP.

Oh, for sure, there’d be more. More diaper changes. More teasing. More dressing-up. More being handed off to others, whose whims I knew even less about. More humiliation. More crushing embarrassment that I could only savor in hindsight.

More denial, too.

Goddamn. If this diaper change could only go on for another hour, I wondered if I could maybe get off from just thinking about it. No, probably not–that seemed like a level of zen reserved only for people who meditated or did yoga as a fulltime job. But the thought was nice.

FWHIP.

“I think this’ll do,” she cooed, her body still hovering above mine. “This is as clean of a bottom as you’re going to have without me giving you a bath.”

“Fank ou, Mommy,” I said through the pacifier. It was the most pathetically infantile my voice might have ever sounded.

“Such a good little boy,” she said, giving my locked cock a playful boop. “And do you see how easy that was to do when there wasn’t some ugly erection in the way?”

I nodded, feeling my cheeks flare. I knew exactly what she meant.

“Somebody’s looking out for you,” she continued, picking up something from the tables shelves. “Lyndie was kind enough to get baby powder, but I see that she got ‘unscented.’ A tad disappointing–though I’d have to concede that it’s probably a good call if you’re going to be walking around the office all day.”

It was the rare occasion in which she acknowledged, however slightly, the risk that came with our game. There were times when she–and the other executives playing along–seemed so eager to create humiliating circumstances, that they lost sight of how this could be viewed from any other employee who wasn’t involved. It was reassuring.

Also, I owed Lyndie a very tight hug.

“I have a question for you,” Ms. Heller said as she slid a fresh new diaper underneath me–effortlessly lifting my ass into the air for me like I was just a toddler. “I was debating whether or not I would ask–I’ve been afraid that I’d overwhelm you. But, as they say, you miss every shot you don’t take.”

I offered a muffled “Hmm?” in reply. I couldn’t even imagine what else there was to ask of me at that point. She already had me pooping my pants. Wearing a chastity cage. Getting my diaper changed by my peers. Had me suckle on the breast of a woman while an audience watched.

What could she possibly need to ask me about now?

“It’s nothing bad,” she cooed, likely sensing the tension in my body. “It’s simply an opportunity.”

An ‘opportunity’ could mean any number of things–but the word seems to suggest some sort of agency. Whatever it was, I could decline if I so chose.

“I’m taking a business trip next week,” she said. Flying to Seattle for a conference. The conference runs for four days, though I don’t plan on committing much more time to it than the two panels that I’m scheduled to participate in. So, that gives me a bit of downtime in a city that’s far from here. And I’m not sure that I could think of a better opportunity to be better acquainted with my precious baby boy.”

Being called her ‘precious baby boy’ left me a little flustered–so flustered that it took me a few moments before her actual request registered with me. Meanwhile, she didn’t miss a beat, working on getting me sealed up in my brand new diaper.

I opened my mouth, letting my pacifier drop out to the side of my face. “Are you asking if I want to go away with you? To Seattle?”

“Indeed I am. On the record–as my assistant. But off–as my baby.”

I was looking for reasons why I had to say no. Not because I didn’t want to go, but because I wouldn’t be able to get excited about the prospect of this until I had exhausted any excuses I might come up with. But I had no pets. No partner. Just a roommate who’d be home anyways. And work? Well…my job was to be by her side anyway.

“I…I could go.”

“But do you want to?” she asked.

It was actually a pretty easy question to answer: “Yes, Mommy.”