The Privilege of Pants [Tier 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

Well, that was quite the day, wasn’t it?

Do you remember our conversation from this morning? Hmm?

Don’t look down at the floor. Look at me–especially when I’m asking you a question. I’ll repeat myself one more time, but I expect an answer: Do you remember the conversation we had this morning?

I see. You’re going to pretend you don’t.

Allow me to refresh your memory. This morning I came downstairs and told you that you needed to wear a diaper today. And do you remember what you said to me? Oh, well, no–I’m sure you don’t. You’ve conveniently ‘forgotten’ that too, yes?

Don’t worry. I didn’t forget.

You said that you did not need a diaper today. In fact, you were so bold as to say that you never needed diapers and were in complete control of your body. I had a good laugh about that one, surely you remember that.

I could’ve put my foot down, I suppose. I could’ve just demanded that–whether you want to or not–you needed to go fetch a diaper so that I could put it on you. But you know me–I’m a fan of opportunities where lessons can be learned. Fine. If you didn’t want to wear a diaper, I wasn’t going to make you.

And while you seem to suddenly have amnesia about this conversation, I’d hope that you can at least recall what I told you before we left the house, right? “If you have an accident in your pants today, after having refused to wear a diaper, you won’t have any pants to wear after that.” I meant that.

Obviously.

Look, can I be straight with you? As much as it delights me to humiliate you and put you in your place, sometimes it’d be nice if I could just enjoy my day without having to be constantly thinking about the status of your diaper. Today was supposed to be a fun day for me. I hadn’t seen Layla and June in a while, and it was so nice of them to have us visit their new house. So, yeah, I was excited at the prospect of just catching up with some old friends today.

And, need I remind you, you didn’t have to come at all. You wanted to. No, that’s not true–you needed to. Right? You’ve become quite clingy lately. I don’t mind it–in fact, I rather enjoy it, most days. But sometimes you’re just so…exhausting.

So, fine. You didn’t want to wear a diaper to Layla and June’s. I don’t know why, honestly. I doubt they would’ve been able to tell. It’s not like they do underwear inspections when you walk through the door.

Actually…I bet they will now. For you.

But I had already seen how the day was going to unfold. I’m not psychic, I’ve just been around you long enough to know better. And, yes, that’s exactly why I put your diaper bag in the trunk of the car anyway, despite your insistence that we didn’t need it.

Then, we couldn’t have been more then ten minutes down the highway when you look at me and say: “I need to pee.”

Did I laugh as loud as I think I did? Because, my god, that was the funniest thing you said to me all morning. How many times did I tell you to use the potty this morning if you weren’t going to wear a diaper? Honestly, I’m curious as to the exact number, because I think I lost track. It was definitely more than three times, that’s for sure.

And did you go to the bathroom? Nope. You sulked on the couch and played your little videogame, trying to pretend like you were actually offended that I didn’t believe you when you said you wouldn’t have any accidents today.

So, I don’t know exactly when it happened, but somewhere between home and Layla and June’s house, you managed to dribble a little into your pants. It was a miracle that you didn’t just soak your pants then and there. I’m grateful you didn’t–I didn’t think to put the pad down on the seat under you, and I would’ve been really upset if you soaked my car’s seat. But you had leaked just enough to create a little moist spot in the front of your pants.

Did that feel as humiliating as it looked? Meeting my friends for the very first time with that obvious wet spot between your legs?

And, yes, they absolutely noticed. That was why June just shook your hand instead of hugged you–she didn’t want to press her body up against your pee-pee pants. Layla? She joked to me in the kitchen that it looked like you had pissed your pants.

I told her the truth, of course. You had. But just a little. Do you know what else I told her?

I said that it would probably happen again. I think she thought I was joking.

Do you care to tell me what happened next? Hm?

Ah, still playing the bashful card, I see. Still acting like you either don’t remember or are just so gosh-darned embarrassed about it all that you can’t bring yourself to say the words aloud.

Forgive me for not being completely sold on that performance when you seemed to have no trouble standing in their backyard with us while suddenly flooding your pants.

Do you want to tell me what that was all about? I find it hard to believe that it was a genuine ‘accident.’ You somehow manage to go to work everyday without so much as a drop of pee ending up in your boxers. Yet you spend an hour at my girlfriends’ house and suddenly you’re an incontinent infant.

I know, I know. You swear that it was a genuine accident. Can you see my eyes rolling? Here, I’ll do it again.

I don’t know what kind of game you were playing, but you have to have seen how you forced my hand, yes? What else was I going to do? Pretend to be just as surprised as Layla and June were?

If you had just agreed to have worn diapers in the first place, I probably would’ve afforded you a bit more privacy and patience. But you were the arrogant little whelp who assured me that this wouldn’t happen, only to go and humiliate yourself in front of my friends at their own home.

I wish I could’ve taken a photo of your face when I said that I was going to go to the car to grab my diaper bag. You didn’t believe me, did you? They certainly didn’t. Layla thought it was a joke and she was laughing pretty hard about it.

She laughed even harder when I actually went to the car and came back with your diaper bag.

Oh, and by the way, they loved the diaper bag. I think it was the first time anyone noticed–well, at least the first time anyone said something to me about it–the custom embroidery on the side of the bag. ‘Big Baby’s Diaper Bag.’ I’ve been waiting for someone to call that out.

Well? Was that as thrilling as it is in your little fantasies–getting your pants pulled down and put into a diaper right in front of my friends?

Come on, don’t act all coy about it. I’ve seen the stories you have saved on the computer. This is exactly the kind of stuff you like to daydream about.

I have to admit, it went a lot better than I thought it would. I thought they’d usher us into a spare bedroom for some privacy. But no, they were both content to stand right there on the deck with us and watch as I laid you down on the ground and changed you into a diaper just like a baby.

They fucking loved every moment of it. Layla was laughing harder about the size of your cock then she did when I told her about the diaper bag. And June just kept shaking her head–absolutely dumbfounded at how a grown man could be so pathetic.

I still can’t believe that you asked me if I had brought you another pair of pants or not. Like, seriously? Weren’t you the one who swore up and down that you weren’t going to have any accidents today? If you weren’t actually all that confident about yourself, you should’ve brought your own change of pants.

For what it’s worth, I think spending the rest of the day without pants was a good look for you. It really captured your inner-baby. Which I think is quickly becoming your outer-baby, yes?

It certainly provided a lot of entertainment for everyone. For the rest of the day, everytime June or Layla looked in your direction, I’d see them smirk or giggle.

Did you overhear me and Layla talking in the kitchen? She said that she didn’t quite understand, at first, why I’d want to keep you around if you were just wetting diapers all day like a toddler. But she had quickly come around on the idea. Who wouldn’t want a desperate little man to humiliate and tease?

June, of course, is a born mother. Once she saw you waddling around in your thick diaper, it was like she had been completely convinced that you are an actual infant. Did she actually sit you down in front of the television and put Paw Patrol on for you? Absolutely amazing.

And you, you just can’t help yourself, can you? You try so hard to put up a good front about not being a baby or not needing diapers or not needing someone to take care of you. But I saw your face as you sat on June and Layla’s carpet, staring at the TV screen. Your thumb was in your mouth, and your eyes were fixed on the cartoon characters running around the screen.

So, I’m sure you know what happened next, yes? You have to consider this from my perspective, though. June and I are talking in the kitchen, and Layla comes flying into the room with this look on her face that is somehow both confused and delighted. She says: “I couldn’t find your baby. I was expecting him to be in front of the TV, but he wasn’t there. So I started looking around and I finally found him. Behind the table in the dining room, squatting down.”

I just started to laugh, you know? Because these poor women, they have no idea what sort of naughty trouble you’re getting into. But I know exactly what’s happening. Poor little baby had to make a boom-boom and he knows better than to come and ask me if he can use a toilet when he’s wearing a toilet. So what did you do? You tried to hide while you pushed a big poopy into your pants, isn’t that right?

That’s some real baby-brain problem solving, if you ask me.

Honestly. What did you think was going to happen? Did you think that you’d somehow slip away, fill your pampers, and crawl back to sit in front of the TV and nobody would notice that smell emanating from your bottom?

Don’t get me wrong–I’m glad that Layla spotted you while you were grunting and pushing a mess into your diaper. But I’m almost curious to see how it would’ve played out if you had managed to make your little pushies without being caught. How long would we have been sitting around and chatting until we realized that the house was beginning to smell like a dirty diaper?

I wonder, too, if you could’ve spared yourself a little embarrassment if you had come to me and told me that you needed a diaper change. Because you didn’t, did you?

After Layla told us what she saw, we all sat around and laughed about it for a few minutes. I figured the cat was out of the bag, so there was no reason to withhold anything from them. I told them about how often I have to clean your dirty bottom. How many pants you’ve ruined. How many times you’ve left a stinky trail behind you as you waddled behind me in the supermarket. I told them about the trip to the mall a few weeks ago. And the trip to the beach.

Oh, come on, don’t look at me like that. Just because you don’t want to be reminded of the cute girls who were mocking you and pretending to suck on their thumbs while you were getting your diaper changed on the beach towel doesn’t mean that anyone else wouldn’t find it amusing. Layla and June, for example, found it quite hilarious.

And I showed them the pictures too. Just to prove that I wasn’t just making up stories.

Anyway, we had spent a good ten minutes laughing about your smelly accidents before I finally decided that enough was enough and I should go change your diaper.

Didn’t you wonder why all three of us had come into the living room at once to check your diaper? Did you even realize that Layla had spotted you making a mess of yourself?

And you can pretend that you didn’t like having the two of them hovering over my shoulders while I changed your icky bottom, but your hard cock certainly said otherwise.

Even when June had commented on how small it was, you seemed to only get more turned on, somehow. I thought you only liked it when I made fun of your little baby pee-pee, but maybe it’s anyone?

And so that brings us to the here and now.

Look, I don’t mind changing your diapers, no matter what you do in them–and no matter where we are. I don’t even mind exposing you as the diaper-filling toddler you are when we’re in the company of others.

But do you know what I don’t like?

You, pretending that you aren’t some oversized baby. You, trying to act like you don’t need diapers, or that you’re too good for them.

I’ve got some news for you, stinky. You’re not too good for diapers. You belong in diapers.

You. Are. A. Baby.

I was thinking about it on the drive back, actually. What do I need to do to get it into your little baby-brain that you’re not just some adult man with a fetish anymore? How do I show you that you actually are just a little pathetic baby and nothing else?

I’ve got a few ideas. But I’ve got one, in particular, that I think we need to implement immediately.

Do you see that, over there? Those two large black trash bags?

Can you guess what’s in those?

No, no. Don’t take your thumb out of your mouth, Baby. You leave it right there. You’re probably not going to guess right anyway.

It’s your pants. Every single pair of pants you own. Your tighty-whities. Your boxer shorts. Your jeans. Your dress pants. Your cargo shorts. Even your pajama pants and sweatpants.

I was thinking about just heaving the bags into the dumpster, but I might hold onto them a little longer. Maybe someday you can start earning them back, one single pair at a time with good behavior.

But in the meantime? They’re mine, Baby. And you will no longer be wearing pants.

I don’t care where we are or where we go. Your diapers are going to be on display at all times from here on out. Not only do I want everyone else to know that you’re just a baby–I want to make it completely clear to you as well.

Just think of how much easier that’s going to be for me. Everytime you make tinkles or stinkies in your diaper, all I have to do is look. Has the color changed? Is it sagging? Bulging?

Work? What about work? Weren’t you the one who told me a few months ago that your office was allowing people to work from home now? I wasn’t sure why you kept insisting on going to the office after, but now that I think about it, I bet it was because you knew that if you were home, you’d be kept in diapers.

Well, yes. You will be working from home now. And you will be kept in diapers. Only diapers. No pants.

And do you know who else this will benefit? That’s right, Layla and June.

They were so smitten with the big baby that they’ve offered to babysit for me. Can you believe it? I really didn’t expect them to offer that.

But I’m also really glad they did.

You know that trip we were talking about? The resort at Acapulco? I think I’m going to go–but I’m going to go alone. I’m pretty confident that I’ll meet some new, uh, friends down there, you know?

And you? Well, lucky you, you’ll get to spend some time with your fabulous new babysitters. What little baby wouldn’t want to be fawned all over by two pretty ladies, right? Who knows, they might even be nice enough to give your little cock a few tugs while they’re changing your diapers.

Was that a little sniffle? Are your eyes leaking just a little bit?

Aww, poor baby. I know, I know, it’s hard to just embrace how tiny and pathetic you’ve become over the last year. But you should really be looking at the bright side: now, in this world without pants, you can truly get used to only being seen as just a baby. Now, everyone’s going to know and there’s no reason to try and hide it, right?

Speaking of which, do my eyes spy a yellow spot slowly spreading between your legs? Seems like someone couldn’t hold it much longer.

I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you sit there and marinate in your diapers a little longer, okay? I’m going to go and drag these bags of pants over to the shed so I can store them away for a while. And I got a new padlock for the shed door too, so don’t think you can go and play big-boy dress-up when I’m not around.

I’ll be back in a few minutes, I’ll change your diaper for you, and then maybe we can start talking about our next project. I’ve always teased you about converting the spare bedroom into a nursery, you know?

Maybe it’s not that far-fetched of an idea.