Doing Business, Part 28 (Patreon)

Twenty-Eight

[Note from QH: Patreon being Patreon, there's a word that I had to censor. I'm sure you're figure it out, but just a heads up.]

I could’ve been more observant. I could’ve taken notes of the streets we had turned on to get to the hotel. Hell, I could’ve noticed what the hotel itself was actually called. But details like that only seemed important to adults.

In the last few minutes of the drive, I was thinking about the number of details that I didn’t care about when I was a kid. When my family took vacations, I was just there, enjoying whatever was put before me. I didn’t think about the hotel reservations. The plan for our meals. Getting tickets for an amusement park. Travel accommodations.

I had been tempted to ask about things like our accommodations, or what her schedule would be like, but I bit my tongue every time. Those were adult concerns that only Mommy would care about. It felt good to just…not care. I couldn’t remember the last time I was able to just sit back and let life happen around me without being an active participant. Bills, work, meal planning, grocery shopping. All of those things still existed–and eventually I’d be back in that world. But not right now.

This mentality, combined with the distance we were from everyone else I knew or cared about, was making it incredibly easy to fall into the babyish state that Mommy wanted me in for the next few days.

Who was I kidding? I wanted to be in the state too.

“Well?” Mommy asked as we took a few steps into her room. No, not a room–an entire suite. “What do you think?”

I had wide-eyes and an open mouth. My head was shaking. “Th-this is nicer than my apartment.”

“No offense,” she said. “But it better be. Go ahead, take a look around.”

The living room we were in seemed to act as a central hub to the suite, with doorways branching off a kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom, and…another room? The thought of there being another bedroom–and the possibility of being sent there to sleep with Mommy, was a little distressing.

I jumped from room to room, quickly scanning everything. Everything was immaculate. Everything felt designed. Curated. Just by walking on the carpet with my cheap sneakers, I felt like I was corrupting this space.

King bed. One of the biggest TVs I had ever seen. A fridge already stocked with assorted beverages and snacks. I felt like every time I turned a corner, I was in awe of something else.

I was admiring the jetted tub in the bathroom when I heard Mommy walk up behind me.

“That should make bathtime fun, yes?”

“Y-yes, Mommy.”

“There’s a toilet and a bidet too,” she said, pointing to the units on the opposite side of the room. “Not that you should get too excited about that. You certainly won’t be needing them.”

It was a very obvious point, but one that still made my cheeks glow.

“You have one room left to investigate,” she said with a smirk.

The other bedroom–which I had started to write off as just excess space that we wouldn’t need. But now that she was trying to shepherd me to it, I was curious.

It was, in fact, another bedroom. Except the bed had been pushed all the way against the wall, leaving a large space in the middle of the room, which was now occupied with a playpen. Among other things.

“What…is all this?”

“Surprise,” she said, wrapping her arms around me and hugging me. “It’s not the full-on nursery I wanted–but there’s not much you can do when we only have the place for a few days.”

Next to the playpen was a large flat pad on the ground, next to some neatly stacked piles of diapers. The more I looked around the room, the more I noticed. The pacifiers and baby toys. Clothing laid out on the bed. Baby food jars and baby bottles.

“H-how did you do all this?” I asked.

“I made some calls,” she said. “I’m an executive, that’s what I do–execute. I ordered some things and had them sent here. Hired someone to set it all up. It was a piece of cake, really.”

“All this for…me?”

“Let’s not pretend that I don’t get anything out of this,” she said.

I wanted to cry. I might’ve been, a little bit. I couldn’t think of the last time that someone had gone this far out of their way to create such an experience for me. She was right–this was likely just as much for her. But it made me feel like the most important baby in the world at that moment.

How do I thank her for this?

There was only one real answer. I’d just give her what she wanted.

I immediately dropped to my knees, my thumb in my mouth. I looked up at her face, hoping my face would express how spoiled this pathetically dumb baby was feeling.

“Look how precious you are,” she said, running a hand through my hair. “Are you ready? To just be my baby and nothing else?”

My head was automatically nodding. My entire body felt consumed by the lust I felt for her.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” she said. “I think I’d like to see you crawling around in just your diapers for a bit.”

Such a simple desire, but it was something we never really had the space to do. Aside from the confines of her office, there wasn’t anywhere that I could just be a free-range baby.

“It’s not a changing table,” she said, pointing to the long pad, “but I thought this would do nicely for the next few days. A changing pad. Why don’t you lie down on it so that Mommy can undress you.”

I quickly crawled over to it, flopping myself down on my back. My feet were already up in the air without her asking–eagerly anticipating her hands to free me of the useless adult clothing I wore.

She plucked my shoes and socks off first, followed by my pants. Then, she helped me out of my shirt and tee–leaving me entirely nude except for my diaper.

“Quite wet,” she said, grasping the bottom of the diaper and squeezing. “But I knew this. You made a pee-pee in the ride over, didn’t you?”

I nodded, my thumb back in my mouth again.

“Poor Mr. Joel, he probably had no idea what to make of that little scene, huh?”

I shook my head. I thought back to the things I had said while in the backseat of the car. I could barely believe that was me. Had I actually said the word ‘poopies’ out loud?

“It’s wet enough for a change,” she said. “But…I don’t see a point in changing you if you’re going to need a diaper again soon. Do you need to go, Baby?”

I could feel some pressure in my bowels. There wasn’t a dramatic urgency yet, but it was enough that I could probably coax something into my diaper if I wanted.

“Yeth, Mommy,” I said, the thumb giving my words a perfectly infantile lisp.

“Why don’t I leave you in this diaper for now,” she said. “Go on and crawl around. Explore. I’m going to be unpacking a few things.”

“Uhm…Mommy?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Wh-what if I…go.”

“Say the word, Baby. I know that you can.”

“P-poop. What if I…poop?”

“What do you mean, ‘what if?’ I’m expecting you to. Don’t think about it. Just do it.”

“But…thould I find you? Or…”

“I’ll find you,” she said. “Trust me, I’ll know if it happens. When it happens.”

I was on my own in the makeshift nursery. I started to climb up to my feet, but I thought better of it and got back down on my hands and knees again. Even when Mommy wasn’t here watching me, I wanted to be a baby. And, strangely, when left to my own devices, I found it even easier to let that headspace take over.

I crawled. And it was so fun to have room to crawl around that I did a few laps around the room. Such a stupid thing. Only a baby would enjoy this.

I grabbed one of the new pacifiers and slid it into my mouth, letting my slobbery thumb land back on the soft carpet again without any regard for things like germs or dirt. Next, I clumsily pawed at the new toys she had bought for me. Oversized plastic keys. A rattle. A plush dinosaur. Giant chunky blocks.

Do babies actually like these sorts of things? What are you even supposed to do with…

But then a few minutes quickly passed as I sat in my soaked diaper, idly shaking stupid baby toys around in my hands.

I’m such a baby. I felt my cock straining in my cage. Such a baby.

Fuck. I couldn’t get enough of those words. I’m a baby. A baby. That’s me. I’m a big baby now. A big stupid toddler. A diaper-filling little…

I got back on my hands and knees again and began crawling around the room again, the plush dinosaur–a stegosaurus that felt like a ‘Spike’ to me–still clutched in one of my hands. I didn’t even realize what I was looking for when I started my latest loop around the room, but then it dawned on me: I was looking for a place to poop.

A summer or two ago, I was at a summer barbecue hosted by my cousin. They had a little girl, maybe no older than 2. At one point she waddled out of view of everyone, prompting my mother to ask where little Jessie had gone.

“She only really does that when she has to make a dirty diaper,” my cousin had said. “She’s at that age where she knows she’s supposed to start learning how to use a toilet, but chooses to use her diaper anyway. So she’ll sneak off and poop her pants while nobody’s watching.”

I could relate to that. I found a nice little place alcove between the playpen–which I only then realized was quite large–and the bed where I felt like I could do my business.

I’m not sure if it felt right, but it certainly felt safe.

I grunted and pushed, expecting my body to offer more resistance. It didn’t, perhaps having already given in to the same primal and babyish urges my brain was being overwritten by. Most of it was pushed into the diaper all at once, a firm mess that expanded the back of the diaper considerably. I reached behind myself and felt the bottom of the diaper as I pushed again, getting the last of it out–each push expanding the diaper’s size a little more.

I had messed my diaper plenty of times in the last few weeks. In front of people. With the help of suppositories. In places that I probably shouldn’t have messed myself. But even when it felt good–and, honestly, it always felt good–it didn’t feel like it did now. There was something about being in this room, surrounded by these things, and being left by myself, that made this feel better than it had ever felt before.

My hand glided back and forth over the back of the diaper, feeling the shape and size of my mess. I squeezed at it a little. “Unh.” My cock strained again.

Fuck. This was a mistake. My hormones were all over the place and the pleasure-center of my mind was combusting. What was I supposed to do? All this sexual energy. All this desire. And absolutely nothing to do with it.

I let myself fall back on my ass, squishing the sizable mess between my ass cheeks and the diaper. I slid back and forth in my diaper a few times, just little movements, feeling the mess spread even further.

I needed Mommy so badly. I needed her to tell me how much of a naughty little baby I was being. I needed her to tell me how badly I smelled–because I was already quite stinky. I needed her to…literally do anything. If she wanted to throw carrot sticks at me, I’d have gladly accepted that.

I needed Mommy to fuck me.

No plan. No thought. No conscious decisions being made. I let my head fill itself with fantasies and wishes while hips continued to gyrate back and forth in the diaper, smushing the contents into a disaster that I couldn’t begin to grasp.

Just a big stupid baby. Look at me. So stupid. So fucking horny. Stinky. Making poopy diapers and helplessly squirming around. So pathetic. So, so, fucking pathetic. Such a hopeless little…

“What’s going on in here?”

My body froze in place and my neck craned to the door where I found Mommy in the doorway.

I had no idea what to say. I wasn’t even sure if I could form words if I wanted to.

“Believe it or not, it wasn’t the stench of your dirty diaper that got me back in here,” she said. “It was the sound of a diaper crinkling so much I thought you were wrestling with it. And…maybe you were?”

I clutched Spike tightly looking down at the loaded diaper between my legs. I had completely forgotten about shame–it’s an emotion seemingly reserved for people who know better–but it was finally washing over me. What was I doing? What had I let myself become?

“Just look at you,” she said, shaking her head. “This is…apocalyptic.”

Was it that bad? I had no idea. No clue how to even gauge how bad things might be.

“I’m not sure how you did it,” she continued, “but this is a certified blowout. Look at you. It’s coming out the waistband. And the leg bands. And you even got it on the carpet!”

I looked down at my diaper again, lacking the entire picture she was seeing, but seeing enough.

“Come here,” she said. “Crawl over here, to the changing pad.”

I did so, finally showing a little caution as I slowly lifted my dirty bottom from the carpet so I could crawl back to her and the changing pad. It was a short distance, but it might as well have been an entire pad. Her eyes were fixated on me as I lurched forward, one knee or forearm at a time, with my absolutely filthy diaper swaying in the air behind me.

“I’m not upset,” she said, her lips forming back into a small smile again as I laid back down on my back on the padding. “But I am a little curious as to what was going on in here.”

I pulled the pacifier from my mouth, taking my time with the words as I re-learned how to speak: “I got…carried away.”

She chuckled softly as she began to untape the diaper. “What were you thinking about?”

“You. The diaper. Everything…”

“Everything,” she repeated. “That’s a lot.”

I nodded. “It felt like a lot.”

The diaper was pulled open, completely exposing the messy contents within. I didn’t dare look down at myself to see what I had done. Instead, I looked up at her face. She looked as composed and confident as she always did, even if I could tell that she was unsure of where to start in the cleanup effort.

“I thought this thing would make things a little easier for us,” she said, gently jostling my caged manhood. “A ‘set it and forget it’ sort of thing, you know? But it seems to have turned you into the horniest little babe who’s ever lived.”

“I…I’m sorry,” I said. It felt worth repeating: “I got carried away.”

“It’s nothing to be sorry for,” she said, stroking my cheek with the back of her hand. “I like you like this.”

“R-really?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t already know that.”

There was more I wanted to tell her, but I wasn’t sure if I should or not. As it turned out, I wasn’t so far out of my baby-space that I could stop myself if I wanted to. “I just want to c*m so badly.”

Her smile got bigger as she pulled the first damp wipe from the package.

“Of course you do. Do your diapers make you horny?”

“Unnnh,” I groaned–a guttural reaction I hadn’t seen coming.

“Probably not just diapers,” she said. “But specifically dirty diapers, huh? I bet you just love the feeling of them.”

She was right, though it was far more than that. It was, literally, everything. Everything made me horny.

“I promise you, I’ll give you your c*mmies,” she cooed to me as she began to carefully clean away the mess from my skin.

“N-now?”

“No,” she said, giggling. “Not now.”

“Then…when?”

“You’ll know when it’s time. I promise you that.”

I could’ve whined some more, but I didn’t want to sound any more pathetic than I already did. Besides, the more I whined, the more at risk I was of convincing Mommy that she should postpone my cock’s relief.

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Good boy. Now, I’m afraid I have some news that you might not be entirely happy with.”

My heart sank in my chest. “Yes?”

“An old colleague of mine is in town for the same conference. It was a last minute decision on her part, apparently.”

“Oh,” I said, expecting this to be the part where she told me that she’d be spending some time with her friend instead of with me.

“She’s asked me to get drinks with her this evening. Maybe go to some clubs. But, I have other plans.” She smiled at me.

“So…”

“I won’t be going out to the club with her tonight. Still, social obligations being what they are, I can’t not see her while we’re both in town, so I agreed that we’d meet her for dinner.”

“We?”

“Afraid so. So, assuming we’re ever able to fully clean this stinky catastrophe you’ve created, we’ll need to get downtown to meet Gretchen.”

“D-does she know about my…diapers?”

“She doesn’t, actually,” she said, laughing. “Let’s see how long we can keep this a secret from her.”

“So do I…have to wear a new one?”

“Oh yes,” she said, playfully booping me on the nose. “You’re still a baby. You’ll always be a baby.”

I accepted this change of plans very quickly. As always, I trusted her. The details of what we did, who we met, and when we did any of it, were far above me now.