Me, Helen, and Mr. Greene (Part 2 of 2) [Tier 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

A continuation of this story.

Yeah, okay, I’m a loser.

My life has deteriorated to the point where it almost makes sense that my deceased father’s wife and my boss are conspiring with each other to humiliate me. What else do you do with a guy like me?

I feel like I’m in a science fiction film–one of the ones where aliens begin replacing people with replicants who look and sound human. Suddenly, I can’t trust anyone. Case in point? I’ve lived with Helen for years, and even if we never saw eye to eye, I felt like I at least knew her personality. Now? I have no idea who Helen is.

Mr. Greene refuses to elaborate on what he’s already said, leaving me to my own devices to figure out what’s going on. What it seems like is that Helen has somehow coerced me into wearing diapers, knowing that Mr. Greene was going to take advantage of them as he takes advantage of me.

Why? I haven’t a clue.

“Ah, there you are,” Helen says to me. It’s been a day or two since Mr. Greene’s slip that the humiliating world I was tumbling into was orchestrated by her, and I’m feeling paranoid. This woman, whoever she is, cannot be trusted. “I see that my package arrived today.”

Truthfully, I hadn’t thought much about it. Helen ordered a lot of things online. It was a stranger when there wasn’t a box or two waiting on the porch for her. And so when I had dragged the large box into the house today, I hadn’t paid much attention to it. Now, as I watched her place the box on the kitchen counter–directly within sight of me–I began to get nervous.

I had been working on a little monologue in my head for the last few days. Something along the lines of: I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I’m done being a part of it. Go ahead and threaten to kick me out–I’ll go to the police and tell them about what you and your boss have been doing to me. But every time I had opened my mouth to tell her how I felt, the words just got stuck in my throat.

“What did you order?” I ask. I rarely care about what she buys for herself, and so I imagine it sounds as strange for me to be asking now as it is for her to be making such a production about opening this box in front of me.

“Don’t be mad,” she says–which, in my experience, is only said when someone knows they’re going to make you mad. “I got these because I’m concerned.”

I roll my eyes as my body tenses, bracing itself for the big reveal.

Diapers.

Make no mistake, these are not the incontinence ‘briefs’ she pushed on me before. The transparent packaging makes no effort to hide how thick these folded garments are. There’s no cloth-like outer shell, nor seemingly any level of discreteness here. The bright white plastic backing of these shines in the kitchen’s fluorescents.

“You bought me…diapers?”

“We don’t have to act like we don’t know why I would’ve, right?” she asks. “Even with the last package I bought you, I was still seeing wet spots in your pants.

My words–my monologue–are still stuck in my throat. I desperately want to say something about how I’ve never actually pissed myself, or how I thought I knew that Helen already knew that.

“I can’t wear these,” I say.

“I think you said that the last time I bought you some protection for your pants, yes? And then you went ahead and wore them anyway. In fact, I’d like to tell you about a little story I heard recently.”

I sigh, clueless as to where she was going with this. “Okay?”

“Do you know who Elizabeth Coolidge is?”

I know enough to be worried. I graduated high school with Amy Coolidge, Elizabeth’s daughter. And if Elizabeth was anything like her daughter, she was probably the town’s biggest gossip. I simply shrug, still curious to see what this story is.

“Elizabeth works as a manager over at the Shop Smart, you know? I run into her from time to time.”

I feel my heart race a little. I know that store quite well–it was where I went to buy more incontinence briefs for my little excursions with Mr. Greene.

“Elizabeth, you know, can’t keep her mouth shut about anything. So, of course, she asks me if everything is okay at home. And I have no idea what she means by this so I ask her to elaborate. And she asks, in this very hush-hush tone, why she’s spotted you in this store on more than one occasion, buying adult incontinence products.”

If cosmic deities were responsible for self-checkout registers, there were also cosmic demons out there–planting nosy middle-aged women behind every endcap.

I have no clue what to say. I just shrug.

“Maybe it’s time we start being a little more open with each other,” she says.

That, actually, sounds pretty refreshing. “Okay.”

“I understand you’ve been having some fun with Mr. Greene as of late.”

I open my mouth to deny this allegation, but I stop myself. She seems pretty confident about what she knows, and I don’t think I have the time or the energy to maintain a lie long enough to try and convince her otherwise. Instead, I just offer a single hesitant nod.

“That’s okay,” she says, smiling. “Everything went exactly to plan.”

This isn’t a complete surprise to me, though I’m still not entirely sure what her plan actually is.

“What…plan?”

“Did you really think that you were going to be Mr. Greene’s assistant? The man doesn’t need an assistant. He has a staff that will bend over backwards for him, you know?”

“Well then, what did he need me for?”

But as soon as the question leaves my mouth, I feel like I already know the answer.

“He wanted a little plaything,” Helen says, shrugging. “It took some molding, but I’d say he got it.”

“But…you–you’re my step-mother. And you willingly agreed to send me to him so that I could…”

“Oh please,” she says. “Are you not the one who is always insisting that I’m not your mother or step-mother? Fair enough, I say. We’re simply two people living under the same roof, due to circumstances out of our control. My boss was looking for someone to fit some, uhm, needs of his. And, well, it’s not like you had anything going on.”

“But…he…”

“He didn’t force you to do anything, did he?”

“N-no…”

“And did you like it?”

“Th-that’s not what this is about.”

“Just answer the question.”

“Yes,” I say, meekly. Defeated.

“So then I’ve done you both a favor, haven’t I?”

“What about the diapers?” I ask.

“His idea,” she says. “He’s got a thing for young adult men in pampers, I guess. I’ve come around on them, myself.”

And, just like that, it all seems to be out there. Not every detail–but enough of them. It’s hard to say how I feel about it. I’m a little relieved, though also a bit nervous about what’s supposed to happen next.

“Maybe it’s good we talk like this,” she continues. “Let’s cut through the mind games and get down to business, you know?”

“And what is the…business?”

“You’re not the only one that Walter has been having fun with lately,” she answers, slyly smirking.

It takes me a moment to remember that Mr. Greene’s first name is Walter–it feels, somehow, sacrilegious to use any name other than ‘Mr. Greene’ when referring to him.

This news is a little more surprising to me.

“Oh.”

“Mind you, he’s not putting me in diapers and pissing into my pants. But he’s been sticking his cock plenty of other places.”

“Ugh,” I mutter. The words sound so wrong.

“What’s the matter?” she asks, laughing. “Don’t like hearing me talk about my sex life? It’s not like I’m talking about fucking your father.”

“Ugh.”

“Walter has some ideas, you know?”

I’m almost hesitant to ask. “Ideas?”

“He wants a family, you know? He’s been a busy man his whole life. No wife. No children. And he’s getting a little older now, and he’s thinking that maybe it’s now or never.”

“So…you’re going to go and help him with that?”

This is how it ends, I imagine. Her and her boss have left me humiliated and used, and now they’re going to run off and start a family together–leaving me behind to figure out life for myself for the first time.

“You and I both,” she says.

“I’m sorry? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come now. You can’t use your imagination? A little family? Daddy, Mommy, and…Baby?”

I can only imagine how pale my face must look as I feel the blood draining from it. I simultaneously understand what she’s saying, while being completely baffled by it.

“I’m not a…baby.” I swear this isn’t the first time I’ve had to say that over the last few days.

“Not yet,” she says, slapping the top of the thick package of large diapers. “But with these? I think we could make it happen.”

“I’m not a baby,” I say again.

“But think about how nice it would be if you were.”

I laugh. I don’t find it especially hilarious, but I seem to have no other ways to process this. It’s just so…absurd. I can’t begin to imagine what it entails, beyond the most literal interpretation of it–Helen and Mr. Greene holding hands and walking down the street, pushing me in a giant carriage where I’m wearing only a diaper and bonnet, while drinking from a bottle.

She pushes the large package of diapers across the counter towards me. I grab it and tuck it under my arm as I feel color return to just my cheeks.

“Think about it,” she says.

“I guess,” I say, far too overwhelmed to offer any sort of commitment.

***

“There he is,” Mr. Greene says to me the next morning, in his office. “Being a good boy today?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Helen told me about the little discussion the two of you had yesterday.”

“Did she?” I’m not surprised by this.

“Pants off,” he says. “Let me see your diaper.”

I do as he asks. I’ve done this enough times that one might think I was used to it. I didn’t think I was ever going to get used to it. Also, today was different–I wasn’t wearing the same thing I usually did.

“What have we got here?” he asks, chuckling to himself. “Looks like someone got an upgrade on their diapers. Or is this a…downgrade? Less ‘adult’ and more…infantile?”

“Uhm, Helen got these for me.”

“She told me she was going to,” he says. “I’m pleased that they’re even better looking on you than I imagined. Do you like them?”

I shrug.

Truthfully, I have no idea if I like them or not. They’re so different from the sleek briefs I was wearing before that it’s like starting over again. I can feel their thickness and bulk with every step I take. They make my pants noticeably tighter. I hear them crinkling and ruffling as I move around.

These are not the only things that are different, however. With the briefs, I could at least hold on to my dignity as I walked around–unless, of course, Mr. Greene had just pissed into my pants. With these diapers, it felt as if I didn’t even have that. There was no fooling myself, as the sounds and sensations of the diapers were always present–I was wearing a diaper like an overgrown toddler.

“Well I certainly appreciate them,” he says. “I bet these can hold substantially more.”

“Probably, yes.”

“Well then. Let’s get started.”

I’m more than a little familiar with the routine at this point. The key difference is that he’s now pulling down the front of a thick diaper so that he can piss into it. Arguably, a subtle difference–but one that seems to change everything for me. The way that his hot urine absorbs and settles into the padding–where the weight and heat sit in my pants–it feels entirely new to me.

I’m so stuck in this moment that I fail to realize the door to his office had opened. It’s not until she says something that I realize that Helen is even in the room with us,

“I’ve been wanting to see this happen for myself for a while now,” she says. “Looks like I’m just in time.”

My head snaps around to her, and a wave of shame courses through me as we make eye contact. She’s watching Mr. Greene piss into my large diaper.

Mr. Greene seems unbothered by this. He treats it as matter-of-factly as just pissing into a urinal. When he’s finished, he shakes his cock dry–droplets of piss splattering across my body. I drop lands on my face, half an inch from my lips.

“There you are,” he says, giving my saturated diaper a firm pat. “All filled up. How does that feel?”

“G-good, sir,” I say. “Thank you.”

“Normally this is the part where you clean my cock off for me,” he says, turning a little to wink towards Helen. “I hope that Mommy’s presence doesn’t make you too nervous to perform.”

Her presence certainly complicates matters. It’s humiliating enough to kneel down before Mr. Greene and suck his cock while my diaper sloshes around, filled with his piss. But the additional element of her judging eyes almost paralyzes me in place.

“Go on,” she says. “You should finish your job.”

I slowly lowered myself to my knees as Mr. Greene positions himself in front of me. His cock had grown in his hands. The girth of his manhood still impresses–and intimidates–me.

It’s only at this moment that I realize I’ll be putting my mouth on the same cock that has been used to fuck Helen. My mind spins as I wonder about the time gap between when they’ve had sex last and now. I wonder if, in the past, there was ever a time when traces of Helen lingered on his cock as I took it into my mouth and sucked him off to completion.

Most confusing of all is how unsure I am of whether or not I find the very concept of this to be hot.

I…think that I do.

My lips wrap around his cock. In most ways, it’s not any different than what I’ve done before. One of the two big differences is rather obvious–the weight and thickness of the plastic diaper hanging between my legs. The other is what I’m thinking about as his cock slides to the back of my mouth. Helen.

I’ve never thought of her like this before. And yet it’s all I can think of now. I want, so badly, to taste her on his cock.

His hands are on my head, directing me up and down his shaft.

No. They’re not his hands. They’re Helen’s.

“That’s a good boy,” she coos to me. “Drinking Daddy’s big bottle now, are you? Go on.”

Daddy. The word hits me so hard that I moan through his cock. My own dick throbs in my soaked diaper.

“This is how it should be,” she says. I think she’s talking to Mr. Greene now. “Don’t you think?”

“I’m telling you,” he answers, his voice fluctuating as my mouth caresses the head of his cock. “Sell your place, pack up your stuff, and come live with me. I’ll make you happy. The both of you.”

“Did you hear that?” she asks me, her slender fingers massaging the sides of my head as she guides my head as far down his shaft as she can. “We could be a happy little family.”

He c*ms soon after, launching his entire load directly down my throat. And he’s not the only one. I’ve been steadily spurting little bursts of pre-c*m into my diaper.

***

The smell is amazing. It’s herbaceous and earthy–the kind of savory scent that makes my mouth water uncontrollably.

It’s a shame that, whatever it is, I won’t be enjoying it.

On the drive home from the office today, Helen filled me in on the plan tonight. Mr. Greene is coming over for dinner. He had wanted to take her out for dinner–or at least have her over to his place instead–but she insisted on cooking. She’s going all-out too: rack of lamb, scalloped potatoes, homemade bread.

I don’t ever recall ever seeing her cook anything so elaborate for my father. Should I be offended on his behalf? I decide not to dwell on it too much.

I have been invited to join the two for dinner. But Helen has made it quite clear that the delicious-smelling food she is preparing is not for me. She assures me that she’s prepared an alternative menu that I’ll be dining from tonight, though I have no other details on that.

“Are you in your diaper?” she asks, stirring something around in a pot on the stove.

“Y-yes,” I say.

I don’t often wear diapers at home. Up through now, they’ve been something I’ve only worn for Mr. Greene’s purposes when I’m going into the office. I haven’t even used a diaper myself yet.

But something has changed. I think it was that scene in Mr. Greene’s office earlier today that did it. Helen’s presence did more than to humiliate–it offered a glimpse of something bigger. The two of them, and me. Together in whatever weird version of the childhood game of ‘house’ we were playing.

Nobody had asked me to put a diaper on. But with Mr. Greene coming over soon, it just seemed…expected? Or so I told myself.

“You’re a good boy,” she says, smiling. It’s the most sincere smile I’ve seen on her face in, perhaps, years. “Do you see what good a little direction does for you?”

It seems like an odd direction to be going in–backwards. But I do believe that her point still stands.

***

Mr. Greene doesn’t knock on the front door. He just walks in, like he already lives there. Helen seems completely unphased by this, rushing over to him so she can wrap her arms around him and plant a giant kiss on his lips. The interaction seems so natural that it takes a moment before I realize that I’ve never seen them interact like this before.

It almost seems strange to me that this is happening in the house that Helen once shared with my father–but not so strange that it seems wrong.

“Ah, there he is,” he says to me, approaching with an outstretched hand.

A goofy grin stretches across my face as I grasp his hand in mine and he shakes it. He pulls me closer to him, wrapping his other hand around me for a pseudo-hug, being sure to pat my bottom for good measure. I feel my face warming as the unmistakable sound of my plastic diaper is heard through my pants.

“And well protected too,” he says. “As a baby should be.”

I take a deep breath, feeling my cheeks redden further. There’s an element of humiliation to the moment, sure. But it also just feels good. I always find myself wanting to please Mr. Greene, and if wearing a thick pair of diapers does it…I’m in.

“Dinner should be ready very soon,” Helen says. “You boys can entertain each other for a few minutes, right?”

“We’ll be fine,” he says. To me: “Won’t we, boy?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Have a seat,” he says, pointing to the couch. “Let’s chat.”

I don’t need to be asked twice, and I quickly take a seat on one of the couch, while he sits on the other.

“I suppose you don’t need to be told that things between Helen and I have been getting serious.”

“I didn’t know,” I said. “I mean…now I know.”

“But I don’t just want Helen, you know? I want everything. I want…you, as well.”

I take a long and slow breath, carefully exhaling through my nose as I process those words.

“I mean, look, you’re welcome to go out into the world and do whatever you want to do. Go to school? Get a job? Get your own place? If you want to have those things, you should go and get them now.”

“Are you, uhm, implying that I couldn’t have those things if I was…yours?”

He laughs to himself, taking a moment to consider how he wants to reply to that. “I don’t want a son. Not in the, uh, traditional sense. I suspect you know what I want. I want someone who’s going to wear his diapers like a good boy. Someone who’s going to be able to please me when I want to be pleased.”

I nod, having assumed this already.

“But nothing lasts forever,” he says. “One of two things is inevitable. Either I’ll be too old to enjoy what I’ve made out of you, or you’ll be too old to pull off the big baby routine as effectively as you can now. And at that point–whichever comes first–I’ll give you anything you want. Do you want to go to school? Travel the world? Live in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. I’ll make that happen for you.”

It seems like an awful lot for me to have to consider right now.

He laughs again, maybe thinking the same thing. “I’m getting way too far ahead of myself. Look, do you want to keep having fun with me? With Helen? I’m just proposing something more…permanent. You don’t have to get a job. You don’t have to go back to school. You can live your best life, continuing to just do nothing. You’ll just be…wearing diapers. Maybe some other baby clothes. Your only job will be to make Helen and I happy. That doesn’t seem so bad, does it?”

As overwhelming as it sounds, when put into words, it doesn’t sound terrible.

“No…”

“I want you to be my baby. I want you to be our baby.”

“You and Helen,” I say–kind of just thinking out loud.

“Yes,” he says. “Is that strange? Especially considering that Helen is–was–”

“No,” I say. “I…don’t think so.”

***

Here’s the truth–something that’s lingered in the back of my mind since my father passed away, but I was unable to actually acknowledge on most days: my parents were never really all that great. I was always more of an inconvenience to my biological mother than I was anything else. Hence, why she chose to leave me behind, and why we only see each other out of obligation.

And my father? How could he possibly have made time for me between work, golf, time spent at the bar, and time in the beds of other women?

I wasn’t grieving the loss of my father for the last two years–I was grieving the loss of the chance at a childhood where I was noticed. Nurtured. Loved.

The things that Mr. Greene is offering–they’re not the same as having that childhood experience I missed out on. The simple fact that I suck my father-figure’s cock should be enough of an indication of that. But this proposal feels like it has the potential to give me some form of the things I’ve wanted, but always lacked.

And it’s not like I’m doing anything else with my life.

***

“Boys? It’s time for dinner.”

I can’t explain it–the weird thrill of being called to dinner. Have I been that deprived of the traditional family experience that even this excites me?

Mr. Greene and I get up from the couch and I follow him towards the dining room. However, just  before I’m able to step out of the living room, Helen is there to stop me with an outstretched palm.

“Not so fast, baby.”

“Wh-what’s wrong?”

“Tonight? This is a little test run. A little preview of what life could be like for the next few years. Mommy, Daddy, and Baby, you know? And I think we’d be doing ourselves a great disservice if we didn’t go for the full experience.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. I don’t disagree with her logic, I just don’t know what this ‘experience’ entails.

“Well, for one, I’ve prepared you something a little more appropriate for dinner. More appropriate for someone in a big diaper, that is.”

I nod. I’m sure there’s more, though.

“But, of course, that’s not all,” she continues. “Walter and I–Daddy and I–feel that you should be wearing diapers more often.”

“How often.”

“All the time,” Mr. Greene pipes in. “You should just always be in a diaper. I mean, for one, it would just be easier for my purposes. And, too–”

“Babies belong in diapers,” Helen says, cutting him off. “Which leads me to my next point: Babies should also be using their diapers.”

“Oh,” I say. “You think I should, like, start…wetting my pants or something?”

“Babies do far worse than that in their pants,” Mr. Greene says.

“And we should all be prepared for the worst case scenario,” Helen adds. “Babies and parents alike.”

I shake my head. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“We need to be ready for dirty diapers,” Helen says. “The dirtiest of diapers.”

“Oh,” I say, my eyes growing large. I believe I’ve figured out what we’re talking about now. “I…I don’t think that I could ever, willingly, do that in front of you two.”

“Lucky for you, then,” Helen says, casually shrugging, “we want to take the ‘willingness’ off the table for tonight.”

“I…don’t know what you mean.”

Helen holds up an object. A clear plastic bottle, filled with a clear liquid. At the top of the bottle is a very long, thin, nozzle–a thin layer of some sort of lubricant on the nozzle glistens. Judging by her sinister smile, I wonder if I should know what this thing is–but it doesn’t really mean anything to me.

“Not familiar with this? It’s an enema. They come in all shapes and sizes. This is just a disposable enema, of course. One and done. You do know what an enema is, yes?”

“I think so?”

“It’s not that hard to understand,” Mr. Greene interjects. “The nozzle goes in your bottom. The liquid gets squeezed in. A few minutes later–everything else comes out.”

“Y-you’re going to use that now?” I ask.

“That’s the plan, yes,” Helen says, nonchalantly. “You’ll be a good boy and bend over for me, won’t you?”

“W-well, wait a minute,” I stammer. “Maybe we…”

But Mr. Greene takes matters into his own hands, taking his firm hands and bending my torso down so that my diapered ass is sticking out in the air.

“This’ll only take a moment,” he says. “Helen? Mommy? He’s all yours.”

She grabs the waistband of my pants and gives them a firm yank, pulling them well past my exposed white diaper. She then pulls down the back of the diaper–just enough so that my ass is hanging out.

I could resist. I could break away from Mr. Greene’s hold and make a run for it. I could, at the very least, say no. But I stay in place and allow this to happen. It feels…right. Correct. It feels like this is where I belong.

“Have you ever had something slid into your bottom before?” Helen asks.

“No…”

“This is small,” she says. “You’ll barely feel it.”

“But,” Mr. Greene adds, “if you like things in your ass…”

“Walter!” Helen exclaims, playfully slapping him in the arm.

I find this little interaction to be more exciting than I would’ve thought. I almost want to ask him to elaborate, but I bite my tongue for now. I can use my imagination.

“This will just take a moment,” Helen says.

Has she done this before? Watched a tutorial? Or is giving someone an enema just that intuitive? It doesn’t matter, as she clearly has it figured out. I feel the lubed nozzle slowly work its way into my ass. It doesn’t hurt. Beyond the initial feeling of its entry, I barely feel it at all–though I know it’s there.

And then comes the liquid. It’s unlike anything I’ve experienced before–liquid entering my pipes from the wrong direction. I can feel the lukewarm fluid filling me. While she fills me, I can feel Mr. Greene working my pants down my legs the rest of the way. I obediently step out of them and he casts them aside. Guess I don’t need those anymore.

“See?” she finally says, pulling the nozzle from me slowly. “Piece of cake.”

“How long until I…uhm…”

“It can take a few minutes,” she says. “Or so says the package. But I encourage you to hold it for as long as you can. Get nice and desperate before finally letting it go. The real ‘baby’ experience, you know?”

I nod, my cheeks bright red as I think about how easy it is for her to suggest that I just ‘let it go.’ I wonder if she’s ever had to poop her pants in front of other people as an adult.

“Now then,” she continues, “dinner?”

On one end of the dining room table is an elegant arrangement of fine china, crystal glasses, a bottle of wine, and two of the best-smelling plates of food I’ve ever encountered. On the opposite end of the table is a child’s placemat featuring a colorful picture of cartoon animals. There’s a sippy cup full of juice, no silverware, and a plastic plate with a stack of chicken nuggets next to some green beans.

“Come, Baby,” Helen coos, beckoning me over to her seat. “Come sit down and eat your dinner.”

I slowly waddle over to my chair. Between the thickness of the diaper, and the gentle sloshing of the enema’s contents in my belly, I feel like I have no clue how to walk ‘correctly.’ I sit down and she helps me to slide the chair in place, under the table, so that I’m up close to my plate of food. From behind, she drapes a bib over my chest, tying it in place behind my neck. Do they make bibs this big? Or…does one get bibs like this from the same place you buy giant diapers like the one I’m wearing now?

“Now then, be sure to eat everything on your plate,” she says.

“But…what if I…”

“Don’t worry about your diaper, sweetpea. Whatever happens, happens. Mommy and Daddy will take good care of you when we’re ready.”

And so it goes. On one side of the table, Helen and Mr. Greene eat their adult food and drink wine. They talk about the law firm a little, before veering off into a handful of other topics. Investing. Helen’s car. The subtle qualities of this particular vintage of wine. Adult stuff.

On the other side, I slowly pick at my food, grabbing fingerfuls of warm food and putting it into my mouth. In my belly, something is churning, and I feel a wave of urgency washing over me.

“Are you doing alright over there, Baby?” Helen asks.

“Yes,” I say.

“Yes, Mommy,” Mr. Greene corrects me.

“Yes, Mommy,” I repeat. It feels strangely enjoyable to say aloud.

I’m a ticking time bomb. As the minutes rush by, I feel an increased tension in my abdomen. I could, if I wanted to, just release everything into my diaper. I continue holding–not because I necessarily want to, but because it seems supremely rude to ruin this moment by loading my diaper.

But, I suspect, that’s the entire point of this ‘test’ run. This is the ‘worst case scenario’ Helen had referred to earlier–a perfect dinner, interrupted by the baby pooping his pants.

As the pressure continues to build, I realize I’m left with two options–I either just willingly let it go into my diaper, or I hold out until I can’t possibly hold it any longer, and lose control anyway. The latter seems like it would be more entertaining for everyone else at the table, but at a higher cost of my dignity.

Like I’d have any dignity after messing my diaper, regardless.

It’s actually hard to say what happens next. I had settled on the fact that I’d be willingly messing my diaper. But I also feel my diaper filling before I’m ready to let go of my hold. In a series of hard squirts, I feel myself ejecting the contents of my body into the diaper. I barely have even the chance to shift my body, and the swampy mess is forced in every direction as my ass remains planted on the dining room chair.

I swear it goes on like this forever–my bottom just endlessly pumping out more sludge into the diaper. Every time I think it's over, I feel another cramp that’s quickly followed by another loud squirt into the padding.

I don’t look up from my plate immediately, I simply stare at a half-eaten chicken nugget. I know they’re watching me. The room is silent. Hell, the whole state is probably silent after hearing that.

But, to my surprise, neither gets up or says anything about it. I hear Mr. Greene’s fork clashing with his plate again as he continues his meal. For a moment, it’s as if nothing happened.

“Hmm,” Helen muses aloud. “Kind of smelly, isn’t he?”

“What did you expect?”

“It’s not a bad smell,” she says. “Well, no, that’s not true–it’s pretty awful. But I kind of like that he smells so bad.”

“You said you’d handle the dirty diapers,” Mr. Greene asks Helen. “Yes?”

She laughs, nodding her head as my cheeks glow brighter, my focus intensifying on my partial nugget. “Of course. You’re such a typical man.”

He laughs. “How so?”

“Leaving the dirty diapers to the women.”

“I’m feeding him my cock,” he says, a wry level of sarcasm detected in his tone. “Not to mention that I’m working hard to keep the boy in diapers for as long as they need to be. And they’re not cheap.”

“Not these ones,” Helen remarks. “And just wait until I show you some of the things I’ve picked out for the nursery.”

“N-nursery?” I ask.

“Silly baby,” Helen says. “Did you think you’d just sleep in a bed? Like an adult?”

I can only sigh in response–she makes a completely valid point.

Helen and Mr. Greene quickly fall back into their own conversation again, now talking about the future. Moving to his house and selling this one. Preparing my new room–the nursery, apparently–and all the things that are needed for it. Crib. Changing table. Storage for all the diapers. Bottles. Systems for disposing of the diapers. Mr. Greene asks about the feasibility of cloth diapers and plastic pants, and Helen says she’ll look into it.

Meanwhile, I slowly pick away at the rest of my food as I marinate in my swampy, and increasingly toxic-smelling, diaper. Listening to them discuss the next phase of my life like I had no say in it was…strangely exhilarating.

A week or two ago, Helen would’ve ranted about my inability to do anything with my life. It seemed surreal, now, that the answer to this would be to strip away the ability to actually do anything, and regress me to a state that required even more work on her part.

But maybe it isn’t work if you love it. And Helen’s eye catches mine as she talks to Mr. Greene, and–for, perhaps, the very first time–I see love.

***

He slowly pulls his cock from her pussy. I’m no stranger to the size of his shaft, yet it still manages to leave me awestruck with every reveal. As I watch it slowly pull out from her body, I’m left wondering if it will ever end. How long is this damn thing?

Finally, he’s fully withdrawn and Helen is left collapsed on the bed, still panting and moaning with pleasure.

“Goddamn,” she says. “Fucking amazing.”

“Quite the show, huh?” he says to me–watching from the playpen next to the bed.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Are you going to be a good boy and clean up both Mommy and Daddy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And when you’re done,” she says, “I’ll clean you up. That diaper looks a little more yellow than I remember it being when we started.”

I nod. “I, uhm, wet a little while you were…”

“Don’t change him now,” Daddy says. “He’s just going to go and push a big mess himself the minute you put him into a clean one.”

“Fair point,” Mommy says, turning back towards me. “If you want me to change you, you’re going to have to fill your diaper while you finish cleaning up Daddy and I. You can do that, right?”

“Yes,” I say, eagerly nodding.

“Thought so.”

Six months ago, this would’ve been the most surreal moment of my entire life–watching Helen and Mr. Greene fuck each other from the comfort of my playpen, sitting in my soggy diaper while sucking my thumb. Now, it’s just a normal day.

Helen–Mommy as I call her these days–left her position at the firm to take care of her new baby full time. Daddy–the man I once called just Mr. Greene–still spends his days at the firm, but he’s home often enough. He considers himself to be a family man now, preferring the company of his wife and baby over the corporate world.

Me, I’m the baby. And with every day that goes by in this new role, the further I feel from whatever my life used to be. It’s all cribs and pastel colors now. Eating with my hands. The slowly diminishing control I have over when I go to the bathroom.

“He always chooses you first,” Daddy says as I begin lapping up the creamy remnants of what he left in Mommy.

“I taste better,” she says, laughing.

“He’s tasting both of us,” he says. “No matter. I’ll just take this opportunity to add a little more weight to his diaper.”

He pulls open the back of my diaper and pisses on my lower back, letting the warm liquid cascade down it into the already soggy padding. The feeling is so intoxicating that I can barely concentrate on the actual task at hand.

To the rest of the world, I wonder if I’ve just disappeared. No job. No college. No friends. I don’t even keep in touch with my biological mother as much anymore. I seem to exist only in Daddy’s sprawling house now–a perpetual pants-shitting baby who lives only to pleasure Mommy and Daddy.

Some might accuse me of having even less direction in my life than I started with. I’d counter that this is the most direction my life has ever had.

Yeah, okay, I’m a loser.

And I’ve never been happier.