Johnny, We're Home! [Tier 2 and 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

Baby Bird

Some fret when they leave their pets home alone for the day, unsure what sort of mischief they’ll get into while their people aren’t around to stop them. My mother does this. Every time she visits, her excuse to leave is: “I really ought to go home and check on Daisy. She’s probably digging up my plants and peeing on the carpet.”

We don’t have a pet. But we do have a Johnny.

“Do you think he’s alright?” Cecile asked as we drove home from our weekend at the shore.

“He knows how to eat,” I said. “And I’m relatively sure he’s potty trained.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

I’ve had him for a number of years now. He’s the same age as me, and we’ve known each other since we were in our own wombs. My mother was best friends with his mother, see, and they somehow managed to get knocked up around the same exact time. Johnny and I had tried to figure out the logistics of this miracle, but it was best we didn’t think about it much. Especially after the one time my mother, in a rather boozy state, suggested that her and Johnny’s mother got pregnant at the same time because they were getting fucked by the same man, on the same night.

I had written it off as a joke at the time. Though sometimes I’d catch Johnny’s face at a certain angle and I’d wonder if I could see similarities to my own.

“I’m sure everything’s fine,” I said. “We haven’t gotten a call from the police, so I doubt he burned the place down. He’s probably just sitting on the couch, playing my PS5.”

“Ah yes,” she said, rolling her eyes. “The adult pacifier.”

Johnny and I had always been inseparable. And while we were kids, that was great. We had each other’s backs, and because we grew up together, we mostly liked the same things.

However, there’s a point where we start to diverge a little. I was ready to grow up. Get a job. Get married and have children. Johnny wanted to be a teenager for the rest of his life–a life of videogames, concerts, and hanging out at the comic book store while everyone else was at work. I never really held it against him–everyone is deserving of their best life, regardless of what it was.

The problem with his plan, however, was that it wasn’t really a plan at all. He had dropped out of college, and he was hopping from one underpaying job to another, struggling to keep up with his finances. Things went from bad to worse after his mother put her foot down and refused to allocate any further funding to him if he was just going to get stoned and play Fortnite all day.

It came as no surprise that he was then evicted for owing rent. Even less of a surprise who he called after.

“I asked that he at least clean up a little,” I said, still hoping to sell her on the idea of Johnny not being a completely useless lump in our home.

“He once told me he cleaned the kitchen,” she said. “And all he did was put a rug on the floor to cover up the dirt. And the rug was dirty!”

I was happy to take him, of course. He was my brother–perhaps literally–and I wanted to do whatever I could to help him. I offered him my house’s spare room, and said something along the lines of “Take as long as you need.” The sort of thing you probably shouldn’t say to a talented moocher like Johnny.

Cecile was impressed with my benevolence, even if she thought it was the worst idea she had ever heard. Had I talked to her about it first, she’d have likely either refused, or have given Johnny a very short window of time to stay. Which was probably why I didn’t clear it with her before giving him the go-ahead to move in.

A year later, we were stuck with a Johnny. And a relationship with Cecile that had been a little more strained than I’d have liked.

“Here, hold on,” I told her. “Let me call him quick. I’ll remind him that we’re on our way back and it’ll probably spook him into–at the very least–picking up after himself.”

“Uh huh,” she said, staring out the window. “Good luck with that.”

The extended weekend at the shore was the latest in a calculated long-term plan to apologize to Cecile for allowing Johnny to stay with us for as long as he had. It had actually been a good time–we hadn’t enjoyed each other’s company this much since…well, probably the last time we got out of the house for a few days. But the long car ride home, and the reminder of what waited for us, had soured the experience a bit. It didn’t matter that we had a good time–the weekend was over now and we were headed back to the real world. Headed back to Johnny.

“Hey, uh, this is Johnny. I dunno where the hell I am right now, but maybe if you leave a message, I’ll get back to you once I figure it all out?”

“No answer,” I said. “He must be busy.”

“Busy?” laughed Cecile. “He hasn’t been busy for as long as I’ve known him. He’s either sleeping, drunk, high, or somehow all three at once.”

“Seems preferable to him doing something destructive, right? I’d rather him be sleeping than trying to build a skateboard ramp in the backyard.”

“Speaking of which, I almost stepped on a nail the other day. I thought you said he cleaned that mess up.”

I sighed, cursing myself for not being more thorough in my attempts to clean up after him. “I’ll make sure he gives the yard another sweep.”

“When?”

“As soon as we get home?”

“No, Marty, when does he leave? When do we get our house back?”

“I know. You’re right. It’s just…”

“I’ve been right for a year now. I know you think you’re doing the right thing with him. But…he’s never going to take care of himself while you’re taking care of him.”

“So I just, what, kick him out? Throw him out on the street?”

She shrugged. “You can’t momma-bird him forever. You need to kick him out of the nest so he can fly for himself.”

“Momma-bird? I’m not, like, regurgitating food into his mouth.”

“Not yet you’re not,” she spat. “But if we get home and he’s emaciated from not bothering to feed himself, I bet you’d be all over that.”

I want to tell her not to be ridiculous, but I understand her point. I coddle that man far too much.

“Let me try calling him again,” I said, mostly hoping to give myself an out from our conversation.

“Hey, uh, this is Johnny. I dunno where the hell I am right now, but maybe if you leave a message, I’ll get back to you once I figure it all out?”

I opted to leave a voicemail this time: “Hey, it’s me. We’re about an hour away from the house. See you in a bit.”

Please, I beg whatever deity is willing to listen to my thoughts, don’t let us come home to an absolute disaster.

Red String

The first thing I saw, as I pulled the car into the driveway, was that the trash hadn’t been taken to the curb on Friday as it should’ve been. The same bags of trash and broken-down cardboard boxes I had put in the trash can last week still stuck out from the brim, with an extra bag thrown on top of it.

“At least he took a bag of trash out the house,” I said.

Cecile mumbled, completely unimpressed by this mild achievement.

“Look,” I said, stopping her before she could exit the parked car. “I’ll talk to him, okay? I’ll tell him that it’s time for him to figure out a new place to stay.”

She slowly exhaled, releasing some of the pressure the car ride home had given her. “Do you promise?”

I nodded. “Promise. Now, like, I can’t just kick him out, you know? But I can let him know that he doesn’t have a lot of time left here.”

She frowned a little while sighing. “I guess that’s fair. I just need to know that we’re not too far away from a point where we can just enjoy our house again.”

“Of course,” I assured her. “We’ll get this ball rolling.”

I didn’t actually want to have this conversation with him. Logically, I knew I had gone above and beyond for him and that he couldn’t possibly expect me to sacrifice any more for him. But I couldn’t help but think that I’d be letting him down. The poor guy was at the end of his rope, and now even his best friend was saying that the time was coming when he, too, would have to turn his back.

But when I opened the front door, that feeling of letting my friend down started to diminish considerably.

The place was as much a disaster as I had feared it would be.

“What the fuck is this?” Cecile said, plowing into the house before I had a chance to stop her and prepare her for the wasteland she was about to behold.

Days worth of plates, bowls, and cans were littered about the living room. Clothing strewn across the floor. His underwear–a distressingly aged pair of green boxers–hung off the edge of the couch arm. I didn’t think I could make a mess like this if I was given a month, and yet he had managed to achieve this in about four days.

There was a strange smell to the room. Spoiled food and garbage, with notes of beer and…

“Shit,” Cecile said. “It smells like shit in here.”

It was somehow worse than I could’ve imagined. For the first time, I found myself on Team Cecile–this was unacceptable. Johnny was going to have to go sooner than later.

The more I traversed through the house, the more frustrated I got. More dishes in the sink. Overflowing trash can. A half gallon jug of milk sitting on the counter with the cap removed, warm to the touch. An empty cardboard tube on the paper towel holder. The remnants of two joints found bundled with some more empty beer bottles.

I look at one of the joints. Zoom in. I focus on one of them. Traces of lipstick? On top of everything else, did Johnny have a lady-friend over?

“What is this?” Cecile asked from the living room. I returned to her, and she was holding up a small plastic object.

“I think that’s a, uh, pacifier?”

“I know what it is,” she said. “What I don’t understand is why it’s in our house.”

“I think he had a friend over,” I said.

“Is his friend a toddler?”

“N-no, I don’t think so. I think it was a, uh, woman.” But even as I said those words, it didn’t really make sense. Did a woman come, bringing her child along, just so she could get high and drink with Johnny? That seemed almost too irresponsible to fathom.

“Where is he?” she said.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him yet.” I took a deep breath and yelled out for the first, of many, times: “Johnny! Hey, Johnny! We’re home! Where are you?”

No answer. Not a peep.

“Unbelievable,” she said. “He won’t answer his phone, and he doesn’t even seem to be home.”

“No wait,” I said, observing something on the couch. “He might be here somewhere. That’s his phone.”

I picked it up, looking at the screen. 12% battery left–as to be expected. Two missed calls and a voicemail from me. Three missed texts from someone named Nette. I couldn’t read them all, but I could at least see the last text.

“Lose my number.”

Uh oh. I was a little curious to see what sort of drama Johnny had gotten himself involved in now. He was somehow even worse at relationships than he was with employers. Footage of his life could be shown in classrooms as examples of how to not interact with potential romantic partners.

The lipstick traces, the pacifier, the angry text–I didn’t see how they all connected just yet, but I could just feel some sort of underlying connection that I hadn’t figured out yet.

“I’m going to look in his room,” I said, pocketing his phone.

“Fine,” she said. “But if you see him, can you kill him for me?”

“With pleasure.”

Behind Closed Door

We had to have some conversations about privacy and personal spaces not long after Johnny moved in. It wasn’t so much that he had to stay out of our personal space, so much as it was that he had to be more private himself. He’d make the trek from the bathroom to his bedroom completely naked. He’d leave his bedroom door open while he changed. He’d randomly take his pants off while we were sitting at the TV. The man simply had no shame.

Which is why it was a little alarming when I found that his bedroom door was closed. He barely kept the thing shut when we were home, and he didn’t seem to have any shame about what he had done in the rest of the house. What on earth would’ve possessed him to close his door? I was a little nervous to get an answer to that.

I gently rapped the back of my fingers against the door. “Hello? Johnny?”

No answer.

He’s dead, isn’t he? All I could imagine now was having to bust down the door, only to find him keeled over on his bed. It was probably going to be something stupid that did him in too. Some sort of asphyxiation fetish that got out of control, or he attempted some sort of stunt on his skateboard and got a concussion.

But maybe not. I could hear something coming from the former guest room. A slightly muffled mumble, perhaps.

“Alright,” I said. “I’m coming in. Please have some clothes on.”

I was expecting the door to be locked, but my wrist was able to turn the knob without resistance. A took a deep breath and flung the door open, bracing myself for the worst.

Even long after the fact, I’m unsure how surprised I was by what I had seen. No, I don’t think I had expected that–I doubt anyone would’ve. But I expected something ridiculous, and this certainly qualified as ridiculous.

His bedroom was in as much disarray as the rest of the house was. More clothes, food wrappers, and dirty dishes littered most surfaces. There was a foul stench in this room too, reminding me of the strange odors lingering in the kitchen and living room, but amplified considerably.

Unlike the kitchen and living room, though, where I could only guess at the sources contributing to such a scent, I believed to see the culprit right away.

It was Johnny. He was on the bed–still living, but incapacitated. He was lying on his back with his legs and arms spread open, each limb connected to one of the corner posts of the bed by an assortment of scarves, cords and one set of handcuffs that connected his left hand to its post. He was mostly nude, save some sort of thickly padded undergarment that I quickly identified as a diaper. The diaper, itself, was a puzzling conundrum of its own–clearly sized for an adult, despite the colorful and cartoonish print that ran across the plastic exterior. In his mouth was a pacifier, not unlike the one that Cecile had found in the living room. This one appeared to have a ribbon attached to it, circling his head and keeping it fastened to his mouth. And the final detail to notice was the large letters scrawled on his chest in, assumedly, red permanent marker: PATHETIC LITTLE BABY.

I was no expert on babies or diapers, never having one myself at that time. But it wouldn’t have taken a master detective to determine that I was smelling a soiled diaper. The man had been left tied to the bed, probably for long enough that he had no choice but to use his diaper.

There was both panic and glee in Johnny’s eyes. I could only imagine what he was experiencing–he was finally being discovered, after who-knows how long being bound like this. But I couldn’t imagine that he was happy to see me while in this state.

At this moment, I honestly believed that this was something done to him against his will. Foolish me, completely unable to imagine how a scenario like this could only be the result of someone who wanted to punish and shame him.

I quickly unfastened the ribbon, allowing me to pull the pacifier from his mouth.

“Uh…hi,” he finally said.

“Johnny, what in the hell is going on here?”

“That’s a long story, but…maybe you could just help me up first?”

“Right, let me just–”

I was interrupted by Cecile’s voice from the hallway: “Marty? Did you find that sonofabitch?”

Johnny looked up at me, his eyes now filled with fear. “Please don’t let her see me like this.”

I glanced at the door, trying to guess if I could make it there in time to close it before Cecile got there. But the answer was ‘no’–she was already in the doorway.

“What, in the absolute fuck is this?”

“H-hey,” Johnny said from the bed. “Good to see you two. Uh, welcome back.”

Funny Story

I walked to the corner of the bed and began trying to make sense of the tight knot that kept his leg in place.

“No,” Cecile said, holding up a palm towards me. “Leave him there.”

“What? But…he’s…”

“The second you untie him, he’s just going to lie and bullshit us about what actually happened around here. If he wants to get up, he’s going to have to start answering some questions.”

“Cecile, you can’t just leave the man tied up like this.”

“Yeah,” Johnny chimed in from the bed. “Untie me first. If I could just take a shower, I’d be happy to answer all your questions right after.”

“I don’t think so,” Cecile said, shooing me away from the scarf I had been trying to untie. “I’ve had to put up with a lot of shit from you, Johnny. But this might be the first time I’ve had to put up with actual shit from you.”

He tried to respond: “Well…”

“That is what we’re smelling, right?” she asked. “Did you seriously poop your pants? No, I’m sorry… Did you actually poop in a diaper?”

“Y’know,” Johnny said, clearly trying his hardest to look cool despite his current predicament. “It’s actually kind of a funny story.”

“I think I’d like to hear that one,” I said.

“I think the story kind of tells itself, doesn’t it?” Cecile asked. “He’s grown so irresponsible and immature that he finally ended up turning into a diaper-messing infant. Seems about right, really.”

“Just untie me,” Johnny pleaded, “and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“I’d rather hear the story first,” Cecile said.

“It does smell rather putrid in here,” I said to her. “Maybe, for our own sakes, we let him clean up a little first and then we–”

“No thanks,” she interrupted, shrugging. “He can stay in his potty-pants while he tells us all about the adventure that brought us to this moment.”

I watched Johnny’s face get a little redder as she said the words ‘potty-pants.’ Hell, I wasn’t the one who had pooped my pants, and my face was getting a little extra pink too.

Johnny had never been one to embarrass easily. The man had almost made a career out of sticking his foot in his mouth–usually followed by a swift slap across the same face. To see him in this state now was kind of, well, pathetic. Much like the caption on his chest advised.

“The whole story is kind of humiliating,” Johnny said. “Maybe I could just cut to the end?”

“I doubt it's any more humiliating than being tied up with a diaper full of poo,” Cecile said, hands on her hips. “The sooner you tell your little story, the sooner I might allow you to go use the shower.”

“Fine, fine. Just…keep in mind that this story doesn’t paint me in the best light.”

I had to laugh. “Johnny, have you ever been in the best light?”

That’s Extra

“I’ve got this girl. Well, she’s not mine–and I doubt she wants anything to do with me now. I just call her Nette. I think it’s short for something, but I don’t know what. I met her online, you know, on one of those hook-up apps? No romance or dating expected–it’s all about meeting people you want to bone. And I’m not, like, the hottest guy in the world, right? But I’ve had some pretty good luck there just finding other desperate people who need to down and dirty and–”

“We get it,” Cecile said. “What about Nette?”

“So I’m into some, like, weird shit.”

“Obviously,” I said, waving my hand in front of my nose–his reeking diaper still very much a presence in the room.

“I’m usually a little hesitant to tell girls about the stuff I’m into–even on a site like this. And by the time I get the courage to mention it, they’re usually ready to move on from me anyway. So…I thought I’d try something different this time and just throw it out there from the get-go. It’s like the first thing Nette learns about me.”

“And to be clear,” Cecile asks, “we’re talking about diapers?”

“Uh…yes, that’s right. I, uhm, have a thing for being dressed up and treated like a baby by a sexy woman.”

“Jesus,” I muttered.

Cecile just shook her head, seeming to be pretty disappointed in Johnny–more so than usual.

“She wasn’t into it–or, she just didn’t know much about that sort of thing. But she said she’d give it a go. So she came over and, uh, I gave her a diaper and…you know, she put it on me.”

“Wait,” Cecile said. “This happened…before? Like before today?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “This was a few weeks ago.”

Cecile’s eyes blazed with frustration as she steered her gaze towards me. “Marty? Did you know about this? Did you know that your guest was inviting a woman over to our house to treat him like a baby?”

“I can assure you that I had no idea,” I said, nervously scratching my head. This was mostly the truth. I had known that Johnny had a lady-friend over a few times, but I tried my hardest not to get involved. Johnny was in a rough enough place with Cecile, and there was no chance that she would’ve tolerated him bringing women over for casual sex. Johnny and I had an unspoken agreement that as long as he was careful, I’d pretend I didn’t see anything.

“Keep going,” she said to Johnny through gritted teeth.

“So, uhm, Nette had been over a few times. And I guess it was going okay? Like, I sensed that she didn’t really like the baby stuff, she just sort of tolerated it. She’d put me in a diaper and then step back and look half-amused while I crawled around and pretended to be a baby. Then she’d open her legs, I’d eat her pussy, and…well, that was pretty much it.”

“And they say romance is dead,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“But she was getting pretty sick of that routine,” Johnny continued.

“I can’t imagine why,” Cecile quipped.

“So I…decided to start offering to pay her instead. She didn’t have to do much. Put me in a diaper. Watch me do some dumb stuff while she occasionally made fun of me. Believe it or not, she seemed to like this arrangement a lot more.”

“I, too, would like to be paid to belittle you,” Cecile said.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind that either,” I added, nodding to Cecile.

“And, uh, I guess that takes up to last night.”

“Last night?” I asked. “Like…24 hours ago?”

“Uh, well, let me just tell the story here. So, she came over last night–because I asked her to. Same thing as usual. I gave her a diaper and she put it on me. I crawled around a bit, and she did her half-assed mocking. Now, I’ve used my diaper around her a few times before. Just, uh, wetting–I doubt she’d like it if I did anything else.”

“No,” Cecile said, her nose scrunched up. “She wouldn’t have.”

“But she never really had to do much about my wet diapers, you know? I never asked her to, like, change me or anything. All I wanted was for her to see me pissing myself.”

“That’s what gets you off?” I asked.

“Y-yeah, that’ll do it.”

“Come on,” Cecile said, her hand spinning on her wrist. “Keep this story going.”

“So, last night I asked her if she was willing to actually change my diaper. She wasn’t crazy about the idea, but she said she would if I didn’t mind slipping her a few extra bucks. And so, of course I agree to that. But, uh, here’s the thing…”

I already know what the ‘thing’ is before he says it. I’ve known Johnny his entire life, and he’s been broke for 90% of it. Years and years of having to cover bills and tabs. I was amazed he was able to pay this woman a handful of times, let alone the ‘extra’ she required for last night’s shenanigans.

“I was broke,” he said. “Like, not a dollar on me. I already had no idea how I was going to pay Nette.”

“What in the hell possessed you to call her over then?” Cecile asked.

“I was hoping that she’d…start a tab? I’d just pay her back later. Plus some extra.”

“I think, maybe, I’m starting to see what happened here,” Cecile said, her hand perched at her chin.

“Oh?” I asked.

“Let me guess. You let it slip that you weren’t going to be able to pay her, right?”

“Yeah,” Johnny sighed. “I figured I should be honest about it. But, surprisingly, she didn’t seem all that mad about it at the time. She just kind of laughed and shrugged, you know?”

“But she never actually changed your diaper, did she?” I asked.

“N-no. I thought she was. For a brief moment, she even seemed like she was getting into it, you know? She wanted to kick it up a notch or something. She made me lie down on the bed and she started tying me up in my wet diaper.”

“The handcuffs?” I asked, pointing to his one hand.

“Mine,” he answered.

“But she wasn’t ‘kicking it up a notch,’ was she?” Cecile asked. “She was pissed off at you for wasting your time and decided to humiliate you instead.”

“Seems like it,” Johnny said.

I pulled his cell phone out of my pocket, showing him the screen where the last text from Nette simply read: “Lose my number.”

“She’s lucky I didn’t die,” he said.

Cecile rolled her eyes. “You weren’t going to die. She probably knew you didn’t live alone. Though…I’m surprised you stayed like this for a whole day.”

“I mean, where else was I supposed to go?”

“Well, if it were me,” Cecile said, eyeing up the restraints, “I’d have found a way to get free before I shit my pants. I’d have rather broken the bed than be caught in a filthy diaper.”

“There,” Johnny said, his face bright red now. “Is that enough? Is that sufficient? Do you know enough to let me go? Please?”

“Yeah, of course,” I said. “C’mon, Cecile. Let’s get him out of the bed.”

“Not so fast,” she said. “There’s one more little detail that we need to address.”

“What else could there be?” I asked. “I mean, the man admitted his sexual fetish to us. Told us about how he tried to get free sex work. And he’s still lying here in a dirty diaper. What else?”

“You didn’t notice?” Cecile asked me, pointing at Johnny’s diaper. “All this time that he’s been telling his little story? All this time that we’ve been standing here, staring at his poopy pants?”

I looked again, but I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. “I…I don’t know what you mean.”

“He’s got a fucking erection. He’s still getting off on this.”

As Labeled

“N-no, I’m not!” exclaimed Johnny. “I swear!”

“Then what is this?”

To the surprise of myself and Johnny, Cecile leaned forward and gently tapped on the front of his diaper with her fingertips. I don’t know how I missed it before–the plastic of the diaper pulled taught into a tent with a firm shape at the apex.

“It just does that when I get, uh, nervous,” he said. “And there’s plenty to be nervous about here now.”

“I don’t buy it,” Cecile said.

I took a deep breath, staring down at my best friend, tied up in his at-capacity disposable diaper, searching his face for the truth. It was rare that I couldn’t read him like a book, and I hoped to see in his eyes that he wasn’t actually getting turned on by the two of us catching him in this absurd predicament. But I had no idea. My own continued confusion about the situation Cecile and I had stumbled into seemed to cloud my judgment.

“What are you suggesting?” I said to Cecile. “That he wants to be seen in a dirty diaper?”

“Is that really so hard to believe?” she asked me. “Did he not just tell us that it's what he wanted with Nette? That he just wanted to be mocked and belittled for acting like a baby? Well, here he is–the most helpless of babies.”

She had a good point, though I wasn’t sure what to make of that point. “Okay? So…what now? I mean, we’re not going to jerk him off. Let’s just untie him, he can go wash up, and then we can all reconvene and talk about it later. Preferably in a room that doesn’t smell disgusting.”

“Feel free to leave,” she said. “But I’m not done with him yet.”

Johnny and I both responded at the same time: “What?”

“I don’t know how I didn’t see this day coming,” Cecile said, seeming to ignore us and choosing to have a conversation with herself instead. “We had to give him a place to stay. We have to feed him. We have to help cover his bills when he can’t. I should’ve known that one day we’d have to start wiping his ass for him too.”

“Cecile,” I said, “you don’t have to do that…”

“Are you sure about that? Look at what your best friend has become–the words are right on his chest: Pathetic little baby. I know he says it’s just some weird kink of his, but I’m starting to think it's a call for help. The dummy is so hopeless that he doesn’t even know how to take care of himself anymore.”

“Th-that’s not true,” Johnny said.

“Do you even know where the key is to those handcuffs?” she asked.

“Uh…” Johnny scanned the room as best he could from his vantage point. “No, I’m not sure that I do.”

“As I figured,” she continued. “He’s all impulse. No thought or consideration for anyone else. What was your plan for the mess you left strewn across the rest of our house?”

“I was going to clean it up today,” Johnny said. “You know–back when I thought that I wouldn’t be stuck to a bed.”

“I’m tempted to say that this was the breaking point for me,” Cecile said. “But the sad fact is that you met and blew past my breaking point weeks ago. I’ve been asking Marty for weeks now to talk to you about moving out.”

“I-is that true?” Johnny said to me.

“C’mon, man. You can’t honestly believe that you’ve done your best to get back up on your feet again.”

“And now?” added Cecile. “To find that you’re just an overgrown toddler? Things are going to change around here and that’s going to start right now.”

“Change?” I asked her. “How so?”

“Get a trash bag,” she told me, before turning back to Johnny. “I hope you have enough diapers to last a while.”

Serious Enough

I was given the unenviable task of rummaging through Johnny’s dresser until I found his underpants. Upon finding them, I had to toss each into the trash bag. Ideally, I’d have found the drawer and then pulled it out of the dresser to just overturn it into the bag. Instead, with how unorganized his dresser was, I was left searching every drawer for balled up clumps of underwear. Worse, despite them being in his dresser–I found it hard to believe that some of them were clean.

Cecile, meanwhile, stood at the foot of the bed, looking at the still-bound Johnny in his rotten diaper. We may not have been the one to put him in this state in the first place, but given the amount of time we had to free him–I felt like we were not just as responsible for his captivity as Nette was.

“You can’t have it both ways,” Cecile told him. “We’ve given you shelter, food, and money for the last however-long in the hopes that you were going to make an effort to improve yourself. Instead, you’re goofing off with strangers you meet online and…pooping your pants?”

“I-I’m sorry, Cecile,” Johnny said. “You’re absolutely right. Maybe this is the kick in the ass I needed to get my life back in order again. Give me a few weeks, I’ll show you.”

“You can do whatever you want over the next few weeks,” she replied. “But I don’t know that you’ll be here for me to see it.”

“What? Y-you’re kicking me out?”

“Cecile,” I said. “Could we, maybe, talk about this first?”

“Oh? Like how you talked to me when you first invited him to stay with us?”

Touche. “Okay, yeah,” I said to Johnny. “Maybe, uh, hear her out…”

“You’ve shown your true colors today,” Cecile said to Johnny, casually waving a hand in front of her nose. “Not to mention your true scent. You’re a baby. Not just some guy with a weird fetish. I see very little difference between you and an actual baby. Helpless. Directionless. Needs other people at all times. Fills their diaper. And, honestly, that’s fine. You want to be a baby? Good. You really ought to be true to yourself.”

“I-I’m not a baby,” Johnny said. “Despite what it might look like…”

“I disagree,” she said. “And thus, I’m putting my foot down: If you’re going to act like a baby in my house, you’re only going to act like a baby.”

“What?” he exclaimed. “What the hell does that even mean?”

I knew what it meant. I opened my mouth to try and explain, but I decided it was better if I let her handle it.

“It means exactly what it sounds like. From here on out, for as long as you’re in my home, I expect to see you wearing a diaper. I don’t even want to see you wearing pants to cover them. Just a diaper from the waist down.”

“Cecile,” he said, his voice getting softer, “you can’t be serious.”

“Would you care to hear the alternative? Because it starts with Marty and I bagging up all your belongings in bags and putting them on the curb.”

“Are you, uh, sure about this?” I asked. This was the first I was hearing of this, too, and it seemed as absurd to me as it probably did to Johnny.

“Quite sure,” she said. “That’s what it’s all come down to. If the little baby doesn’t like it, he’s welcome to leave. Immediately. But if he wants a place to stay, then it’s going to be as a baby.”

“Y-you’re not going to tell anyone about this, are you?” Johnny asked. “You’re not going to show people pictures of me walking around in a diaper?”

I shook my head. Classic Johnny–he was already imagining himself adapting to this new role. Anything to avoid being removed from the figurative teat.

“No,” she said. “Though you’re on extremely thin ice, so I’d tread carefully.”

“Of course,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “I’ll do anything you say. Promise.”

“I know you will,” she said. “And that’s why I’m not going to make it easy on you. You should’ve been out on your ass weeks ago. You should be out on your ass tonight. You being allowed to stay here is conditional on you doing everything I ask of you.”

“Right,” he said. “What do you need from me? Anything.”

She closed her eyes and sighed, letting out a long breath that had probably been boiling in her for a while. “I’ll figure out the details later. For now…can we just deal with this.”

She was pointing at his diaper.

“Yes, totally agreed,” Johnny said. “If you just untie me, I can go and–”

“Babies shouldn’t be responsible for changing their own dirty diapers,” Cecile said. “I’ll take care of this.”

“You’re going to…change him?” I asked incredulously.

“Someone needs to. Johnny, do you have wipes? Baby powder?”

“Uh…no…”

“Well, I think we need to run to the store, then.”

I laughed. “And leave him here like this?”

“I don’t see why not. He’s made enough of a mess–both of himself and of this house. And he’s not going to smell any worse later if we let marinate for a few more minutes.”

“I can’t believe you’re serious about this,” I said.

Johnny was surprisingly silent. I could guess why, of course. Despite all the shame and humiliation he was feeling, there was probably a part of him that actually wanted Cecile to change his diaper. He had probably hoped that he could’ve convinced Nette to change him too, though who knew how much fictional money had to be on the table before she agreed.

“Serious enough,” Cecile said. “Are you coming to the store with me, or not?”

If sides had to be picked, I was obligated to choose Cecile’s. Besides, I was never going to pick the side of a man in a dirty diaper.

“Sorry, Johnny,” I said. “We’ll be back in a bit.”

Rash Prone

Was the smell worse when we got back? Or had we just grown accustomed to the clean air outside of Johnny’s bedroom–air uncontaminated by foul diapers that had been worn for many hours.

Cecile’s nose scrunched up, but she didn’t mention it aloud. Always the more stoic of the two of us, she was currently in leader-mode. Mommy-mode, maybe, given the way that she confidently set the newly purchased container of baby wipes and powder on the bed next to Johnny’s legs. She was pulling a pair of latex gloves onto her hand. Smart, I thought, though it also suggested that she was expecting to get dirty, which squicked me out a bit. I took a few steps back, hoping I was far enough outside of any potential splash zone.

Cecile had some experience with actual babies. The oldest of four siblings, she had changed her share of diapers in her teenage years–though that was still, by my estimation, ten years ago. Maybe it was like riding a bike, and you never really forgot how to do it.

Was it the same if the bike was ten times larger than it was the last time you rode it?

With her gloves on, she positioned herself between Johnny’s wide-open legs again. I was standing far enough away from the bed that I couldn’t be completely sure, but I could’ve sworn I saw a look of delight on her face. Why she’d look so happy to change the diaper of a grown man was beyond me, but it truly seemed like something had been awakened in her.

She had always been upfront about her disinterest in having children. Perhaps it was just because she had been burned out from her teen years, or maybe she just liked living without that responsibility as an adult. I had always been on board with this plan.

But here was all that maternal energy, finally manifesting–slowly seeping out from whatever dark and forgotten vaults she had hid it away in all those years ago.

“Now then,” she said to Johnny, her voice thick with condescension. “Let’s take a look at the baby’s little mess, shall we?”

“Y-you don’t have to do this, you know,” Johnny said. Was he scared? Or just scared of being further humiliated?

“Marty?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“Put the pacifier back in Johnny’s mouth, please.”

“Y-yes.”

I almost apologized to Johnny, but thought better of it. Walking through the living room again when we got back from the store, and seeing the trail of disrespect he had left in his wake, I was feeling less sympathetic towards him. I simply did as she asked, sticking the rubber-like bulb into his mouth, plugging the hole.

“Now then, let’s get the worst part over and done with. Ready to see how catastrophic the inside of his diaper is?”

“Not especially,” I said. “Do you mind if I close my eyes?”

She laughed. “You’re welcome to step out of the room if you can’t take it.”

“I’ll stay,” I said. For Johnny’s sake, I told myself, though I wasn’t especially sure what that meant. “I just don’t want to see it.”

“Suit yourself.”

I did what I said I was going to do, and I closed my eyes. I could hear Cecile peeling back the tape on Johnny’s diaper, one at a time. They sounded especially sticky and stubborn–which seemed like a good thing if they were responsible for holding up under heavy loads like this one. I heard the crinkling and rustling of the plastic diaper as she opened it. Lucky for me, she was also narrating the experience in the exaggerated tone of a mother talking to her baby.

“Aww, what’s this? Did some little baby make a big ol’ stinky in his diaper? Uh huh, I think he did! I think he made a big poopy in his pants. Looks like he’s been in it allll day too. Someone’s gonna have to clean this little baby up, hmm?”

Johnny remained completely silent. I had to imagine he was feeling pretty humiliated right now. The second-hand embarrassment I was feeling myself was enough to make my eyes well with tears.

“Peeee-ew! What a nasty little bottom you have here, huh? Just look at how much of a mess you made! And look at this. No matter how embarrassed or smelly you might be, you’re still stiff as a board! Do you like this, baby? Do you just love having your diaper changed?”

He released a small moan–a pathetic little noise that could’ve been read as either distress or pleasure. I cracked my eyes open a little–only to find that one of her gloved hands was cupping his balls, while the other was wrapped around his firm cock.

“Cecile…what are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m not going to be able to put him into a new diaper with this thing in the way. So we’re going to have to do something about it.”

“So you’re just going to…pleasure him?”

She laughed and shrugged. “If he wants to cream himself in his disgusting mess, that says far more about him than it does about me.”

I wasn’t entirely sure I saw the logic, but I wasn’t about to step between them. I closed my eyes again as I heard the gentle sound of friction–a gloved hand on his dry cock, I imagined. Or was it wet with his own urine? I’d like to say that I found the situation kind of unsettling, but…that didn’t seem to be true. My eyes cracked open and I found myself staring at Cecile’s hand as she quickly rubbed on Johnny's dick. He was moaning as his back arched–as much as his back could arch in his current state. The diaper was open, but she had it strategically folded enough as to hide most of his atrocious mess–probably more for her benefit as she completed this task.

It was a side of Cecile I had never seen before–a strange medley of maternal instincts, command, and sexual domination. This pathetic man had been reduced to a complacent blob, willing to be pleasured in a dirty diaper in front of his friends. My cock was also quite hard now.

Almost as quickly as she had started, it ended. Johnny whimpered and groaned as his load dribbled onto his belly. And just like that, Cecile was back into mother-mode, pulling white baby wipes from the package.

She started with his belly, cleaning up the small puddle of white goo he had just deposited. Then she opened the diaper all the way, revealing the entirety of the nightmarish load he had been sitting in for the last few hours. My eyes were closed again, though my cock remained hard. I just listened to the sounds of his skin being wiped clean. The sound of fresh wipes being pulled from the package. The sound of his occasional moans. The sound of Cecile laughing playfully as she did her work.

“That’s as clean as it's going to get,” she said, seemingly hours later. Maybe it had only been a few minutes. “You probably need a bath. If you’re a good boy, maybe I can help you with that later, too.”

Johnny had no real response to this besides a stray mumble from behind his pacifier–seeming entirely lost in the moment.

The old diaper was pulled away and balled up, before being tossed in my direction. I was lucky to have opened my eyes at that moment, or else I might have been clobbered in the head by a dirty diaper. Instead, I caught the heavy package. Of all the weirdness I had seen so far, this might have been the weirdest–holding a bundle of plastic containing all the foul things Johnny had done to himself in the last day. I quickly deposited it into the nearby trash can, grabbing a moist wipe for myself to clean my hands of any residual cooties.

“Time for a fresh diaper,” she said to Johnny. We didn’t have to look too hard to find the rest of his stash–the open package of adult diapers were on the floor, sticking halfway out from under his bed.

She unfolded the new diaper, revealing just how large it was.

“Where do you even get something like that?” I asked.

“I’m sure Johnny knows where to get them,” Cecile said. “Or, at least, I hope he does. He’s going to need a lot more if he thinks he’ll be staying here.”

She tucked the new diaper under Johnny’s bottom.

“Sitting in your stinky pants for so long, It’d be a miracle if you didn’t have a diaper rash,” she said. “And your cheeks are looking a little raw. Not to worry, I got something for that.”

She pulled a tube of ointment from the bag by her feet. Johnny remained in his docile, stupefied, state as she slathered a dollop on her fingers and spread it across his bottom.

She topped off her masterpiece with a thick layer of white baby powder before wrapping up everything in a tidy little diapered package, tightly pulling each tape into its right place.

“There,” she said looking down at the re-diapered Johnny. “I think that ought to do it.”

Johnny’s face was still a little wet from tears, and there was a fine stream of drool seeping down his cheek from under his pacifier. His fresh diaper looked plump and fluffy compared to the soggy and fatigued one we had initially found him in. A baby in all but size.

“Go ahead,” she said to me. “Untie him. I think I’m going to go and take a shower myself.”

Up and At ‘Em

Most of the makeshift ties were easy enough to unravel. It was the handcuffs that gave me the most trouble, though the novelty cuffs turned out to be no match for a pair of bolt cutters. And yet, after he was free, he just remained there in the center of the bed.

“You can take the pacifier out now,” I said to him.

He lazily spit it out, letting it tumble onto the bed next to his face.

“Hey,” he finally said. “Uh, welcome back, by the way. Have a good trip?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “It was alright, thanks. How was your weekend?”

“Oh…I can’t complain.”

“The house is a bit of a disaster,” I said.

“I know. I was going to clean that up before I got, uh…you know…”

I laughed again, extending a hand towards him to help him up. As I hoist him into a seated position, his diaper crinkles underneath him, rendering his cheeks a bright shade of pink once more.

There’s a tension in the room–I have no doubt that he’s anxious to ask me how serious Cecile was about her conditions for him living here. Truthfully, I’m curious about that myself.

“I guess I should get started on cleaning up the house,” Johnny finally says, his head hung a little in shame.

He slid off the bed and began a slow waddle towards the door. Between the thick diaper and being confined to a bed for a day, he seemed a bit wobbly. I was sure he’d get the hang of it soon enough.

I give him a firm swat in his padded bottom as he waddles past me. He yelps a little–I doubt the smack hurt, itself, though perhaps I triggered a few nerves in the vicinity of his blooming rash.

There’s no animosity on his face when he looks back at me. Just rosy cheeks of shameful pleasure, more than anything. But also, he looks thankful. If I was to guess, thankful for yet another chance–even if it ends up being one he needs to wear diapers for.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I shrug. “I know.”

“I’m going to make it up to you two.”

“I have no doubt about that.”