Doing Business, Part 33 (Patreon)

Handwritten note on the suite’s kitchen counter:

If you have any questions on caring for Clark, feel free to text or call me: [number redacted.] If I’m not available and you have a time sensitive question, please contact Lyndie - another member of my team who usually takes care of Clark when I’m not around. [number redacted].

And, really, if Clark does anything especially embarrassing, you ought to send a photo to both Lyndie and myself.

***

It’s hard to carry something while you’re crawling, and even harder to carry something that you want to be careful with. I was effectively reduced to being a three-legged dog as I made the slow journey back from the fridge to bring Kylie her next beer.

“The drinking age is 18 in other countries,” she said as I parked myself at her feet to hand it to her. “Probably those European countries, y’know? You won’t find an 18 year old girl in France resorting to looking after a boy in diapers just so that she can get some booze.”

I’d have responded, but she had asked me–no, commanded me–to stick a pacifier in my mouth and to leave it there until she said otherwise.

“So, obviously, you get off on this, right?” she asked, taking a swig from the bottle.

I shrugged. My chastity cage–which she somehow didn’t seem to know about yet–complicated the answer to that question.

“What about the fact that your babysitter is younger than you are? Come on, that’s got to be  pretty fucking embarrassing, yeah? You’re so pathetic that even a wittle girl like me could take care of you.”

Obviously, I couldn’t say anything in response, but the color of my cheeks likely communicated enough.

“I never babysat kids when I was younger,” she said. Oh good, the villain is going to monologue now. “I didn’t have to. That’s what girls do when they want to have enough money to go hang out at the mall. I always had money, so… Anyway, I think I would’ve been a really terrible babysitter. I don’t know when to change a fucking diaper, you know? I don’t know what a kid wants when they start crying. I want someone to babysit me. I want them to predict my needs and take care of me.”

That certainly checked out.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I guess that’s why I’m coming around on today. The best of both worlds, right? I’m getting paid for my services…” She held up her bottle of alcohol. “...and the baby actually gets to help take care of me. Good stuff.”

I sighed through my nose. Being humiliated at her hands was something that I’d probably look back at fondly someday. Having to endure little speeches like this all day could sour those memories.

“I wanted to do two things today,” she said. “Actually, three things, but let’s be honest–I’m not going to make out with someone who still pees their pants. But I can still drink, and I can still go shopping.”

At the risk of scolding, I took the pacifier out of my mouth. “So, you’re leaving?”

This was, potentially, good news.

“I asked Ms. Heller,” she said. “Your Mommy. She said she didn’t mind.”

“Good. That, uh, sounds fun.”

“Yeah, well. She doesn’t care what I do, so long as I’m spending my mom’s money. But…”

“But?”

“She said that if I left, I’d have to take you with me.”

“What? But…” This, I assumed, was the conversation that transpired when Mommy sent me to fetch her shoes earlier. I could even see Mommy encouraging Kylie to take me out for a little excursion like that.

“Do you think that I want to be followed around by a guy in a diaper? Don’t get me wrong, I bet it’s going to be fun watching you squirm while we’re in public. But, like, can you try not to embarrass me while we’re out?”

It was hard for me to consider her needs while I was still thinking about mine. “I don’t have to wear this do I?” I asked, pointing to the onesie.

“You obviously have to wear a diaper. Your Mommy said so. But, yeah, if you have some actual adult clothes, that’d be good.”

I didn’t have much, honestly. But I had what I wore out of the office yesterday–the same outfit I wore to dinner with Gretchen and Kylie last night. I nodded.

“Oh, and one more thing.”

I sighed. “Yeah?”

She surprised me with a swift slap to my diapered ass. It didn’t hurt, but between the momentum of her hand and being caught off guard, a pitiful squeak was forced out of my mouth.

“That was for taking your pacifier out of your mouth without my permission.”

She certainly seemed to have a bright future ahead of her as a dominating woman of power.

Soon after, we were in the back of an Uber on our way to Pacific Place–described to me as a ‘high-end shopping experience’ by Kylie. Exactly where I wanted to go with a thick crinkling diaper under my pants.

And speaking of my diaper, the drive over seemed like as good a time as any to start using it. I still hadn’t found the perfect timing for when I’d wet myself, but the decision usually boiled down to, in the immortal words of that famous green ogre, better out than in. The diaper could handle it, and probably another wetting or two on top of that if it had to.

But could it handle a few wettings and a mess?

I certainly didn’t want to find out, just as I could guess that Kylie didn’t want to either. For now, the coast seemed clear, though I could never predict when an uncomfortable rumble in my bowels would emerge.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered as we started strolling through the mall’s main thoroughfare.

“Wh-what?”

“Do you know what I can hear? Above the sound of the music playing and all the other people talking?”

I could probably guess. “No…what?”

“Your fucking diaper. Stupid baby.”

I felt my cheeks getting a little rosy again. My life currently felt chock full of people who wanted to see me embarrassed, but none were as antagonistic as Kylie.

“Sorry…”

She laughed. “Oh, I don’t fucking care. I hope everyone around us hears it. I should’ve let you wear your onesie here–because I’m not going to make much an effort to keep your diapers a secret today.”

My cheeks got a little rosier. I’d protest…but I had expected this. And it wasn’t that different from what I had endured with Mommy since our trip began. What happens in Seattle, stays in Seattle.

Hopefully.

“Did you make pee-pee in your diapers yet?” she asked as I followed her into a shop. The timing seemed spot-on, as we walked right past an employee stationed at the door who was greeting new customers.

I wasn’t sure how she expected me to respond to that, or if she expected me to respond at all. Yet, ever the glutton for more blushing, I played along.

“Just a little.”

She chuckled loudly, probably not expecting an honest answer.

“Well don’t get any ideas about me taking you to the bathroom and changing you on one of those little pull-out diaper stations.”

I wasn’t thinking about it before, but… Fuck, the idea of it caused me to expand a little in my cage. “I won’t.”

There were moments where Kylie seemed to forget about me entirely, as she sifted through racks of clothes. I followed her everywhere she went, and she offered no acknowledgment that I was still there. Then, she’d occasionally spot me and just laugh, having been reminded that she was being shadowed by a large baby.

“I have to try on some things. Come with me.”

“I can’t, like, go into the dressing room with you…”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Don’t be stupid. Do you really think I want you watching me undress? You’ll probably blow a load in your diaper. No, I just want to know where you are at all times.”

Did she think I was going to wander away like a toddler? I kept this question to myself.

“I’d like to try these on,” she said, showing the employee at the changing rooms her small pile of garments.

“Of course, right this way.”

“And keep an eye on that one while I’m trying these on,” she said to the employee while pointing at me. “You know how babies are. He might throw a temper tantrum when he’s left by himself for too long.”

“Uhm…okay?”

The employee led Kylie into a dressing room before returning to the small desk she had been stationed at, looking at me skeptically. I just shrugged, hoping to play it off like I didn’t know what she was talking about either.

Kylie wasn’t quick about it. Either it took a while to get through each piece of clothing, or she wanted to leave me waiting for her for as long as possible.

Eventually, she returned, her haul cut into two piles. She thrusted one of the piles into the hands of the employee.

“I won’t be keeping those.”

“Okay, I’ll take care of those,” the employee said, taking them from her.

“He didn’t give you any trouble, did he?” Kylie asked, not-so subtly pointing to me over her shoulder. “Didn’t poop his pants or anything?”

The poor woman, completely baffled by these questions, just shrugged as my face grew red again. I felt for her–I’m sure she just wanted to do her job. Still, I was thankful that this didn’t spiral into some sort of Twilight Zone situation where the employee, too, suddenly turned on me and demanded for me to pull down my pants and show her my diaper.

That would make for a good story. Someone should write one like that.

Kylie was back to ignoring my existence again while we waited in line for her to pay for her haul. It wasn’t until after I followed her out of the store that she turned to me with that devilish grin on her face again.

“That was fun, right?”

“Maybe for you.”

“You didn’t actually poop your pants, did you?”

“No…”

“I guess I’d probably know it if you did. Everyone else would know too.”

No argument from me. Though, now I was curious if she actually wanted me to mess my diaper in public or not. I didn’t think so–she probably just knew the topic was an expressway to getting me flustered. Babies, both small and big, can be read like books.

A few more stops throughout the mall. A few more pointed jabs to get a rise out of me. And, the longer we were in the mall, the better she seemed to get at them.

In front of a cluster of women, comparing dresses: “I already told you, I’m not going to change your diaper just because you got a little bit of tinkle in it. I’ll change you when the diaper isn’t going to hold another drop.”

While we waited for a young man to ring up her purchases in another store: “How often do you get diaper rashes? That must suck, to be 22 years old and still getting rashes because you still wear diapers, right?”

On the escalator, she turned to talk to the woman riding up behind us: “I’m really sorry you’re downwind from him. He’s still in diapers, you know, so I hope he’s not too stinky.”

At the food court as we ordered lunch: “Do you guys have those, like, plastic bibs for toddlers? I know he looks like an adult, but if he has to wear diapers because he can’t keep his pants dry, I assume that he can’t keep his shirt clean either.”

I tried to take it all in stride as best as I could. It was always embarrassing, for sure, but I was beginning to grow a little bit of a shell.

I don’t live here. They don’t know me. We’ll never see each other again. This is all just temporary.

Over lunch, I decided to try and engage in conversation that wasn’t just about my undergarments. “So, are you going to miss your friends when you go to college?”

She laughed.

“I…wasn’t trying to be funny, I just–”

“I’m going to be happy getting away from my so-called friends.”

“Oh.”

“Do you know what happens when you get a roomful of rich, privileged, and catty girls together?”

“I can’t say I do,” I said.

“Hell. It’s a passive aggressive–and sometimes just plain aggressive–hell. Everyone is acting, all the time. Everyone is trying to undermine everyone else.”

“Well, I, uh, hope college is a better experience for you.”

“Are you kidding me? Do you think the social scene at an Ivy League school is going to be any different? I already know that I’m going to have to, you know, kill or be killed.”

That sounds much more intense than my college experience. What else could I say? “Good luck.”

She laughed. “I think I’ll do just fine.”

After lunch, we slowly made our way back through the mall again, completing the loop so that Kylie could see if there was anything else she needed to use her mother’s credit cards on.

“Ah,” she said. “This is interesting, isn’t it?”

It was a designer infant apparel store. I had no chance of responding, as she grabbed my arm, pulling me into the shop.

“Good afternoon,” a saleswoman said, floating towards us from seemingly nowhere. Her name tag read ‘Luann.’ She already looked skeptical of the two young adults who had stumbled into her store. “What brings you in today?”

“I’m in the market for some new clothes for my baby,” Kylie said, not missing a beat. ‘My baby’ wasn’t something I expected to hear her say.

“Well, of course,” Luann said. “How old is your little one?” There was still skepticism in her tone.

“Probably old enough,” Kylie said, starting to scan the clothes hanging from the racks.

Luann laughed, as if forced to acknowledge that Kylie had made some sort of joke, but it was clear that she also had no idea what Kylie meant. I wasn’t sure either.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” asked Luann. “We have a wide range of outfits that serve every need from casual to formal.”

“Actually,” Kylie said, “I think what I need is a diaper cover. Do you know what I mean? One of those poofy little cloth underpants that help keep a baby’s diaper in place?”

“I know what you mean, yes.” Luann’s patience seemed tested by Kylie, but she remained dedicated to her customer service training. “Come this way, I can show you what we have.”

I could see how Kylie was trying to embarrass me, but I couldn’t see where she was going with this. Her unpredictability made me nervous.

“Here,” Luann said, pointing to a shelf against the wall. “You’ll find that we have a wide range of covers from a number of different designers and–”

“But these are all really small,” Kylie said, cutting Luann off.

“Well, yes. Babies are usually…quite small.”

“See, my baby is kinda big. And he wears really big diapers, you know? So if I’m going to cover them up, I need something…well, bigger than these.”

Luann seemed somewhere between annoyed and confused. Perhaps she, too, could detect that Kylie had some sort of playful angle here, and just didn’t want to be a part of it.

“How big are we talking?” Luann asked, in the cadence of the straight-man who was tasked with setting up the punchline of the joke.

“Oh,” Kylie said, pointing towards me. “He’s right here. We could just ask him. Hey, Clarky, how big are your diapers?”

I opened my mouth, but I had no idea what to say. Would I be better served playing along with Kylie, or apologizing to Luann?

Luann spared me from making a decision: “Young lady, I have actual customers that I could be helping. So unless you have serious plans to make a purchase, then I suggest you…”

Unphased by Luann’s tone, Kylie took a step closer to me. “Do you not believe me? I can show you.”

And with a single firm tug, she made my worst nightmare come true, managing to pull the waistband of my pants down from my hips to my thighs, leaving me standing in the middle of the store with my large, mildly-soaked, diaper on display. I quickly pulled my pants back up, struggling for a moment to get my pants over the bulk of the diaper’s padding. By the time they were back in place, the damage had been done. In addition to Luann, a handful of other shoppers had clearly spotted my diaper. Young mothers and other employees across the store had all stopped what they were doing, trying to wrap their heads around what they were seeing.

“Well…” Luann seemed beside herself now, unsure how to process the sight of my diaper. “I don’t think we have diaper covers that big. You’d probably need to order something from a specialized store online.” It was probably the best answer she could’ve given.

“Fair enough,” Kylie said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Come on, babypants. Let’s get you out of here.” She grasped me by my arm and pulled me back out of the shop.

I was as frazzled as she was happy with herself. She was practically skipping, her steps having a little extra pep in them as we walked through the mall.

“That was fun,” she said. “What do you think? Should we try that in a few more stores?”

“N-no, I think I’m good.”

But I could see into the future. Maybe it was a few months from now, or maybe it would be years. But my chastity cage would be off, and I’d be sitting there with my cock in my hand. And I’d think about the humiliating rush I felt when I saw Luann’s eyes grow large at the sight of my soggy diaper. I’d never forget that.

“Party pooper,” she muttered.

Pooper. The word echoed in my skull, pairing nicely with the sudden discomfort I felt in my bowels. I could probably hold it for a while.

But…

Did I want to? Kylie seemed to have the upper-hand for as long as she could control my humiliation. She wasn’t Mommy, though. She didn’t have an answer for everything, and I already knew some of Kylie’s limitations.

I had an uncharacteristically naughty thought: What would happen if I introduced a little chaos to Kylie’s day at the mall?