Doing Business, Part 38 (Patreon)

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Thirty-Eight

“Come here, Baby,” she said. “Come to Mommy.”

I had been developing something of a ‘little space’ over the last few weeks; an infantile headspace that Mommy could summon forth on a whim. It wasn’t an omnipresent head-space, nor one that I could seem to reach by myself all that easily. Often, when I’d think about the idea of ‘little space,’ I found it to be silly–I couldn’t possibly believe that there was just a switch that could instantly turn me into a drooling, pants-wetting, infant.

But then, with such little effort, she’d prove me wrong.

She sat on the sofa at the other side of the room, her legs crossed and her lips curled into an inviting grin. I felt powerless as I dropped to my hands and knees.

Mommy had made us reservations at a place downtown for brunch, and I was wearing, mostly, adult clothing–save for not one, but two thick diapers concealed within my pants. They had caused my thighs to separate enough that I could barely walk without waddling. Now, my thickly padded behind was jutting out behind me as I awaited her next command.

As if she had a remote control to operate my body for me, she beckoned me forward with a single finger, and I found myself crawling towards her–already starving for whatever attention she’d spare.

“That’s a good baby,” she cooed. “Are you Mommy’s good baby boy?”

“Yes, Mommy,” I said.

There was a time, not that long ago, when I’d have stumbled over just those words. But part of this newfound little space was a feeling of confidence about who I was and what I’d be willing to do for her.

“Are you thankful for me, Baby?”

“Yes, Mommy. So thankful. I…I think you might be the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Is that right? I think it might be right, but I had put so little thought into that statement that I can’t help but wonder if I’m talking out my own diapered ass. It feels right at this moment, and that’s all that seems to matter.

“I hope you mean that,” she said.

“I do. Mommy, I love you.”

“Mm,” she moans, quite satisfied with my words. “I love you too.”

I wonder, sometimes, if she means the same thing that I do when we say that we love each other. I take her at her word, though in the back of mind, there’s always this lingering thought that I wasn’t the first baby in her life. And, if I wasn’t around tomorrow, there might be another after me too.

“It’s been quite the trip so far,” she said. An incredible understatement.

“Mmhmm.”

“But are you having fun?”

The last day and a half feel like a blur to me. Our adventures in the airport and in the ride to the hotel. Dinner with Kylie and her mother. Mommy’s use of toys to get me off, despite being caged. My day with Kylie, and her subsequent rebirth as a baby herself. And then there was last night–another evening of caged pleasures. She had turned me into a puddle of goo by the end of the night, once again pleasuring me with her toys. But unlike the night before, she didn’t let me finish. I felt like I was still reeling from that unfinished teasing–a desperate need to climax was still simmering within me.

“I am,” I said, laughing to myself. Goddamn, I had become such a little slut for humiliation.

She raised her right foot into the air, until it was parallel with the floor. “Do you appreciate what Mommy does for you, little boy?”

“Y-yes, of course I do, Mommy.”

Her extended foot rotated slowly, a hypnotizing circle only inches from my face. Her Italian leather boot gleamed in the sunlight coming through the suite’s window. I had never really thought of myself as a ‘foot man,’ yet there was something about watching her slender foot and ankle move in this moment that I found to be strangely erotic.

She looked amazing. She always did, of course, but every once in a while I’d have to stop and take all of her in again. Her thin black pants that seemed to be molded to her slender legs. Her white top–a tank top of some sort with big loose straps–seemed to cling to her shoulders for dear life. The slightest movement, and I wondered if it’d slide down her body to expose the black bra I could see hiding beneath.

“Do you feel a little overdressed?” she cooed to me.

“Maybe,” I said.

“Would you rather go to lunch in your little onesie? A bib hanging around your neck? I might have even packed a bonnet for you, if you’d like.”

I blushed. I tried to imagine, just for a moment, sitting in the middle of a crowded restaurant in my onesie, bonnet and thickly diapered bottom while everyone else stared at me. It felt entirely unethical…but in the most delicious way.

Was it bad that I could actually see myself agreeing to that if she really wanted?

“Do you…want me to dress like that?” I asked.

“Oh, please do be careful, Baby. Because when you ask questions like that, I start to think that maybe I should keep you dressed like a big toddler when we go out in public.”

“We don’t know anyone in Seattle,” I said.

She laughed. “Are you trying to convince me to strip off your big-boy clothes?”

I actually wasn’t sure what point I was trying to make. All I knew was that I was playing with fire. And when Mommy was involved, getting burned was inevitable.

“N-no,” I said. “Maybe not.”

“But it's an exciting idea, yes?”

I nodded. “Yes, Mommy. Very.”

Her foot continued to rotate near my head. I turned a little to stare at it again, transfixed by the smooth motions of her ankle.

“Do you like Mommy’s feet, baby?”

“Y-yes.”

“Kiss it.”

There was no hesitation on my part. I leaned forward, planting a wet kiss on the buttery-soft leather of her boot.

“Oh, but be careful, Baby. A little boy like you is much too slobbery for boots like this. I couldn’t have you getting them too wet.”

She was so good at effortlessly winding me around her finger. I didn’t think my kiss had been excessively ‘slobbery’ in any way, but I believed it, just because she said so.

“I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“Don’t be. Babies can’t help themselves, can they?”

I shook my head.

“Instead, maybe you should kiss something that could stand to get a little wet. Tell me, Baby–if you could kiss any spot on Mommy right now, what do you think you’d choose?”

A list immediately formed in my mind. Her lips. Her ass. Her breasts. Her pussy. Her stomach. Her neck. Her ears. Her…

It was safe to say that there probably wasn’t a place on her body that I didn’t want to kiss.

She was still patiently waiting for an answer, and so I had to pick something. I felt I needed to be a little strategic here, as if I got too greedy and said something that would require her to peel her tight pants off, it wasn’t as likely to fly. But I glanced up at her shoulder straps again, barely clinging to her body, and my mouth began to salivate at the idea of kissing one of her nipples.

“M-maybe I’d want to kiss your…chest?” Chest was probably the least sexy word I could’ve used, but no other word felt right to me.

“My chest?” she asked, giggling. “Do you wish Mommy had some milk to feed you?”

“N-no, not necessarily. I just…wanted to kiss you there.”

“Milk would be nice,” she mused aloud. “And just think–I’d only have to order food for myself at brunch. I could let you feed from my breast right there at the table.”

My face felt incredibly warm again. That sounded amazing.

“Come here,” she said. “Do you want to kiss Mommy’s titty?”

“Y-yes, Mommy. Please?” The top half of my body rose, so I was just kneeling before her now.

She let the shoulder strap fall from her left shoulder and I watched as she carefully reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. It slid down her chest, leaving her perfect tits exposed. I stared at them, finding myself overcome with gratefulness at having these lovely things in my life. I crawled onto the couch with her, kneeling on the cushions at her side like a happy puppy.

“Well?” she asked. “How much longer do you need to stare at your meal before you eat it?”

My brain shut off as my face bobbed forward and into her bosom. My lips quickly found her nipple–as if there was a magnetic attraction between us to ensure that the two locked on with ease. But the thought of just kissing her was long gone, and all my baby-brain could think to do was wrap my lips around her nipple and suckle. She made no effort to stop me. Were I to  guess, she already saw this coming. She simply moaned and supported my head, holding me gently in place so that I could nibble at her.

“Is that what you wanted, Baby?”

“Mmhmm,” I responded, my voice muffled by the soft skin of her breast.

“Don’t forget to leave some room for brunch, silly.”

The longer I remained stationed at her nipple, the more I could feel my ‘little space’ taking over. I was getting sloppy and reckless, drool and saliva freely flowing out from the corners of my mouth helped form a slick layer between her skin and mine. I could barely think–but I also didn’t need to think.

Is my diaper wet? Oh…am I... My bladder had simply taken it upon itself to empty into my diaper without being told to. It was sensory overload on both ends now, as my mouth continued to lick and slurp at her breast, while the diaper grew warmer and heavier in my pants.

“I know those moans,” Mommy said. “Are you making a tinkle in your diaper?”

I didn’t answer. I wished that I could, but I couldn’t think of what words I’d use to confirm her suspicions.

She figured it out for herself though, reaching down my back and grasping my bottom. “Feels soggy and warm.”

“Unh,” I muttered, a new wave of pleasure rolled through my body, originating from where she squeezed my diaper.

“I absolutely adore when you’re like this,” she said. “Locked up, soggy, and having forgotten how old you really are. A perfect little baby.”

I offered an enthusiastic “Mmf,” though it wasn’t even clear to myself if it was a response to her statement, or just something I needed to express regardless.

“I could do just about anything with you right now.”

“Mm.”

“It’d be a shame to let all of this infantile energy go to waste.”

“Oomm…” Not really a word, just a noise.

I felt her hand caressing my bottom again, squishing my diaper through my pants. Soon, her fingers were at the waistband, pulling open the pack of my pants. I didn’t think much about what she was doing–she had free reign over me. I simply tried to stay cognizant of what was happening down there while I continued to make a mess of her chest.

Her hand was in my diaper. I felt it between the wet padding and my damp skin. She slid her fingers deeper into the padding until I felt her tips lightly teasing my back door again.

I whimpered–an absolutely pathetic sound that signaled that whatever it was she was going to do, I wanted it.

“Oh you’d like that, would you? For Mommy to play with your little hole again?”

“Mmm,” I whined.

Her fingers wriggled against my bottom. It felt like she could slip one of them into me at any given moment. I could barely stand the waiting. Give it to me. Give it to me. Give it to me.

“I would like to,” she said. “And if I did that, I might as well get you to shoot your dirty little load into your diaper too.”

“Mmm.” Give it to me. Give it to me. Give it to me.

“But…”

“Mm?”

“We do have reservations for brunch. And I’d need a little more time...”

I pulled my mouth away from her tit, my face soaking wet. I wanted to protest–or at least, to ask if we could cancel brunch–but I had no ability to speak. I offered all that I could instead: “Aww…”

“I have an idea, of course.”

“A-anything,” I said, looking up into her gorgeous eyes as I found the one word I wanted to say.

“I have a few toys I haven’t shown you yet. One of them might just allow for us to keep our reservation while letting you earn yourself a sticky diaper.”

I nodded frantically. Yes. Please, oh please. Anything.

“You’ll have to be a good boy and wait here for just a moment while I fetch it. You can do that, yes?”

I nodded, slowly backing away from her.

“Good boy. I’ll be right back.”

Everything changes the second she slides off the couch and marches to the bedroom. Given just a second to recap the last few moments, my infantile headspace begins to fade enough that I can start thinking a little more clearly. It feels like waking up from a dream. Where am I? How did I get here? How long was I out? Did I make a complete ass of myself?

Mommy isn’t gone too long–just long enough that some of my senses return. I see it as a good thing–being stuck in a more babyish place indefinitely would give me little need of humility.

“I’m ba-aack,” she sang, reappearing with some objects clutched tightly against her chest. “Can you guess what Mommy has for you?”

I hadn’t given it much thought, and so I just shrugged. Maybe all the clues were there, but I lacked the capacity to connect them at that moment.

“What if I showed you this?” she asked, extending an arm towards me.

In her hand was her phone. For a moment, I didn’t understand what she was showing me. Was it the phone itself? Or something on it? I took a closer look at the screen. It looked like… Well, I wasn’t exactly sure what was happening on the screen. It looked like settings for an app of some sort. There were a series of toggle-switches and buttons associated to vague descriptors like ‘speed’ and ‘intensity.’

“I…I don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head.

“Ah, well then maybe you need to see the other component.”

Her other arm extended out towards me, and in this hand was a small phallus-shaped object, not unlike some of the toys she had implemented our playtime over the last two nights. But this one, with its more tapered tip and wide base, seemed especially…butt-friendly.

Still, I wasn’t putting the bigger picture together yet. Blame my density on my recovery from being in my baby-zone moments earlier. I looked at her again, sure that my confusion was written across my face in bold letters.

“Poor baby,” she said. “Do you not see what I’m proposing here?”

I shook my head. “Tell me, Mommy.”

“It’s rather simple. First, I lube up this little fellow here, right? And then I slide it into your hungry bottom. I trust that it’ll stay in place on its own–though you have two diapers to help with that. And then we go to brunch. And while we’re dining, I’ll just be playing on my phone a little…”

She demonstrated, pressing a few buttons on the screen to her phone, which in turn, caused the stubby toy in her other hand to begin vibrating.

It was all clicking for me now. And I, once more, felt a shameful warmth spread through my cheeks.

“Y-you’re going to leave that in me? At…brunch? In my diaper?”

“That’s right,” she said. “What do you think?”

I was pretty sure I was salivating. “I…I like it.”

“I thought you would. Care to make it interesting?”

“Interesting?” I laughed. “More interesting than having a remote control plug up my rear in public?”

“Don’t pretend you’re not interested in what I’m proposing.”

Obviously, she was right. “Wh-what did you have in mind?”

“A little game, betting on whether or not you can reach climax during brunch. I think we can do it.”

“I…I don’t know if I could,” I said. “I want to. But I’ve never…”

“That’s why it’s a game, silly. Are you fairly certain you won’t be able to c*m in your diapers at the restaurant?”

“Well…it doesn’t seem all that likely to me.”

“Very well,” she said. “If you’re right, and you don’t squirt into your diaper, then I’d say you’ve won. I’ll spare you any further public humiliation.”

My heart beat a little faster. “But…if I did actually manage to, uhm…” I couldn’t even bring myself to say the word and I quickly moved on. “What then?”

Her diabolic smile widened. “Well, I’d be so proud of my handiwork that I’d just have to show it off to everyone else.”