Stupid Baby Story Club, Part 3: "Teacher's Pet" [Tier 2 and 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

I was in the coffee shop, staring at a painting of a loaf of bread on the wall. It wasn’t a particularly well-rendered painting of a loaf of bread. There was some sort of ‘style’ to it. I didn’t think it was abstract, because I could clearly tell that it was supposed to be a loaf of bread. Impressionistic, perhaps?

What bothers me most about the painting is how emotionless it looks. It has no soul. It looks like the sort of painting bought in bulk to put up in chain coffee shops like this one. It was probably painted in twelve minutes by some under-paid employee in a warehouse.

I’m not actually just thinking about the painting. The painting is just a distraction from the other thing on my mind.

Diapers. I can’t stop thinking about them.

Diaper–singular. I can’t stop thinking about this diaper that’s in my purse. The one I’ve been carrying around with me for an entire week. I think about it everyday. Every hour. Sometimes, every minute.

When am I going to wear it?

What will I do when I wear it?

Will I use it?

Will I like it?

What happens if I hate it?

It’s the last question that’s given me the most pause in the last few days. It hadn’t even crossed my mind until I was taking one of my many walks downtown. I was in the bookstore, just browsing the new releases and making note of which books I wanted to reserve at the library, when I overheard a woman talking into her stroller.

“Oh no,” she said in this obviously-exaggerated tone. It’s like…condescending-ish? “Did you just make a poo-poo? We should probably find a place to take care of that, huh?”

And it’s not like I was really thinking that much about squatting down and making my first experience in a diaper a bowel movement. But this mother did bring up a good point–after you do your thing in a diaper, you have to deal with it.

I’m just a girl in college. With a roommate. Whose bathroom is down the hall and shared by 20-something other girls. Diapers–even wet ones–smell. I think? Even in the best case scenario, when there’s nobody in a hundred-mile radius who knows what I’m doing when I put my diaper on–there’s still work. There’s still cleanup and disposal to consider. That’s work.

And what if, after all that, I hate it? What if I finally work up the nerve to strap on a diaper, pee myself, and then I’m like ‘Oh, this is the worst fucking thing I’ve ever done in my entire life?’

Not only would that be terribly disappointing, but what would I do about the group afterwards? The only sliver of a social life I have, and then I find out that I don’t actually like the thing the group is based around? It’d be like joining a…bread club and not liking bread.

I need to stop thinking about the stupid bread painting.

It’s Schrodinger’s Diaper. So long as it stays in my purse, I neither like it nor dislike it. I can continue attending the meetings of the club without feeling like a sham.

Also, for the record, the baby in the bookstore smelled terrible. I could smell it two aisles away.

I could be that baby, I think to myself in the coffee shop. I’m not sure if I like or dislike that.

I came close to texting Mama as I sat there, sipping my coffee and picking at a scone that was probably not as fresh as I would’ve liked. I didn’t really have any specific questions, and I wasn’t exactly seeking advice. I just wanted to talk about it. I wanted to talk about diapers. I wanted to hear someone tell me that this wasn’t all that weird. Or, that it was the weirdest thing of all time–but it didn’t matter because it was still a lot of fun to wear them.

I also thought about texting Chuck. Neither of us had yet to send the other a message.

I had a miniature panic attack the other day, thinking about how awkward a conversation would be between us. As far as I could tell, we had nothing in common. The closest thing we had to a common thread was diapers–a topic I wouldn’t dare broach with him in public. Which left us with, what, football?

Just the other day, I had to Google if ‘goals’ were a thing in football or not.

Maybe he was a closet mandolin-enthusiast?

But then I remembered that he probably wasn’t interested in having a conversation. If we met up, it would be because we were seeking something more…physical. That sounded nice, but it didn’t do much for my need for social interaction.

I was starting to feel a little lonely again. I needed more than once-per-week story sessions with strangers about their strange kinks. I needed actual friends.

And so I made a goal for myself: At the next meeting, I was going to try and make a friend. I was going to leave the meeting with plans to hang out with someone–anyone.

I felt like there were some good options. Mama seemed like she’d be an excellent big-sister. Or…mother–not that I needed another one of those. And while I knew I probably shouldn’t say such things aloud, I was kind of hoping that Neil could be my gay best-friend, like the ones that sassy girls had in all the movies.

Drake? I don’t know. He seemed to take himself a little too seriously. Chuck was Chuck–and that was still a big question mark.

Which left Flo. She seemed like trouble. The fun kind of trouble. The kind of girl who showed up at your place unannounced and said something like “Get your hottest panties on, bitch, we’re going out.” And then I’d wake up 12 hours later on a couch in someone’s house that I didn’t recognize. With a jar of pickles in my hand, for reasons I couldn’t remember. And for years after, she and I would talk about the ‘pickle incident’ and laugh.

My imaginary social life sounded pretty fun.

“What are you up to tonight?” my roommate Lara asked me later, when I was back at my dorm again.

“Oh, just hanging out with some friends,” I said. Sort of true. It felt really good to say.

“Yeah? Are they, uh, cool?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Well, I was supposed to hang out with some girls from my study group, but I think they canceled…” I could kind of see where Lara was going with this. She, too, wanted friends. Needed. And with her plans canceled, she was hoping she could tag along with me.

Which I wouldn’t be opposed to, except for the fact that I was going to hang out with a secret club that talked about their diaper fetishes. I doubted Lara would want to be there just as much as the rest of the group wouldn’t want her there.

But I felt for her. I felt for her so bad. I wanted Lara and I to be friends, and we just hadn’t quite clicked yet. But what was I supposed to say? That she wasn’t invited?

I fibbed a little. Okay, I flat-out lied: “I really wish I could take you with me. But we have tickets for this, uh, show and…it’s, like, sold-out.”

“Ah, no worries,” she said, doing the ol’ ‘oh pshaw’ handwave. “I’ll probably just hang out around here tonight and watch a movie or something.”

“Look,” I said. “Do you have plans tomorrow? Maybe you and me can go out and do something together?”

“Yeah,” she said, shrugging a little too casually. “That sounds good.”

I knew she was disappointed, but I felt like it was out of my hands. For her sake–for the sake of everyone in the story club, I had to keep my mouth shut.

I thought about my ridiculous lie as I walked to Garcia Hall that night. What show was I even claiming to go to? Was I going to a concert? A movie? What happened when I got back later and she asked me how the show was? How long did I have to weave this lie into my life?

“You look a little more frazzled than you usually do,” Neil said to me as I walked into the second floor room that night. It looked like I was one of the early ones. It was just him, Chuck, and myself.

“Frazzled?” I asked. “Do I usually look…frazzled?”

“Like…exhausted,” Chuck said.

“No, no. I know what it means,” I said. “I just didn’t realize that’s how I looked.”

“You just kind of have this…anxiousness about you?” Neil said. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”

I took a deep breath, attempting to center myself. “You’re probably right. Actually, let me ask you guys a question. Do you ever have to, like, lie to people about where you’re going on nights like this?”

“Nope,” said Chuck. “Nobody asks, and so I don’t say anything.”

“I do,” Neil said, nodding. “Like, I don’t want to. But how do you explain something like this to someone else?”

“Exactly,” I said. I didn’t even need to talk about it any further. I just needed vindication that I wasn’t the only one having a hard time with that.

Drake and Mama showed up next, holding hands as they entered the room. I wondered if I had missed either of them mentioning this before, or if there had been countless context clues that I should have been observing. It made complete sense to me that they were together–it would explain why they were together that night at the library–but I just hadn’t realized it earlier.

“Hello Sasha,” Drake said to me. “It’s good to see that you’re back again.”

“We haven’t scared you off yet?” asked Mama.

“Not yet,” I said, shrugging.

“Tonight might be the night,” Chuck said. “It’s Flo’s story, right?”

“Be nice,” Drake warned him.

I took a chance and asked Chuck the question while I had the chance: “Do you not like Flo?”

“Well…no,” he answered, a little taken aback by the directness of the question. “We just, like, tease each other.”

“It’s the playground rules with those two,” Neil said, a smug smile on his face. “You tease the one you have a crush on.”

See? Exactly the kind of thing I imagine my gay best friend telling me.

“I don’t have a crush on her,” Chuck said, shaking his head. “I just…”

He was poised to say more, but that was when Flo, herself, arrived–blasting through the doorway like she had been shot out of a cannon.

“Sorry I’m late everyone,” she said, rushing over to an empty chair and sitting down. She was panting like she had just run a mile.

There was something in her expression that changed when she sat, but I wasn’t sure what it meant. It was like watching someone sit on something they shouldn’t have–like a pie or pointy rock. Temporary discomfort.

“I think you’re right on time,” Mama said with a warm smile. “Do you want some water?”

“N-no, I think I’m good, thanks. Just give me a–cough–second to catch my breath. I ran all the way across campus because I thought I was going to be late.”

“You don’t have to be here exactly on time,” Drake said. “This isn’t class.”

“And we all know you aren’t showing up to your actual classes on time,” Chuck teased.

Flo rolled her eyes as she took another deep breath. “Yeah, well, it’s my story tonight. Seems like the kind of thing I should be on time for.”

“Are we all settled in?” Drake asked.

“Before we get started,” Mama chimed in, “does anyone need to take care of anything? Anyone need to use the potty? Anyone need a diaper change?”

Flo’s cheeks glowed pink. “Actually, uh… I think I need to change out of my diaper. This one’s just about turned to soup.”

I was a little excited, retroactively, for having caught the look on Flo’s face as she sat down in her sopping wet diaper. Sure, the group talked an awful lot about diapers. But, so far as I knew, this was the first time I knew that I was sitting in the same room as someone who was wearing a diaper that they had used.

“Of course,” Mama said. “Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you,” Flo said, grabbing her purse and standing up.

“Do you need a hand?” Mama asked.

Flo’s cheeks got a little brighter as she glanced around the room nervously. Chuck, we all could tell, was just about ready to go with some smart-ass comment. “Well, uh…”

“Why don’t you go with her,” Drake said. “Just in case.”

Both Flo and Mama nodded before filing out of the room. I had no idea where they were going. Another empty classroom? A bathroom?

I knew this, though: The idea of being escorted to another room by Mama while in need of a diaper change was certainly giving me some tingles. I needed more time to process it all to figure out why I was getting said tingles.

But, yeah.

“Anyone else wearing tonight?” asked Neil.

“Uh, diapers, I assume?” I asked.

Neil nodded, doing his best to stifle a little laughter at my elementary question.

“N-no,” I said, shaking my head. “Not yet.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Drake said. “Take your time with it.”

“I’m not wearing,” Chuck said.

“Me neither,” Neil said. “I really wish I had though. I’m, like, in the mood tonight.”

“I’m wearing,” Drake said.

Neil laughed. “Obviously.”

“You’re, like, incontinent, right?” I asked Drake. I knew the answer to this already–it was a part of the story I heard on my first night at the club–regardless of whether or not they knew I was there. Still, I wanted to try and engage with everyone. Making friends. Maybe–I wasn’t sure you made friends by pointing out people’s disabilities.

He nodded. “Pretty much. I don’t lose much sleep over it, though.”

I wished I had a follow-up question, but I wasn’t sure what else to ask. Instead I just said: “Cool.”

Chuck laughed at this, a big hearty laugh.

“N-no,” I said, trying to course correct. “Not like…it’s cool to be incontinent. I just meant that…”

“You’re fine,” Drake said, laughing a little himself.

I tried to change the subject. “So, uhm, Mimi?” I had been calling her ‘Mama’ in my head, but the name didn’t feel right to say aloud yet. I felt like I had to earn that. “She just…changes everyone’s diapers?”

“We’re all pretty tight,” Drake said. “And she’d do anything for anyone. Especially someone in this group.”

“Considering the kinds of stories we tell each other,” Neil added, “you end up trusting each other a lot.”

“Some of us need help getting changed more than others,” Chuck said, nodding his head towards the door that Flo and Mama had walked out of a little bit ago. “Flo might actually be three or four toddlers in an overcoat.”

I thought about Neil’s earlier comment about the likelihood of Chuck’s schoolyard crush on Flo. If that was true, what did it say about him that he wanted to exchange phone numbers with me? Were Flo and I on the same ‘diapered hook-up’ rolodex?

It wasn’t long after that Flo and Mama returned. Flo’s cheeks were a little pink yet, but she did seem to look a little more comfortable as she eased into her chair. I wondered where the old wet diaper went. Probably not in a trash can–I had a feeling that was what got the group booted from their last meet-up spot. Maybe it was in her shoulder bag. Somewhere in there, with her wallet, keys and other personal ephemera, was a bundled up dirty diaper.

I was reminded of my own diaper–though that one was still clean–in my purse. Would I one day be hauling around a dirty diaper, waiting for the opportunity to toss it out?

“Alright,” Flo said. “I’m ready to go.”

“Okay then,” said Drake, nodding. “Here we go. Everybody, welcome back to the Stupid Baby Story Club. The theme for this round of stories is ‘It’s Personal,’ and tonight’s story is brought to us by the one-and-only Flo. Flo? It’s all you.”

Unlike Chuck and Drake, who had just told their stories to us like it had been memorized, Flo pulled out a wad of lined notebook paper from her bag–the same bag that likely held her dirty diaper. She smoothed the papers out on her thighs–the handwritten notes visible on the fronts and backs of the pages–and she began to read.

- - -

Teacher’s Pet

Ingrid Moravsky is 35 years old and an adjunct professor teaching psychology courses. She’s married to Josh Moravsky, 38 and a marketing analyst for an online retailer. They live in the suburbs–a relatively recent change to their life, as they had both spent most of their lives in the city.

Ingrid finds suburban life to be a little slower. It’s not a bad thing, but there’s a lot about the city that she misses. She misses being able to walk to just about anything she could ever want. Now, she has to get in her car and drive at least 10 minutes just to get to the grocery store. Food delivery takes longer. There’s no Ethiopian food in her neighborhood.

She doesn’t love teaching. She loved it for a while. But it feels stagnant now. Semester after semester, there’s just new giant groups of young adults who just want to get a passing grade so that they can move on. She stands in front of them and talks. Sometimes they listen. It usually doesn’t matter. She asks for a tenured position at the university over and over again. They tell her to be patient. But they’ve been saying this for years now.

Meanwhile, her husband seems just as burnt out. Josh is putting in close to 50 hours a week at the office, and the numbers are down. Corporate is threatening layoffs. He’d like to think that he’s safe, given that he’s been there for over 10 years, but the truth is that nobody is. The people who make those sorts of decisions are faceless entities in closed offices. They don’t know him. They don't know his work ethics or his hopes and dreams. In the Tetris game of finance, if laying him off helps the company’s bottom line, he’ll be kicked to the curb too.

But where this sort of stress would push a weaker couple to a breaking point, the two of them seem to be handling it well. They support and love each other, and they remain committed to weathering the storm.

[“I’m sorry,” asked Neil. “But this is about you, right?”

“Just stick with me here, okay?” Flo said, clearly frustrated as she lowered her small stack of pages.]

Sex helps. Lots of sex.

It wasn’t always like this. Sure, they had plenty of sex when they first got together. But it tapered off after a few years of marriage and adult routine. This is not an uncommon thing, of course. It’s just the way things go.

But suddenly, the sex seems better than it ever has before. Even better than when they were first courting. Neither of them are really sure why that is. Maybe they’re channeling their stress into raw sexual energy. Maybe sex makes it easier to forget all the more frustrating aspects of their lives–the faceless students, threats of layoffs, and lack of Ethiopian food.

It’s sex as an escape. And they escape often. The more they have, the more they need. And soon, they need more than just fucking. They want weird sex. Adventurous sex.

He spanks her. She spanks him. She makes him wear her panties. He fucks her in the family restroom of a fastfood restaurant. She snaps pictures of her shaved pussy while waiting for her class to arrive and she sends it to him. He stares at the photo while at work, rubbing himself through his pants under his desk until he ends up running to the bathroom so he can film himself cumming. He sends it to her, which sends her to the bathroom.

So on and so forth.

They’ve discovered the joys of golden showers. Ingrid actually invests in a rubber sheet for the mattress because they’ve been pissing on each other so much lately and the towels they put down aren’t enough. Josh wants to see her piss her pants, and she does. Josh wants her to call him Daddy as she pisses her pants, and she does. Josh wants her to suck her thumb as she pisses her pants and calls him Daddy, and she does.

Ingrid likes it, but she feels something is missing. She even suggests a role-reversal, which he’s fine with. He pisses his pants for her. He sucks his thumb. He crawls around on his hands and knees. He calls her Mommy and she practically melts into the floor. She suggests diapers, and he gives it a whirl. He doesn’t love it, but he can tell that she’s really into it.

She wants a baby–that’s what is missing. Not an actual baby–they’re too busy for that. Too stressed for that. But a third. Another partner–one who they can play dress-up with. Roleplay with.

Josh is very onboard with this idea. “All you have to do,” he says, “is find someone.”

Obviously, easier said than done.

They both keep their eyes open, watching out for potential babies. But Josh isn’t keen on bringing anyone home from work–understandably so. And Ingrid is surrounded by…students. Cute, stupid, naive students.

It’s unethical. Dangerous, even. But. If she could poach from the campus and it worked out? God, that’d be glorious.

She doesn’t tell Josh many details of her plan. He’d likely–rightfully–question the ethics of it. But she knows him well enough to believe that once she actually finds someone–someone willing–he’ll roll with it.

It takes a while. She’s not sure what she’s looking for, but she suspects she’ll know it when she sees it. Someday, she’s going to meet someone who perfectly personifies the big baby she wants to bring home and adopt.

And she waits. And she waits. And she waits.

And then she meets Florence, a student in her Abnormal Psychology class. Florence isn’t exactly what Ingrid had in mind for her baby, but for the first time she at least sees potential.

Florence is a little rough around the edges. She’s got that rebellious flare to her that you sometimes see when a child is free from their parents for the first time. A nose piercing that probably won’t last the next four years. A pink streak in her hair. A faded Soundgarden t-shirt that she probably either stole from her father or bought at a Goodwill. She has a ‘flirty’ way about her, though Ingrid is careful not to make too many assumptions about that.

But there’s just something about her attitude that speaks to Ingrid. Like, the right amount of balance between compliance and fierce independence. The girl is bright, but lacks focus. She needs a mentor. A mommy.

Ingrid takes her time. She heaps praise on Florence’s assignments. She compliments her clothing. She asks Ingrid to stay after class, once in a while, so that Ingrid can ask her questions about her aspirations.

It works. Florence seems to enjoy the extra attention. She needs a mentor, it seems. She needs some guidance. Really, Florence just needs a friend and she believes she’s found one in her professor, Ingrid.

(That’s almost relatable.)

She’s careful not to rush the subject, but eventually Ingrid tries to nudge the relationship a little further down the road–towards the goal of getting Florence into her bedroom with her husband. She asks if Florence would like to get dinner with her one night. They could just talk. About college. About life. About the future. About music. About anything.

Florence says that she’d love that. And two nights later, Ingrid takes her into the city. For Ethiopian food.

While there, Florence gushes. She admits that she’s captivated by her professor. She thinks Ingrid is so smart and worldly. Florence confesses that she sees Ingrid as the type of woman she wants to be.

Ingrid tries a few things, just to see how Florence would react. She lets her gaze on Florence’s face linger a little longer than it should. She tries her warmest smile. She lets her hands gently graze over top of Florence’s at one point.

It seems to work. Florence’s cheeks brighten a bit. She seems to bat her eyelashes in response. She playfully bites her bottom lip.

Ingrid takes a chance: “Did you have to be back on campus at a certain time? Or, could I keep you a little longer?”

Florence is practically drunk with giddiness. “You can keep me for as long as you’d like.”

[“Remember what I said last week?” Chuck said to the group. “Did you wear your diapers? This story is gonna be hot.”

Just about everyone rolled their eyes in unison.

“It’s not really that kind of story,” Flo said.

Chuck shook his head and smiled. “I’ll be the judge of that.”]

Ingrid’s suburban home seems as fascinating to Florence as Ingrid herself is. There’s so much art. And books. And music. Everything seems so exotic and fascinating. She wants to know the story about everything.

Ingrid makes the two of them cocktails–something green and both sweet and herbaceous. She puts some music on in the background–something Brazilian that she calls one of her all-time favorites–and sits next to Florence on the couch. They trade stories for a bit, their eyes locking more and more frequently.

Ingrid finally places her hand on Florence’s bare thigh, just below the hem of her yellow dress. She waits to see if Florence will remove it or show any sign of discomfort–but the action seems approved.

“If I may be so bold,” she says to Florence, “I’d like to ask you something.”

“Anything,” Florence says.

“Would it be alright if I kissed you?”

“Yes.”

They do kiss, but it quickly–wordlessly–becomes so much more than that. They remove each other’s clothes. Their limbs intertwine and tangle until they roll off of the couch and onto the floor–though this doesn’t slow them down. When they finally stop and take a breath, both have been thoroughly satisfied.

More importantly, Florence is all-in. She wants more of Ingrid.

Still, Ingrid takes her time. She follows the steps that she and Josh had. She admits to Florence that she’d like to explore golden showers with her. Florence is willing, and they have a ball with that. She tells Florence that she’d like to see her piss her pants. Florence is willing, and it’s another exciting night. She tells Florence that she wondered what it’d be like if she pissed her pants, crawled on the ground, and called Ingrid ‘Mommy.’ Florence is willing, and it’s as delightful as they both wanted it to be.

Florence is the one who brings up diapers, all on her own. “What if I…dressed up like a baby for you?”

And so the next time Florence arrives at Ingrid’s house, there’s a package of diapers waiting for her. These, Ingrid says, are special diapers for big babies. They’re very thick and very large, though they have cartoonish designs on them like they were for an actual infant.

“You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to,” Ingrid says.

But Florence wants them so badly. She practically begs Ingrid to put them on her. She wants to be Ingrid’s little baby more than she’s ever wanted anything else in her entire life.

Ingrid no longer needs to nudge–Florence tumbles further and further down Ingrid’s path all on her own. Florence wears the diapers. She crawls around in them. She wets herself and allows Ingrid to change her. She sucks her thumb. She drinks from a bottle. She allows Ingrid to give her baths.

Florence finally tells Josh about her little project one night, over glasses of wine. Josh is–predictably–concerned about the nature of this relationship at first. But the more that Ingrid talks about her successes with molding and regressing her dear Florence, the more on board with it Josh is. He wants to meet her.

Meanwhile, Florence no longer seems content with being Ingrid’s baby only while in Ingrid’s home. She’s ordered diapers of her own, and she’s started wearing them to school. She surprises Ingrid one day, after class, by approaching her and asking if Ingrid could check to see if she needed a diaper change yet. Sure enough, Ingrid finds Florence is wearing a heavily saturated diaper that sags right off of her bottom.

They’re both falling deeper into their little game. They sneak around campus together, looking for places where Florence can get her diaper changed. And no diaper change is complete without Ingrid’s face between Florence’s legs. Or without Florence suckling on Ingrid’s tit.

Josh keeps asking when he’ll get to meet Florence. Ingrid asks for a little more time, wanting to ensure that she has Florence’s complete trust before introducing Josh.

But she’s had Florence’s complete trust for weeks. Ingrid loves Josh, and she still likes their original plan of adding a third to their relationship. But she really loves Florence. Too much, perhaps. So much that she wants Florence all for herself.

It slowly spirals into something that neither thought it would become. They’re spending as much time together as they possibly can. They meet up for breakfast in the morning. They meet for dinner at night. When Josh is working late, Florence is at their house. Some nights, Ingrid and Florence just walk around campus together.

Florence almost always needs her diaper changed. One night, as they walk hand-in-hand in a quiet section of the athletic complex, she pauses and relinquishes Ingrid’s hand so that she can squat some. And just like that, with no hesitation or conversation about it, Florence messes her diaper. She does it with a smile on her face as she stares up at Ingrid. Ingrid is elated for this development. She pulls open the back of Florence’s pants to peer into the diaper. She takes big, deep, breaths around Florence’s diaper, trying to take in as much of the odor into her nostrils as she can.

Ingrid has the best climax of her entire life, laying on her back in the grass as Florence hungrily eats her out in her completely loaded diaper.

(Holy. Fucking. Shit. The room is silent. Flo has everyone’s complete attention.)

Ingrid tells Josh that she’s going away for a week for a conference. She takes Florence to a hotel two hours away–nowhere interesting, just far away from everything else.

The week is almost entirely beyond description. Hedonistic. Debaucherous. Decadent. Florence slips so deepily into her role as ‘baby,’ that there are moments where she actually believes she has been regressed into an infant. Ingrid–Mommy–cares for her every need. And then some. They drink. They fuck. They eat. Diapers are soiled and changed. Even Ingrid slips into a diaper or two herself, allowing herself to see the world as she wants Florence to. Every night, they cuddle tightly in a bed together, unwilling to let each other go.

It’s after this trip that things begin to fall apart.

At home, Josh begins to put together the pieces. Ingrid’s never home anymore, and when she is, she doesn’t seem to have as much time for him as she did not that long ago. That hot and frequent sex, that was making everything else in life bearable, had dried up. She’s on her phone a lot. She comes home smelling of…baby powder? And then there’s her ‘conference,’ though she seems unwilling to provide too many details about what sort of conference it is. And, per the transactions posted to their bank account, she is in a town about two hours away. To the best of his research, this town is not hosting any sort of convention.

Ingrid isn’t the only one being backed into a corner. The distractions in Florence’s life–as fantastic as they are–put everything else on the backburner. Her grades are slipping. Her other professors are growing concerned. A campus representative reaches out to Florence’s parents to make sure everything is alright–and now they are asking questions.

The news continues to get worse. They’ve been incredibly careless in the latter days of their baby-games, it seems. College administrators have questions. Why is this professor leading a student around campus by the hand? Why are there reports of this professor being spotted pulling open a student’s pants and looking inside of them while in the courtyard? Is it true that this professor and student have been seen canoodling on a park bench together?

Ingrid quit before she could be fired. The school felt this was sufficient, as nobody else knew enough to demand that more be done. The Abnormal Psychology class has a new professor filling in for the rest of the semester, and rumors are spreading that Ingrid was fired because she had a relationship with a student. Nobody seems to know that Florence was that student, however.

Ingrid tells Josh the truth. All of it. Every filthy detail. She wants to be clear, however, that she does not feel ashamed of her actions–she loved every moment of it. She is only sorry that she hadn’t been more upfront with her husband. She is sorry that she’s been selfish and has lost herself a bit. But the time spent with Florence? She has no regrets about that.

Josh feels for his wife, but he also thinks it’d be best if she cut ties with Florence. He knows it’ll be hard, but they're only inviting more trouble if they continue.

Ingrid doesn’t want to agree, but she can’t shake the feeling that he may be right. Too, there’s a message to be read between the lines of what he’s suggesting to her: I’m willing to forgive you if you can put an end to it now. I might not be able to if you don’t.

She has to choose between Josh and Florence.

Ingrid picks up Florence from campus one afternoon and they go back to her house. At this point, the writing seems to be on the wall. They both know this is likely the last time they’ll see each other. Still, Florence wears a diaper. It’s soaking wet by the time they get to Ingrid’s house.

For a while, it’s like nothing has changed. Florence crawls around in the ground in just her wet diaper. Pausing occasionally to suck her thumb or attempt some babytalk–something she’s been practicing. She suckles from Ingrid’s tit, effortlessly pushing a soft load into the seat of her diaper while she does. Ingrid breathes it all in, hoping that she remembers this naughty stench for as long as she lives. She changes Florence’s diaper, slowing the process down considerably to savor every moment. They get distracted mid-change twice–once when Ingrid explores Florence’s dripping pussy with her fingers, and once when Ingrid parks her ass atop Florence’s hungry lips.

Ingrid changes Florence into a fresh diaper when they’re done, though this will be the very last one handled by Ingrid. She takes a moment to write a message on the diaper in permanent marker–a message that Ingrid won’t see until much later: Love you.

They don’t talk much about it being the end. Maybe it’s too hard, or maybe they both hold out hope that this is just temporary. Life can be long, and anything is possible.

They never actually say ‘good-bye.’

For Ingrid and Josh, things get worse before they get better. Josh finally does get laid off. They both need jobs now, and they end up moving yet again–this time to be closer to Josh’s family in another state. They help the couple get back on their feet, financially. Emotionally, Ingrid and Josh have a long journey ahead of them.

Meanwhile, with Ingrid no longer on campus, Florence’s life began to return to what it had been before. She catches up with her assignments. She does some groveling with other professors to get a second chance on the work she’s missed. She cites struggles with depression when her parents ask for an explanation. It seems to work. She’s stopped wearing diapers.

Ingrid and Florence keep in touch for a while, via texts and emails. But the longer they’re apart, the slower that correspondence comes. Time and distance reveals the flaws in their relationship. The age gap. The power dynamics. The secrecy. The fact that, at the end of the day, neither really knew all that much about the other.

Then, one day long after the communication has gone almost completely silent, Florence finds her diapers again, stashed in a bag under her bed. It’s hard to separate them from the time spent with Ingrid, though she does miss the feeling of a thick diaper between her legs.

And so she starts wearing them again. Not for anyone else–but for herself. And there’s nothing quite as thrilling as walking around campus with a secret like that.

- - -

“I can’t decide if I’m mad at Ingrid, or if I’m sad for her,” Neil said. The usual snark in his tone seems to be absent.

“Thank you for sharing that,” Mama said. “I hope that wasn’t too hard to share.”

“Nah,” Flo says, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’ve been holding onto this one for a while. I think it was time to get it out there.”

“You know, I think I had Ms. Moravsky for a psych class in my freshman year,” Drake said, scratching his head. “She seemed nice enough. Crazy to think that I had been wearing diapers to her class.”

“You coulda asked her for a change,” Chuck said.

“Please don’t start going around and asking all your professors to change your diaper, Chuck,” Mama teased.

“I-I wouldn’t do that,” he said. It was amusing to watch him get flustered like that.

“So, did you end up, uh–what did you say last week? ‘Spurting’ in your diaper while listening to my story?”

“I mean…I, uh, didn’t hate the idea of you loading up a diaper and eating your teacher out…”

“Alright, alright,” Mama said. “We were all there. We heard the story.”

“Well then,” Drake said. “Who’s up next week?”

“Me,” said Neil.

“It’s going to be something gay, isn’t it?” Chuck asked.

“Your story was literally about sucking a guy’s dick,” Flo spat back at him.

For the second time, in a matter of minutes, Chuck’s cheeks were bright red. He slunk back in his chair, looking committed to just minding his own business.

And that was that, we chit-chatted for a few more minutes before going our separate ways–another long week ahead of us until we meet again.

But I didn’t walk back towards my dorm immediately. Instead, I waited just outside the door at Garcia Hall until I saw Flo exit. I quickened my pace to catch up with her.

“Uhm, hey,” I said. “I wanted to tell you that I really liked your story.”

“Thanks,” she said, shrugging. “It wasn’t the sexiest story ever told in our little group. But I guess they can’t all be.”

The damp spot in my panties said otherwise, though I wasn’t about to tell her that.

“There was a part, early in your story, about how you just…needed a friend?”

“Uhm, yeah,” Flo said, nodding. “I did say that.”

“I don’t know. You can tell me if you’re not interested or something. But, like, I don’t really know many people on campus yet, and aside from this group, I don’t really have any sort of social life. And so, like, if you still felt like you needed friends, maybe…”

“Hey,” she said, showing me some mercy by cutting off my increasingly-whiney diatribe. “I was going to go grab a snack. Do you want to come with me?”

“Y-yeah,” I said, nodding a bit too eagerly.

“There’s just one rule.”

“Okay?”

“I’m wearing a diaper right now. And if I’m wearing a diaper, you’re going to have to wear one too.”

“Well…I’ve never… But I haven’t worn one yet.”

“What happened to the one I gave you?” she asked.

I couldn’t help but laugh. The cosmic payoff to me carrying around this diaper with me. “It’s…in my purse, actually.”

“What the hell are we waiting for, then? Let’s get you in a diaper.”

We stopped by the Common Center, parts of which were open 24-hours a day–a sleepy hub for insomniacs, late-owls, and the occasional weirdo. Flo keeps guard in the ladies room while I flail about in a stall–trying to put the diaper on.

“The tapes go in the back,” she said.

“Oh…shit. I think I’m doing this backwards then.”

“Do you want help?”

Yes.

I couldn’t possibly ask that of her right now. “I think I got this.”

I’ve never put a diaper on anyone before. I have no younger siblings. No younger cousins. I’ve never been a babysitter. This–putting a large diaper on myself in the cramped confines of a public bathroom stall–was my first and only experience with a diaper.

I figured it out, mostly. I was wearing it, and it wasn’t falling off–though it probably didn’t look that great. Was it supposed to?

If I had more time–time alone–I’d have probably appreciated the small details more. The way the thick padding felt between my thighs. How surprisingly fluffy the diaper became once it was unfurled and manhandled a bit. The satisfying sound of the sticky tapes being pulled into place. For now, these were just hints–little glimpses of things I would have to explore later.

I pulled my jeans back up my legs, finding that it was a challenge to get them over the big diaper. In fact, I couldn’t.

“Actually…maybe I could use a hand?”

“First diaper and you already need help? You really are a baby, huh?”

I opened the stalls door to show her my current status–pants mostly pulled up, though stuck on the expanded plumpness of my ass. “See? I can’t get them up.”

“Have you tried sucking ‘em off?”

It sounded like a joke, but I was far too distracted to make sense of it. “Huh?”

“C’mere,” she said. “Let’s see what we can do about this.”

I pulled up on the front of my pants, and she pulled up on the back of them. Between the pulling, and a little bit of shimmying on my part, we managed to get the pants pulled over the diaper. Of course, now they were incredibly tight on me. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but think that it was ridiculously obvious I was wearing a huge diaper under my pants.

“Nobody will be able to tell,” she said.

“But…”

“You’re good, I swear.”

“I feel like my pants are going to explode off of me if I sit down.”

“Well, they might,” Flo said, shrugging. “Honestly, I’m not sure how they fit you before the diaper.”

I saw my cheeks turning pink in the mirror. “Are you sure I don’t look like a freak?”

“It looks like you’ve got a big ol’ dumptruck.”

“Is that…good?”

“It’s the best thing in the entire world. Come on, I’m starving. We can talk about your big ass later.”

I followed, though between the tight jeans and the plump diaper, I felt like a penguin as I waddled behind her. Maybe I should get used to this.

Just two girls walking in their diapers. Two babies.

Two friends.

Looking for something else to read? Check out the Master Index of QH stories: https://www.patreon.com/posts/55547916