Doing Business, Part 45 (Patreon)

Forty-Five

Three days until my mother visits.

Another day, another diaper.

I again found myself in the center of Ms. Heller’s office, first thing in the morning, so that she could go through the ritual of checking my diaper. My pants were pulled down, the diaper was exposed, and her fingers would poke and pull at the garment as she saw fit. The state of the diaper was usually incredibly obvious as soon as my pants were pulled down–if not before. Still, we both seemed to like the routine enough that we always went through with it.

I had come into the office in a wet diaper. Wetter than usual–practically leaking. I felt like I had begun to develop a sixth sense for knowing the remaining capacity of whatever diaper I was wearing. Based on its weight, it’s sag, the number of times I had wet it, and how long ago I had wet it last, I was getting better at judging how much time I’d have until I absolutely had to get it changed. This particular diaper was, as best as I could tell, as swollen as it was going to get without causing embarrassing stains in my clothing.

“You smell like pee,” Mommy said to me as she leaned in close to my diaper as part of her inspection.

I blushed some. I wasn’t completely surprised by that–I had been wetting in this diaper since I woke up. Still, I couldn’t remember a time when Mommy had called me out for smelling…pissy.

“I like it,” she said, giving my bottom a firm pat. “It fits you quite nicely.”

“Th-thank you.”

“Apologies for making you suffer through that meeting yesterday morning,” she said, still orbiting me while prodding my diaper. “Somebody had to sit through it. This is why I have assistants, you know?”

“It wasn’t all bad,” I said. “Ava was there for Ms. Beaufort too.”

“Ah yes,” she said, grinning slightly. She knew this already, of course. “I bet that was nice.”

I still hadn’t gotten to talk to Ava since we were whisked away by Lyndie for diaper changes in the nursery. Ava had tried to tell me something, and I still had no idea what it was. It was eating at me. The curiosity was becoming all-consuming.

I was tempted to ask Ms. Heller if she knew what it might have been. But that seemed like the wrong approach for this mystery. Ms. Heller didn’t know everything. Besides, I wanted to hear it–whatever it was–from Ava’s lips.

“I-it was,” I said.

“I thought so,” she snickered. “I saw your notes.”

“M-my notes? You saw those?”

“Baby, you left them on top of your desk. Anyone could’ve seen them. In fact, I wonder if anyone else had happened upon it.”

My face felt incredibly hot as I tried to remember what I had written down in my notebook. I had wet myself during the meeting, but did I write that down?

“It was only half a conversation,” Mommy said. “Maybe I’m missing a little bit of context. But you did mention wetting yourself.”

My heart sank. I had written that down.

“You had also inquired if Ava was going to mess herself. I assume she didn’t?”

“No,” I said. “She didn’t.”

“I’m sure I’d have known about it if she did. Everyone in the entire building would’ve known.”

“W-we were just joking about that…”

“Sure,” Mommy said. “You and I know that. Ava knows that. But to someone just walking past your cubicle and catching a glance of your notebook…”

She was just teasing me, I was sure of it. It was easy to embarrass and frazzle me. As always, it was working.

“So, did you finalize plans with your mother?” she asked.

“Well, she’s coming up this weekend,” I answered. “Whether I like it or not.”

“And what are your plans with her? Going out for a nice meal? Allowing her the chance to change one of your diapers, like in the good ol’ days?”

It was hard to take the actual questions more seriously when they were so casually tossed alongside the more sarcastic questions intended to get a rise out of me.

Still, I tried my best to answer the more pertinent questions. “I imagine we’ll go out and get some food together.”

“I’d like to help with that, if I may.”

“How so?”

“A woman of my social and business standing has a certain amount of sway in this town. I’m thinking I could help you make a good impression on your mother. Perhaps I could get you some prime seating at one of the city’s best restaurants.”

“W-well, that’s very nice of you, Mommy. But I’d still have to be able to afford it…”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, her lips curled into a grin. “It’ll be on me. One of the many perks of being my favorite assistant.”

“Only assistant.”

“Semantics. Besides, you’ve been such a good boy lately–what, with the Seattle trip and all. It’s the least I could do.”

I wasn’t especially comfortable accepting her charity–especially without knowing if there was some sort of catch to it. I wouldn’t have put that past her. Still, the idea of impressing my mother with brunch at a fancy restaurant did feel like the sort of power move I needed to tip the scales in my favor during her visit. I wanted my mother to see that I was succeeding. That I was an independent adult who–

“But, truly,” she said, cutting off my internal monologue. “You smell like a pissy little toddler.”

I wondered if this would be how my mother would see me too. Perhaps not literally–I seriously hoped there was not a situation where she smelled my diaper, let alone knew that I was wearing one–but that she’d see me as just a helpless child still.

And maybe I was? It was hard to argue that I wasn’t. I just didn’t want her to see me that way.

“I, uhm, probably need a change, Mommy.” Nothing built a case for being a mature adult quite like that statement.

She laughed. “Ah, well, I’ll let you know when it’s time for a diaper change, Baby.”

A lesson I should’ve learned by now–just about everything is out of my control.

“You don’t have anywhere to be this morning, do you?” she asked.

“N-no,” I said, shaking my head. If I did–it’d only be because she had assigned it to me.

“Take off your pants and sit on the ground for me in your diaper. I don’t know what it is about today’s diaper, but I’m quite enjoying it. The perfect amount of squishiness and musk. Why don’t you sit down and marinate in it a little longer. I’d like to see if it ripens a little further in an hour or two.”

I did as she asked with no questions. It wasn’t the craziest thing she had ever asked for, but I did feel like I was being reduced to a decoration in her office. A science experiment, maybe. I kicked off my shoes and lowered my pants completely to the ground so that I could step out of them completely. Then, I just lowered myself to the ground, sitting on the soggy lump that was my diaper. I swore I could hear the squick of the mushy padding shifting beneath me. I definitely caught a whiff of something purely infantile–a mix of baby powder and pee. I could understand what she liked about it. Were my cage not locked up, I was certain that I’d be hard as a rock.

“Can I ask you something?” I said from the floor.

“Of course,” she said, returning to her desk.

“What was your mother like?”

“Hmm.” She eased herself into her expensive-looking office chair–it might as well have been a throne. “Not a subject I was expecting to broach today.”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” I said. “I was just curious.”

“Your soggy pampers have me in a good enough mood that I’ll share a little.”

“Thank you, Mommy.”

“You know, for a long time, my mother really frustrated me. Not because she was bad or mean. Quite the contrary, really–she was a saint. She was full of kindness and generosity. She’d have done anything for anyone.”

“She sounds nice,” I said. “Why would that frustrate you?”

“She was a housewife,” Mommy said with a shrug. “Maybe a little more common at that time. But she toiled through our house all day, everyday, like it was her job. It was her job. All the laundry. Dusting. Vacuuming. She made sure breakfast was on the table when we woke up. She made sure dinner was on the table every evening. And my family–myself included–we exploited that.”

I still wasn’t quite sure where the ‘frustrating’ part came in.

“I kind of resented her,” she continued. I mean, I never hated her. But to be a beautiful and intelligent woman–living a life of servitude for an ungrateful husband and children–I just didn’t get the appeal of that. She could’ve been anything. She told me once she wanted to be a teacher. That never happened, of course. So I swore that I’d never end up like her.”

“A follower?” I asked. “Like…leaders and followers?”

She laughed. “I’ve taught you a thing or two. Yes, she was a follower. And I didn’t want to be a follower. I wanted to be a leader–like my father.”

I nodded. Meanwhile, my body gently slid back and forth on my soggy diaper–the feeling of the moist bulk rubbing against my bottom was channeling tiny tingles through my whole body as I listened to her talk. I didn’t even realize I had been doing it at first.

“I see things a little differently now,” she said. “Age will do that to you. I spent my whole life trying to avoid being like my mother, only to realize that I do wish I was more…maternal.”

“Well, you have a baby in diapers,” I said. “That seems like a good start.”

“Not quite the same thing,” she laughed. “Though I agree.”

The room fell silent for a few minutes. She was working at her desk while I sat there in the center of her floor. A decoration, just marinating in my own juices.

“What is your mother like?” Mommy asked.

“Protective,” I said. “Uh…smothering, at times.”

She laughed pretty hard. “Do you think she and I would get along?”

“I’d like it if we never found out.”

“Party pooper. And pants-pooper. Speaking of…how’s your diaper doing?”

I was still shifting back and forth–micromovements that were still plenty stimulating. “It’s, uhm, good.”

“Any chance you’ll be filling the back of it with a stinky mess for Mommy?”

“W-well…”

Of course I was capable of doing that. In fact, I was a little overdue for emptying my bowels, and I was slowly becoming aware of the growing pressure within my abdomen.

Knock knock.

I wasn’t sure if I was upset or relieved by the interruption. I also wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. Remain in place? Hide?

“Stay,” she commanded. Then, towards the door: “Come in!”

I stayed put–feeling like a dog, obediently obeying an order.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” said Neve Beaufort as she burst into the room, giving me only the briefest glance as she closed the door and hustled past me to one of Ms. Heller’s chairs.

I felt my cheeks glow as I realized I had actually been regarded no different than any other decoration or piece of furniture in the room.

“Not at all,” Mommy said, shrugging casually.

“Expect more visitors,” Ms. Beaufort said. “I know a handful of us had questions about the Oneida account.”

“The more the merrier,” Mommy responded.

“Sh-should I…go?” I asked. “I can go to Lyndie’s or…”

“No,” Mommy said, shaking her head. “You can stay right there. And, please–hush. The adults are talking right now.”

My heart sank deep into my chest as I sat there. I wanted to melt into the floor. I was pretty sure that I was–I was now part of the floor itself, just waiting to be walked on.

Another knock. It was Troy Morris, who I hadn’t seen since the surreal spanking-gauntlet that coronated me as the locked-up baby I am today. He didn’t have an assistant of his own, yet, though he still seemed to be part of this little group. I had forgotten how strong his daddy-vibes were. Most days I didn’t think I leaned in that direction, but I’d have been quite alright with Mr. Morris–with his youthful handsomeness and charming smile spanking me again.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said as he walked past me, messing up my hair with his hand like I was 5 years old.

He sat near Ms. Beaufort, and the three adults immediately launched into a conversation that quickly seemed far above my paygrade.

“Janet’s team wants two more weeks to look at the trends,” Ms. Beaufort said. “Personally, I don’t think we have that sort of time.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Mr. Morris said, his voice buttery smooth. “I think we can all agree that Janet has the right idea, but if they wanted to be a part of this, they should’ve spoken up two months ago. The ship has sailed, and we need to start committing to dates.”

Yet another knock at the door. This time it was Darren Yang. Mr. Yang, similar to Mr. Morris, was a handsome man. But whereas Mr. Morris also seemed to have a charming personality and a bit of charisma behind his eyes, Mr. Yang seemed…sleazier. The kind of corporate asshole that Lyndie spent the first few months of her internship deriding.

Mr. Yang paid no attention to me whatsoever, walking right past me and towards another open seat. He left a trail of cologne in his wake–a strong scent that reminded me of walking past displays in the mall when I was younger.

He immediately dived into the conversation himself, calling out specific numbers and mentioning names that I had never heard before. People we worked with? People from other companies?

I tuned out most of the noise, disassociating a bit. Wherever I was, I was still gradually rocking back and forth on my wet mound of a diaper. Mm. It felt like the perfect crime–little stimulating bursts undetectable to preoccupied adults in the room.

I was daydreaming–my mind was in a thousand places, sometimes all at once. We were in Seattle, in the suite–Mommy was fucking me as I moaned like a braying mule. I was in a conference room with Ava, the two of us slowly leaning towards each other until our lips touched. I was in a room full of people in a dirty diaper, all of them occasionally taking an amused glance at my pathetic state while otherwise pretending I wasn’t there.

Oh.

The urge to fill my diaper was growing. I had managed to avoid it for as long as I could, but we were quickly approaching a level of discomfort that I could no longer push off to the backburner.

This was always how it went, wasn’t it? I couldn’t just casually push a load into the seat of my diaper when nobody else was around. Everything always had to be…complicated.

“...and it’s all wrong,” Mommy was saying to the rest of the group. I watched her talk for a moment, studying her mannerisms and body language. It was no wonder she was in charge–every part of her felt exuded confidence and strength. “I don’t want them coming back to us later, saying that we didn’t do enough. We need to be certain.”

For just a moment, her eyes met mine. As she listened to the others talk, I watched her smile. She took delight in seeing me there in my diaper. Marinating. I wonder if she knew about the rising urgency in my bowels. I was willing to bet she did. Knowing her, she invited everyone else to her office on purpose. She wanted me stuck in place, helpless and quiet. She was hoping that I’d end up completely humiliating myself.

And I was starting to crave that myself.

I had a little theory that, just as there was an infantile headspace I could occasionally be pushed into, there was also a headspace in which I craved humiliation. The two headspaces might have actually been more intertwined than I realized–though I hadn’t quite gotten that far in my theorizing.

The humiliation headspace was triggered by desperation. I felt it come out when I was backed into a corner with few other options. In the times when it looked like there was no way out of a situation without causing some sort of humiliation for myself. As if a defense mechanism, I instead desired it. Leaned into it.

And so I sat there, in my soaked diaper–breathing in wafts of the piss-soaked padding–imagining what it’d be like to push my load into my diaper as everyone sat around me, talking business.

Just try and pretend that I’m not here after that.

I wonder if they’d all seen anything like that before. Had Ava ever pooped her diaper with an audience? Had Hillary, in her time as Mommy’s assistant/baby ever done such a thing?

A little gas escaped my rear–a playful little pop. I didn’t think it was so loud as to be heard over the conversation, but it was loud enough had someone been paying attention. I felt my cheeks redden further as the scent caught my nose–a foul prelude to the sort of disaster I might be forcing into my diaper soon.

Could others smell it? I imagined they had to. The pungent air was still thick around my face. While I couldn’t see Mr. Morris and Mr. Yang, who were sitting behind me, a slight glance to my side found Ms. Beaufort staring towards the men as they talked, either unaware or uncaring. I looked to Mommy last, seeing the slightest hint of a smirk on her face as she listened to the others.

She turned her head to look at me again. Her lips were moving. Admittedly, I was never the best at reading lips, but I was pretty sure I could make out what she was mouthing towards me.

“Do it.”

I was certain of it. She was telling me to do it. She was telling me to poop in my diaper.

“Do it,” she mouthed again.

I took a deep breath. And another. And then two or three more.

Such a thing would only ever be considered in this humiliation-space. Otherwise, with any will of my own, I’d have refused. I think.

But at this moment, all I wanted to do was load my diaper. Not just while others were in the room, but because others were in the room.

I shifted my bottom a little. I needed space. As in–I needed to give the bottom of my diaper some room to catch my mess. I tilted my body forward a little, lifting my ass off the ground as much as I could while still remaining somewhat comfortable.

I wasn’t looking at anyone’s face, but I didn’t have to be. I could hear them looking at me.

“...so we might want to push that project back a week or two, though it shouldn’t be a problem because…uh…” The voice–I was far too distracted to determine who it belonged to–drifted off for a moment. “...we’re still able to meet the deadlines for Toby’s group.”

I was becoming increasingly untethered from reality. Nothing else mattered. I wasn’t in the room with other people. I wasn’t in an office. I wasn’t in a building with hundreds of other people. Were the others talking? If they were, were they talking about me? What I was doing? Was it obvious what was about to happen?

I wasn’t an adult. I was a baby. A stupid and pathetic baby who could–and would–fill their diapers at any moment.

I could hear Mommy say one thing. I wasn’t sure if she had more to say before or after this, but I could at least make out these two words: “Watch this.”

The situation was no longer in my hands. I had no control over my body now. Perhaps, like a baby, my body was going to do what it had to without regard for how I felt about it. More likely, I was under Mommy’s control. I was her puppet, and she was now making her puppet poop its pants for her audience.

Watch this.

It was an aggressive mess–rushing out of me with such force that by the time I knew it was happening, the back of my diaper was half-full.

Was it the thrill of messing myself in front of these adults, or was it the thrill of feeling the shameful mass passing out of my ass? Something forced a groaning “Fuuuuuuhhh” out of my mouth. Beneath me, my diapered bottom seemed to respond with squelches and bubbling pops.

I hadn’t given myself enough room. The limited vacancy in my already-saturated diaper wasn’t enough for the massive load my body was trying to force into it now. I could feel the mess spreading between my skin and the diaper–just as fast as it was coming out of me. It hungrily sought new places to go. It was creeping between my legs, and I was almost positive I could feel it attempting to escape out the back of the diaper.

Nothing felt real. Perhaps this was all happening in a daydream as they continued to yammer on about whatever the Oneida account was. Maybe this actually was happening and they sat around me with wide grins on their faces as I watched me push and push, trying to completely empty myself into the diaper.

It didn’t matter. The office didn’t matter. My mother’s pending visit didn’t matter.

This feeling of lost control–that was all that mattered.