Her Pet, Part 1 [Tiers 2 and 3] (Patreon)

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One

The girls make him nervous. Most girls have this effect on him, but this specific group of girls makes him especially on edge. They’re young. Pretty. Worse, they know how pretty they are. He’s always known these types of girls. They were there in high school. They were there in college. They’ve been a part of the environment of every job he’s ever worked at.

They weren’t always like this. Once upon a time, they were cute little girls who were interested in things like princesses, unicorns, and dollhouses. They kissed their parents on the cheeks. They were polite to their teachers and always had their homework completed.

And then something changed. He figures it has something to do with societal expectations. Or boys. Or sex, or at least the potential of sex.

They’re sitting on his deck right now, wearing outfits that–in his opinion–barely qualify as clothes. Shorts so short that they’re practically underpants. Skimpy tank tops.

They giggle to each other, communicating in short bursts of words that don’t always make sense to him. Most of their conversation seems to be taking place in the phones that are lodged in their hands. They show each other their screens and they giggle some more. Occasionally there’s music coming from one of their phones–just a few seconds of a song. Sometimes, they all converge around one screen to watch a video.

His daughter is amongst them. Sometimes, he’s not even sure which of them is Dakota. It’s not that they look that similar, it’s just that they cease to be individual girls when they’re together. They’re a hive mind of long hair, manicured nails, and glittered phone cases.

He was never the ‘cool’ dad–that was Bridget’s father. He was the guy with the big boat, and the beach house. He wasn’t the ‘funny’ dad, like Charlotte’s father. And he wasn’t even the ‘sexy’ dad like Abigail’s father. Goddamn, it always pissed him off when he’d watch the hive mind’s gaze follow Derrek’s ass when he walked across the room.

So what did that make him? Were he to guess…the pushover. The nerd. The lame-o. Do kids still say ‘lame-o?’ He was playing the same role now as he did when he was in high school. And college. And at the office. He was the guy so desperate for acceptance that he was willing to do anything–and everyone knew it.

That’s why Dakota was drinking from a beer bottle right now, despite being only 19 and not old enough to buy beer herself. And that was his beer that he bought for himself. As tempting as it was to walk out there and swipe the bottle from her hand, he knew he could never actually go through with it. It was fine. He’d just go and buy more beer for himself later. Maybe he’d hide it.

“Hey Pete,” says a voice from behind him as he stared out the kitchen window at the hive mind.

“Oh, uh, hey there.” He feels like a fool, being caught staring at his daughter and his friends like this. He can feel how warm his cheeks are.

It’s Abigail. He didn’t even see her get up from the group and come inside. She opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of beer–the same kind that Dakota is drinking. It’s done so casually that it’s almost like this is her fridge. Her beer. It is not either one of those.

It annoys him that she–and the rest of the girls–call him ‘Pete.’ They don’t call Derrek, John, or Anthony by their first names. With them, it’s Mr. Webber. Or Mr. Parton. Or Mr. Baumgartner. But not him. No, he’s just…Pete. Like he’s a chum from school, or just Dakota’s roommate.

She only pauses when she notices that he’s staring at her.

“Oh, uhm…is it okay that I take this?” she asks.

He supposes it’s good that she asks at all–though it seems like just an afterthought.

He sighs. “Uh, yeah, that’s fine.” He’s tempted to say something about how he’d much rather they drink in the safety of his backyard if they’re going to drink at all–but he’s certain that Abigail doesn’t give a shit about that.

“Thanks, Pete,” she says, flashing him a smile. She turns and begins walking away.

“W-wait…”

Honestly? He has no idea what he’s going to say to her. He just wants to take a swing at being a little more ‘hip.’ A little more ‘with it.’

“Yeah?”

“So, uh, how was the first year of college?” he asks.

She sighs a little–it’s probably a question that she’s been asked a thousand times by a thousand people she didn’t want to talk to in the first place. “Oh, it was fine. Busy, you know?”

“Sure, sure,” he says. “I remember how my first year of college was and…” His voice trails off a little, seeing that she already looks uninterested. “Actually, I shouldn’t keep you. I’ll talk to you later.”

But to his surprise, Abigail doesn’t immediately escape the kitchen. She remains standing in front of him, and she’s even smiling. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

He shrugs, a small part of him excited that this pretty young woman is choosing to acknowledge his existence a little longer than she has to. “Sure. What’s up?”

“Have you ever thought about my pussy before?”

“E-excuse me?”

She speaks slower–as if the issue had been that he just didn’t understand what she had asked. “Have you ever…thought about…my pussy before?”

Jesus Christ. His face is red. He’s pretty sure he’s sweating. His mouth opens and he starts spitting out words: “Abigail, you’re a beautiful young woman. But you’re also my daughter’s friend and I’ve known you since you were a little girl, and…”

“So is that a yes or a no?”

“N-no.”

“Why not?” she asks, her shoulders shrugging a little. It’s the same cadence and body language he’d expect from a more mundane topic like “Why can’t we have pizza for dinner?”

“Well…like I just said…while I do think you’re very attractive, you’re also my daughter’s friend and…”

“I’m a little disappointed, Pete. You really should see it. I bet you’d think about it all the time, then.”

“I don’t really think that’s a good idea.”

“I get it waxed,” she says, seeming to ignore what he’s saying. “It’s so smooth.”

“Th-that’s great, Abigail,” he says, not even completely aware of what he’s saying. He wants to get through this conversation and push her back outside to be with the rest of the hivemind. “But I should probably get back to, uh, some things I’ve been working on…”

“There’s nobody else around, right?” she asks. “Dakota and the girls are outside. Your wife is away for the weekend. So…it’s just you and me in here now, right?”

“Abigail, look…”

“I’m just saying. Come here and feel how soft it is.”

“I…I really can’t…”

“Please?” she asks. Pursed lips. Big eyes. And, fuck, she’s so ridiculously cute.

He wonders when was the last time a 19 year old girl wanted him to feel her pussy. Never–that’s when.

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says.

“I bet you’ll change your mind when you feel it,” she says, taking a step closer to him.

He knows what the responsible thing to do is. He should just turn around and leave the kitchen. Disengage. And yet, he remains standing in place. Regardless of anything he says, this speaks volumes for what he actually wants.

This definitely seems to be how Abigail chooses to interpret his continued presence. She unbuttons her shorts, wiggling her hips to ease them and her panties far enough down her thighs to expose her glistening womanhood to him.

His mouth is watering. He licks his lips. He feels like a disgusting old man all of a sudden. It doesn’t have to be this way, he thinks–but his hand is also reaching out ahead of him.

“Go ahead,” she coos softly, nodding her head. She takes a few more tiny steps forward so that she’s even closer to him.

He cannot believe that he’s actually doing this. And yet, he is.

His fingertips meet the skin just above her vulva. He finds her skin to be just as soft and perfect as he had imagined it would be. And when he slides his fingers down into the moist folds of skin between her legs, he’s filled with a lust that he’s quite sure he’s never experienced before in his entire life. This isn’t just irresponsible–it’s wrong. This is dangerous. This is the sort of shit that could backfire and land him in a world of trouble. Trouble with his wife. Trouble with his daughter. Trouble with Abigail’s parents too. Trouble on a scale that he can barely even imagine.

“There you go,” she says, stepping back from him. “That’s enough for now.”

“F-for now?”

“You liked the way that felt, didn’t you? Don’t you want to feel it again?”

He sighs, hating himself for how he wants to answer. But he’s not about to lie to her. Not about this. “I do.”

“Thought so,” she shrugs. Her hands are on the waistband of her shorts, but she’s not pulling them up. Instead, she eases them down her legs, stepping out of them altogether. She slowly bends over to grab her panties from the ground. While he’s disappointed that he’s not behind her as she bends over like this, he still gets a clear shot down her shirt and into her cleavage–the best consolation prize he could’ve asked for.

She straightens herself out, thrusting her panties into his hand.

“What…do I do with these?” he asks.

“Whatever you want.”

He can’t even bring himself to look at the panties while she’s in front of him. Instead, he just rubs them in his hand, feeling the silkiness of the fabric against his fingertips. He looks out the window, towards where Dakota and the other girls are still laughing at whatever they’re watching on their cell phones. He wonders if they even miss Abigail, or if they fail to realize that the hive mind has shrunk a little.

“Put the panties in your mouth,” she says.

“What?”

She shrugs, repeating herself: “I want to see you put my panties into your mouth.”

He’s tempted to ask her why, but he bites his tongue. It doesn’t matter what she wants, or why she wants it. Whatever this beautiful creature wants, he’ll do. So, he opens his mouth, slowly feeding the bundle of cloth between his lips until his mouth is completely full.

“That’s a good boy,” she says.

He sighs, feeling his face grow warmer as his tongue explores the wad of cloth in his mouth.

She glances out the kitchen window, noticing the view that he’s had of the girls out on the porch. “I hope it's a more exciting show now. You’ll know that I’m out there without any panties on.”

He stays in the kitchen for a few more minutes, watching as Abigail rejoins her friends and takes a seat. She glances up at the window, smiling.

He wonders if she can tell that her panties are still in his mouth.

===

The panties are a dark purple color, with black lace trim. While he didn’t get much time to look at them when she initially gave them to him, he’s looked at them plenty since.

He keeps her panties in a ziplock bag in a box of random screws and nails that he keeps at his workbench in the garage. As best as he can recall, nobody in the house has ever even touched his workbench before, so he’s pretty sure his treasure is safe.

Almost every day, he makes a pilgrimage to the workbench and fishes the panties out from their bag. He holds them up to his nose and smells them. He’ll rub the soft fabric on his face. Occasionally, he’ll shove them back into his mouth again, as if doing so would allow him to travel back in time to that day in the kitchen.

Today, they’re out back again. Huddled in a cluster on the deck as they giggle and pass their phones to each other. They’re drinking his beer again.

He had bought beer for himself, but he also bought an entire case that he left in the fridge–accessible to anyone who wanted to help themselves.

Initially, he decides that he’s not going to station himself at the kitchen window again. He tells himself it's because he wants to respect his daughter’s personal space with his friends–but the obvious truth is that he just doesn’t know if he can handle the fact that Abigail would be staring right back at him.

Instead, he busies himself in the garage, deciding that this is going to be the day that he finally tries to fix his hedge trimmer.

“Hi Pete,” comes a voice from the door leading into the house from the garage. He recognizes the voice immediately, and it’s not his daughter.

“Abigail. How are you?”

“I’m pretty good, thanks. And thank you for the beer, by the way.”

“Oh, uh, sure…”

“You bought the good stuff for us.”

“W-well, it’s not just for you, but…” He sees no point in saying anything other than: “You’re welcome.”

“Do you still have my panties?”

“Y-yeah…” He’s pretty sure that she’d be upset if he didn’t have them anymore. But he still feels like a creep for having them.

“Good boy.”

He blushes at this. She’s almost 20 years younger than he is–she shouldn’t be calling him ‘boy’ like this, but it doesn’t stop him from tripping over himself like a lovestruck teenager.

He pulls the bag from the box of screws, opening it up and pulling out her panties.

“Is the bag necessary?” she giggles.

“Oh, I just, uh…”

“Preserving the scent of my pussy?”

“Uhm, something like that.” His mouth hangs open for another moment–he’s on the verge of asking something else. Something that he’s been telling himself he’d ask if the two of them were ever in the same place at the same time–alone–again. If he had the nerve, he’d ask if he could put his hand between her thighs again.

But he has no such nerve, and he closes his mouth.

“I was thinking…” she says, her mouth twisted into a devious little grin.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’d like to see what they looked like on you.”

“On? Like…if I was wearing them?”

She nods.

“I don’t know if I could… Abigail, you’re a bit, uh, thinner than I am. I don’t think I could wear these even if I wanted to.”

“But you want to wear them, don’t you?”

He sighs, not sure how honest he wants to be about that. He would love it if she could see him as a mature adult man. A father. A husband. But if he was to tell her the truth–that there had been a few curious moments in his life where he found himself sliding a pair of his wife’s panties up his legs–she’d never have any sort of respect for him.

“Aw, come on, Petey,” she coos. “You can tell me.”

Clearly, she’s already lacking the respect he wishes she had. And so, is there that much harm in telling her the truth now? Maybe it’d be…exciting to share this little secret.

“I’ve thought about it,” he says.

“Thought so,” she shrugs. “You look like a boy who likes panties.”

“Wh-what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She doesn’t answer him, giggling instead. “Be honest with me, Petey. Have you ever worn Dakota’s panties?”

“What? No…of course not. I would never…”

“Have you ever worn your Ms. Meehan’s panties?”

What the fuck? She’s willing to call his wife ‘Ms. Meehan,’ but he is just ‘Pete?’ Worse, he seems to have been demoted in the conversation to the infantile ‘Petey.’

“Once or twice,” he says. It was probably more than that, but she probably didn’t need to know that.

“I think those would look especially cute on you,” she says, pointing to the purple panties in his hand.

“Well…maybe I’ll try them out sometime.”

“Or, you could do it now.”

“Now? But…”

“They’re not going to miss me out there,” she says, her hand waving in the general direction of the deck where the rest of the girls would be. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Abigail…I can’t just be expected to drop my pants and…”

“Petey, do you want to touch my pussy again?”

Of course he does. And, aside from her panties, it’s all he’s been able to think about in the days since their initial encounter in the kitchen.

Hesitantly, he nods–knowing damn well what sort of leverage this gives her.

“Thought so,” she says. “Take off your pants and put my panties on, okay? Do that, and I’ll let you taste my pussy.”

He can’t help but blurt out: “Fuck!”

She giggles again. “So…I assume you’re going to do as I ask?”

He doesn’t bother using his words to respond–instead hurriedly unfastening his pants. He lets them fall to the ground, leaving him in just his boxers. He’s quite sure that the outline of his semi-erect cock can be seen through his underpants, and this seems to be confirmed when she holds a hand up to her mouth to stifle another round of laughter.

But she doesn’t understand, he thinks. Things like this never happen to him. He’s not, nor has he ever been, the kind of guy who gets this sort of attention from young, attractive, women. She has no idea what it’s like to be middle-aged and married to the same woman for more than half of his life. Passionate sex has been absent for a long time, leaving just ‘obligatory sex’ once or twice a year. And even then, it’s quick and in the dark. It’s been a long time since he’s seen a pussy, let alone tasted one. Abigail has no idea just how many hoops he’d jump through for the rewards she’s promising.

Or, given this mischievous smile of hers, maybe she does.

“Don’t be shy,” she says. “Get those underwear down too.”

He takes in a deep breath and shoves his boxers down his legs, letting them fall onto his discarded pants. His instinct is to immediately bring his hands up to his crotch to conceal his manhood, though he fights this urge. As humiliating as it is to be seen–to be judged–like this, he also knows it’s inevitable. Might as well get this over with.

“Aww,” she coos. “It’s so cute.”

Cute. There’s a lot of words he wishes she’d have used instead. ‘Cute’ sounds derogatory and belittling.

She points to the panties, still in his hand. “Well? Let’s go. I want to see how those look on you.”

He’s tempted to tell her, again, that he doesn’t think that they’ll fit. He’s not a big guy, but he also hasn't had a reason to take care of himself in a few years. He’s got that ‘dad-bod’ now, with a bigger belly than he’s ever had before. Alas, he’s quite sure that she doesn’t care about that. She doesn’t want him to wear the panties because she thinks he’ll look good in them–she wants him to feel emasculated and embarrassed. She wants the satisfaction of seeing him do anything for the smallest morself of her body.

And so he steps into the panties, one leg at a time, before pulling them up his legs. He gets them to about mid-thigh before they become awkwardly tight. He’s tempted to just leave them there and call it a day, though he bets that this wouldn’t be good enough for her. He pulls harder on the lacey waistband, hoisting them up the rest of the way. It’s a struggle–and he can even hear a seam ripping, though he’s not sure where in the garment that might be–but he gets them into place.

He can only imagine how ridiculous he must look. There’s no mirror in the garage, though all he has to do is look at Abigail’s face. She’s biting her lip and looks to be fighting the urge to just explode in laughter.

“Oh wow,” she finally says. “That’s quite a look.”

“Well…you told me to…”

“Mmhmm,” she nods. “And it looks as good as I hoped it would. Better, maybe. You look like a sissy little sausage.”

His cheeks blush at this. He has a pretty good idea of what she means by that–he feels like a sissy little sausage.

“But you’re still hard,” she says, reaching forward and stroking his cock through the tight panties. “Wow. It’s really packed in there, huh?”

He really wishes that she hadn’t done that. For as humiliating as this little scene is, it’s also the most sexually excited he can remember feeling in a very long time. And he knows that it wouldn’t take much for him to blow his load right now. Abigail’s hand on the panties, stroking his stiff cock? That’s going to do it.

“Oh,” he mutters. “F-fuck… I…”

“Oh my god,” she says, her eyes wide with surprise as she steps back from him to get a better look at what’s happening. “Are you jizzing in my panties right now?”

He can’t really bring himself to answer her, but he also doesn’t have to. The wet spot on the front of the purple fabric spreads as he moans and shudders.

“Jesus, Petey. I’ve seen boys in high school who lasted longer than you have.”

“I, uh… I’m not normally…like this.”

“Sure, sure,” she shrugs. “I was going to have you taste my pussy. But, seeing as how you got a little mess to clean up, I think you should just go take care of that. I should probably get back to the girls anyway.”

“But…”

“Maybe you can stick your tongue between my legs next time? Assuming you can keep your pants dry.”

He wants to ask her to stay. He wants to beg her to stay–he’d get down on his hands and knees if he had to–but she’s already walking back into the house.

For a few minutes, he just stands there in the garage–still wearing her incredibly tight panties. He can feel drips inside of them, rolling down his skin and pooling at the bottom. He’s pretty sure this is the most humiliated he’s ever felt before.

He’s also pretty sure that he likes that.

===

An unpredicted side-effect of his recent encounters with Abigail is his newfound paranoia. He finds himself carefully watching the way that his daughter interacts with him. Does Dakota know anything? Does she suspect anything? What, if anything, has Abigail told her?

He spends a lot of time thinking about what the worst case scenario would be if the truth was ever revealed. Sure, maybe he could attempt to argue that Abigail cornered him and made him do things with her. But that argument would fall apart if anyone knew how long he had held onto her panties. Or what he did in the panties when made to wear them.

He decides that while his moments with Abigail were thrilling, it’d be best if there weren’t anymore. He throws the panties away. And when Dakota invites the rest of the hive-mind over to the house, he just leaves. Sometimes he makes excuses, like how he has to run an errand or two. Sometimes, he just picks up his keys and wallet and walks out the door without saying anything to anyone.

This works for a week or three. Long enough that he starts to think that the moment has passed and that Abigail got her naughty ideas out of her system. He even stays home one afternoon as the hive-mind takes over the living room. To his relief, Abigail doesn’t so much as look at him.

A few days later, after being out of the house for most of the day, he returns to the garage to get back to work on that hedge trimmer. To his surprise, he finds a package sitting on the workbench that he knows he didn’t place there.

It’s just a cardboard box, maybe a little smaller than a shoebox. For a moment, he wonders if he ordered something online and forgot about it. But given the condition of the box, and how it looks to have already been opened, it's more likely that this was just a repurposed box that something else had been delivered in once.

He opens the flaps to find a handwritten note looking up at him:

“Petey,

If we’re ever going to play with each other again, we need to make sure that you’re well protected. I don’t need you making a gooey mess all over because you can’t control yourself. I think this should help.

Love,

Abigail.”

He has no idea what she means by ‘protection,’ and frankly, he doesn’t like the sound of it. He’s not even sure he wants to see what else is in the box–as he just knows that it’s going to be something humiliating.

But he looks. And he was right–it’s very humiliating.

“What the fuck is this?” he mutters as he pulls the object out of the box. He’s pretty sure he knows what it is, but that doesn’t mean that he understands it.

It’s…a diaper. He’s seen plenty of those in his life–he even has a flashback to all the diapers he changed when Dakota was an infant. But this is clearly not a diaper made for a baby. It’s big in almost every way. Not just large enough to easily fit an adult–an adult of his size, no less–but it’s thick. Obnoxiously thick. He holds the diaper in his hand, finding that the plastic cover of it crinkles loudly with just the slightest amount of handling.

Wait…does she actually expect me to wear this?

He considers just throwing it in the trash. He even spins around to face the trash can, ready to just launch the thing into it. But his grip tightens on the diaper instead. As insane as her request may be, he can’t bring himself to just disregard it. There’s so much potential on the line. If he was willing to do this for her, what was she willing to reward him with?

Two days later, the hive-mind is outside again–sipping beers and giggling at their cell phones. He resists the temptation to flee, instead stationing himself in the kitchen so that he can watch them through the window. It doesn’t take long for Abigail to notice his face, and she smiles from the other side. It’s not that long after that she enters the kitchen, helping herself to another beer from the fridge.

“Hey Petey.”

“Hey Abigail.”

“I’m assuming you got the gift I left for you the other day?”

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Yeah…I got it.”

“What did you think?”

“I guess I, uh… I don’t know what to think about it, honestly.”

“So I suppose that means you’re not wearing it right now?”

“Oh. You…really thought I’d just…”

“You saw that I was at your house. Didn’t you want to be a good little boy and wear your diaper for me?”

Her words fluster him–by design, probably. He’s not sure what kind of answer he can offer. Not while he feels like he knows so little about what she actually wants from him.

“If I actually wore that…thing…” He’s not able, or perhaps just not willing, to say the word ‘diaper’ aloud to her. “...what would I get out of it?”

“Hmm. What do you want?”

He likes this answer. It suggests that there’s the ability to bargain. Negotiate. He thinks about it for a few moments–realizing that the problem is that he wants everything. He wants to feel her pussy again. He wants to taste it. He wants to hold her perky tits in his hands. He wants to kiss her lips. He wants to fuck her.

Honestly, he’d probably settle for just about any amount of attention she’d give him.

“I mean, maybe you could start by pulling your pants down again for me,” he says. “I just want to, uh, feel you. Maybe have a little taste?”

She shrugs, her smile looking especially smug. “Yeah, maybe I could let you have that. But…I’m not going to do a single thing for you until you put that diaper on.”

Even though he was expecting that to be her response, it still manages to surprise him. “But…you… You really expect me to…?”

She nods. “I really do. I spent my own money on those diapers, Petey. Picked them out online myself and everything. If you want anything from me, you’ll be wearing them.”

“Okay,” he says, as if he could accept that reasoning. “But…why diapers?”

She laughs–a breezy little chuckle like she had just been asked the stupidest question ever. “Because I thought you’d look particularly pathetic in one.”

She’s probably not wrong about that.

“Okay,” he says again.

“Okay? So if I go back outside, with the promise of coming in again later, I’ll find you wearing that diaper?”

“Y-yes.”

“Such a good boy.”

There’s a million things he’s thinking about saying, or asking. Instead, he says the one thing that robs him of any power he might have been holding onto. “Thank you.”

===

He doesn’t have to wait that long to see her again. Less than an hour later, she finds him in the garage–pretending to putter with some tools at the workbench.

“You spend a lot of time away from your friends,” he says. “Don’t they wonder what you’re doing?”

“Do you actually care?” she asks, shrugging. “If I were you, I’d care more about what sorts of treats I’ll give you for doing as I’ve asked.”

“I just…I worry that they’ll come in here looking for you. More specifically…”

“You worry that Dakota will come looking for me?” she asks. “And she’d see you begging me for pussy while wearing a big diaper?”

“Well…yeah.”

“That would be quite the scene, wouldn’t it? Maybe we should just get that over with right now. I can go and get her and…”

“N-no,” he says. “Please, no. Let’s not even joke about that. Do you have any idea how much shit I’d be in if anyone–especially my own daughter–found out about this?”

Abigail giggles. “Yeah, but you’ll be in shit either way.”

“Huh?”

“I mean…what are diapers for?”

He draws in a long breath, feeling all sorts of flustered once again. “You can’t actually expect me to…”

“If I told you to use your diaper like a baby, would you?”

“I…I don’t know.” He wants, so badly, to say no–but he doesn’t think he has the guts to refuse anything. He fears that were he to say no, this entire little game would end–and he’d spend the rest of his life fantasizing about what could’ve been. Given the choice, he’d rather remember what he actually did with Abigail.

“I want to see your diaper,” she says. “Show me.”

He’d like to think that it’s easier to show her his diaper than it’d be to show her his cock in the midst of slipping into a pair of panties–but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Showing her his diaper makes him feel just as exposed and vulnerable as showing her his dick. The only thing that makes this a little easier is his eagerness to show her that he’s a ‘good boy.’

The thick diaper takes up a lot more space in his pants than his boxers did. It had been a bitch to pull his pants up over them earlier, and it’s a bitch to push them back down over the diaper. He manages, the thick diaper practically popping out of the waistband of his pants with a cartoonish FLOMP as he shoves his pants down his thighs.

“Not the best application,” she says, bending over to better inspect the tapes on the front of his diaper.

“It’s not easy putting a diaper like this on yourself,” he says.

“Oh, did you need help? You should’ve said so. I would’ve been happy to put the baby in his diaper.”

“I…I’m not a baby.”

“No? Do most men your age wear big fluffy diapers?”

He bites his tongue, quite sure that he’s not going to win if he tries to argue that point with her any more. Instead, he changes gears: “See? I’m wearing the diaper. Just like you asked.”

“You are,” she nods.

He looks at her, a big stupid smile on his face with his eyebrows arched. As if to say: Don’t I get a reward of some sort?

“Give me your hand,” she says.

His hand moves so fast that it seems to simply teleport from his side and into her hand. She grins as she guides his hand to her tank top, where she feeds it under the shirt. Her other hand reaches behind her back to release the clasp on her bra, allowing her breasts freedom within her shirt.

“Go ahead,” she says. “Get a good feel.”

His already-stiffening cock becomes rock hard inside of his diaper as he pulls the loose bra away and he presses his hand into her breasts. One at a time, he tries to cup them in his hand, finding each just a little too big. His fingers grasp the sides of her tits instead, giving her soft skin a careful squeeze. It had been a very, very, long time since he had his hand on tits like these. His wife’s weren’t even half as large as these.

“Okay,” she says, gripping his forearm and slowly removing him from her shirt. “I think that’s enough for now.”

“But…”

“You want more?”

He nods. “Yes. Please? Anything?”

“You’ll just have to earn more.”

He knew this was coming. And he had already accepted it. “How do I do that?”

She leans in close to him, pressing her breasts against him. One of her hands wraps around his body, giving his plump diapered ass a playful little swap. Her lips are positioned right next to his ear. “You have to be a good baby.”

He doesn’t correct her this time. He doesn’t say anything at all.

“You can be a good baby, can’t you?” she asks.

He nods.

“I thought so. So you’re going to go and use your diaper for me?”

“U-use?”

“Petey, you don’t need me to explain it to you, do you?”

No, he doesn’t. She had, more or less, already spelled it out for him earlier when she asked if he’d use his diaper for her if she asked.

He shakes his head. “I…I can do it.”

“I know you can, baby,” she says. “We’ll start small. All I want for you to do is piss yourself. That’s not asking too much, is it?”

In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t seem like the worst things he could’ve asked him to do. But the entire situation was still pretty absurd.

“I can do that,” he says.

“I thought so.”

“And then what? You come back inside and I show it to you and…”

“When you’ve flooded your pampers, I want you to come find me.”

“What? But…Abigail…you can’t be serious. You’ll be with the others. You’ll be with Dakota. I can’t just walk up to you and tell you that I’ve pissed myself.”

“Oh, why not? That would be so much fun.”

“Please, Abigail. Be reasonable.”

She sighs. “Fine. When you’re in a pissy diaper, come out and talk to us girls. Tell us…that you’re going to order food and you were checking to see if we wanted anything.”

“But…I can’t go walking in front of my daughter–and everyone else–while wearing a pissy diaper.”

“Sure you can. Do you really think Dakota is studying your crotch? All you’ve got to do is come out, ask, and then go back inside. I’ll excuse myself a few minutes later and go inside and take care of your diaper.”

“Take care of my diaper?”

“A baby has to get their dirty diapers changed, right?”

“Y-you’re going to change me?”

“Believe me, you’re going to need my help. You did a terrible job of putting this diaper on.”

He’s not sure that he can think of anything more humiliating than his daughter’s best friend changing his diaper like he was an infant, but…holy shit that sounds hot to him.

“Okay,” he nods. “I’ll, uh, let you know when I…go.”

“That’s a good baby,” she says, giving his bottom one more playful swat. “Try not to leak everywhere.”

===

He has no recollection of ever pissing his pants in his entire life. He was sure that it happened–at least when he was a child–but no actual memories of it. And his adult life didn’t have one pissy blemish on it–he was batting a thousand when it came to using a toilet. And so it took a while for him to actually use his diaper.

He hadn’t bothered pulling his pants up after Abigail left the garage–instead he waddled around for a while, getting a feel for the thick diaper between his legs. All the while, he put pressure on his bowel, hoping to summon forth a stream that would put this padding to use. Nothing. He was pretty sure he had to go, too–it was just that his body wasn’t allowing for it to happen. This isn’t where we pee.

The stakes of this game were continuing to escalate, and it didn’t feel sustainable. At some point–some point soon–they were risking this blowing up in their faces. Someone was going to figure out what was happening. His wife. His daughter. One of her other friends. It didn’t matter who–because it would be catastrophic no matter what.

The smart thing to do would be to just not play. And while he likes to think of himself as a pretty smart guy, the reality is that the second his cock gets hard–he becomes an absolute idiot.

He becomes a baby.

“Come on,” he mutters to himself as he spreads his legs and squats in the middle of the garage. “Just…piss. Go. Pee. Just fucking do it.”

Finally, he feels some movement in his bladder, and he feels a little trickle of urine dribbling out from the tip of his dick.

“Just a little more…”

The dribble turns into a trickle. The trickle becomes a small stream. The small stream gives way to a deluge. He is doing it. He’s pissing himself while wearing a diaper.

He feels the padding grow warm and heavy. The fluffy padding suddenly turns to a dense and squishy blob. The weight of his piss drags the diaper down his legs a little, and he realizes he has to hold it in place, lest it fall to the ground.

Probably why it’s for the best that Abigail be the one to put me in a new diaper.

Oh. A diaper change. He realizes that the insinuation would be that he’s being changed out of the old diaper and being put into a new diaper. What then? How often did she actually expect him to wear a diaper?

This next part, he knows, will be the hardest. He needs to go out and talk to the hive-mind on the deck–something he’d be apprehensive about on any other day, let alone on a day when he was wearing a sopping wet diaper.

He pretends he’s oblivious to their snarky comments, but he’s heard an awful lot over the years. They’ve made fun of his outfits in the past. They’ve made fun of his sunglasses. They made fun of his taste in music, once. None of it felt good, but he’s always tried to let it roll off his back. They’re just kids, after all. Well, he supposes they’re technically adults now, though he doubts he’ll ever see Dakota as an adult until she gets a job and starts supporting herself in some way. Plus, it’s not just him they make comments about–they make fun of everyone. That’s kind of all they do. They sit in a circle and talk shit about people. So, sure, he could just walk up to them and hope that they don’t notice the strange bulge in his pants–but that's exactly the kind of shit that they’ve been trained to look for.

But if he doesn’t go up to them…what’s the point of being in this pissy diaper at all? He’s doing this for a reason. He’s doing this to get some attention from Abigail–and once he gets that, it’ll have made every other humiliating part of the day seem worth it.

He steps back into his pants and hoists them up his leg, needing to do a bit of wiggling and forceful pulling to get them over the diaper–which is definitely bulkier now than it was the last time he had to pull his pants up over them. It takes a minute or three, but he succeeds.

First, he goes to the kitchen so that he can watch the girls through the window for a moment. Little has changed. Dakota and Charlotte are still sitting next to each other, pointing out things on their phones. Bridget is leaning back in a folding chair, basking in the sun like a lizard. Abigail is close by, a bottle of beer in one hand while she scrolls through her phone with the other.

Just do it. Get it over with.

He slowly slides open the door to the deck and steps out. Not a single one of the girls looks up at him–not even Abigail. It’s kind of nice to be invisible, he thinks. He’d be happy not to have their attention any other time.

He clears his throat. “Uhm, hey girls.”

Dakota is the first to look up, scoffing as she slowly lifts her head. She seems annoyed that he’d dare interrupt whatever important business they were tending to. “Yes?”

“I was thinking that I might order some food and, uh, I thought I’d see if anyone else wants anything?”

Dakota just about rolls her eyes. “Dad, it’s, like, three in the afternoon.”

It’s a good point. He wishes he had thought of that himself earlier.

“Right. Well, I, uhm, didn’t eat lunch earlier, so I figured I’d just order…”

“I thought you and Mom were going out for dinner later. That’s, like, two hours from now.”

Fuck. She’s right, and now he looks like a complete fool for even starting this conversation. Worse, it makes Dakota look like the parent while he looks like the child. Fitting, perhaps, given what he’s wearing under his pants.

“Yeah…I guess that’s true. Alright, well, forget I said anything then,” he says. “See you girls later.”

He quickly shuffles away from the girls and back inside the house. He attempts to compensate for the diaper’s bulk between his legs as he walks, but he’s sure the result is an even stranger set of movements than if he had just let himself slowly waddle away.

Behind him, he can hear the girls giggling and murmuring to each other. He doesn’t hear the full context, but he definitely hears Dakota use the word ‘idiot.’ He’s positive that he can somehow hear her rolling her eyes at him.

At least nobody seemed to notice the diaper.

He retreats to the garage–his sanctuary. Nobody is going to come looking for him here. Nobody except for Abigail, of course–but that’s fine.

For a few minutes, he just paces. He’s thinking about how he may have made a mistake in allowing this situation with Abigail to escalate as much as it had. Things are close to being out of control, he fears. And for what? Tiny little rewards in the form of touching her body? Was that really worth it?

Maybe.

He pulls his stool up to the workbench, deciding to sit down for a moment. He’s forgotten about the wet diaper in his pants, but sitting immediately causes him to remember. The soggy garment squishes and squelches beneath him. It’s utterly humiliating to have to sit in his own piss. But, damn, if it doesn’t feel good.

“I knew I’d find you in here,” Abigail’s voice chimes as she enters the garage from the house. “This place is like your little playpen, huh?”

“I…I’m not a baby,” he says. He knows he shouldn’t say it, and he knows that she’ll have some witty way of proving him wrong–but the words are just burped out before he can stop himself.

“Really?’ she asks.

His cheeks warm so much, that he imagines his entire face melting off. “I…I mean…”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No more denying it. I need you to tell me that you’re a baby.”

“C’mon, Abigail. I don’t think I should have to…”

“Say it.”

“F-fine. I’m a…uh…baby.”

“Say it again. Make it sound convincing this time.”

“I’m…a baby.”

“Not good enough. Again.”

He tries to spit it out as one coherent thought. No pauses. “I’m a baby.”

“Better. But you should sound happier about it. Actually, you know what? I want to hear that you’re my baby.”

“Y-yours? Like, what? Like you’re my mother?”

She laughs. “I’m not your Mommy, Petey. I’m more like…your owner.”

He’s not sure if he likes that more or less. It’s probably a good thing, he figures, that he’s not expected to call her ‘Mommy.’

“Now say it,” she says. “Say that you’re my baby.”

“I’m your baby.” The words are surprisingly easy to say.

She hums with satisfaction. “I rather like hearing that. One more time.”

“I’m your baby,” he says again. His voice sounds more desperate this time. More yearning. There’s a passion in his tone.

“As promised, I think we need to get your diaper changed.”

The idea of a ‘diaper change’ is still incredibly humiliating, but that feeling feels partially overridden by the idea of Abigail’s hands being all over him. She can do whatever the hell she wants with his body.

“Yes,” he nods. “That’s a good idea. But…”

“Hmm?”

“I only have this diaper,” he says. “I don’t imagine you have more?”

“Don’t you worry,” she says, strolling closer to him so that she can playfully boop him on the nose with her finger. “I’m always prepared. Let me fetch my backpack. Where did you want to be changed?”

Unbelievable. Not only am I wearing a pissy diaper, but I have to get it changed by a girl so young that she still carries around a backpack?

Her question feels like it’s more complicated than it should be. His wife isn’t home now, and she probably wouldn’t be back any time soon–so that opens up the master bedroom. But the last thing he needed was for his wife to come home later and find traces of a diaper change in the bedroom. Maybe the lingering odor of piss, or a damp spot on the comforter. Too, they could use the guest room, but that was right next to Dakota’s bedroom–a whole other set of challenges.

Perhaps the safest spot was right here.

“We should probably just do it here in the garage,” he says.

“Really? You’re going to lie down on the floor?”

It doesn’t seem ideal, she’s right, but he’s looking around to see what other options there might be. Maybe there’s an old folding cot or sleeping bag he can throw on the ground, or maybe…

“Actually, I have an idea,” Abigail says. “This workbench looks big enough. We’d have to take a few things off of it, but that’d be a good amount of space if you could just crawl up there.”

“But…”

“I’ll go get my backpack,” she says. “You clean off the workbench.”

He wants to rebuke that request, but she’s already leaving. With a heavy sigh, he begins to slowly move everything off of his workbench. He boxes up what he can, carrying everything to some of the nearby storage shelves.

Everything was relocated, and he even gave the bench a good wipe down just to clean away any residual sawdust or oils. Honestly, it was probably the cleanest the bench had ever looked since he first assembled it.

Of course, it’s not lost on him that his workbench–quite possibly the manliest thing in his entire life–was being reduced to an oversized infant’s changing table. Even after the day was over, he wasn’t sure he’d ever see this garage the same way again.

He decides that maybe it’d be best to get ahead of what Abigail is going to ask of him when she comes back. She’s going to need him to take off his pants, obviously. And she’ll need him to be lying atop the workbench. He’s pretty sure that he’d save himself a little bit of awkwardness if she didn’t have to watch him trying to wiggle out of his pants again–and same for watching him try to crawl atop the workbench.

He manages to pry his pants off first, letting them flop to the ground around his ankles. Earlier, he observed that his diaper–thanks to his poor self-diapering skills–was probably going to slide off if he or his pants weren't holding it up. This proves to be true, as his heavy diaper immediately plops onto the floor. He quickly hoists it back up into place again as he uses his stool as a step onto the bench. From there, he eases himself onto his back. Soon, he’s staring up at the ceiling of the garage as he lies on his workbench in only his shirt and sopping wet diaper. What a sight this will be.

He hears approaching footsteps. This would be Abigail, ready to change his diaper just as he had once changed Dakota’s.

Except…why did he hear her talking when she wasn’t in the garage yet?

“...just have to promise that you won’t say anything to Dakota.”

What the fuck?

“Calm your tits,” says another voice. “I’m not going to say anything.”

He’s pretty sure that’s…Bridget?

By the time it registers with him to sit up on the bench, it’s too late. Abigail has rounded the corner, Bridget in tow. Both girls already have their hands drawn to their mouths as they gasp in absolute delight.

“Oh…my…gawd,” Bridget practically screams. “What the fuck is this?”

“This is it,” Abigail says proudly. “My little project.”

He remains frozen in place–seemingly forgetting how to move or function. All he can do is remain still as the girls gawk and giggle at him.

It occurs to him, again, that this was all a pretty bad idea. But it’s far too late for that now.