Her Pet, Part 2 of 2 [Tier 2 and 3] (Patreon)

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Two

The two girls hover above him, looking down at the enormous infant who is on display atop what used to be a workbench. Abigail’s smug smile is unwavering as she takes in this sight. Bridget, on the other hand, seems to be going through phases. Amusement. Disbelief. Disgust. Amusement again.

“Do you want to help?” Abigail asks her friend. It’s a tone unlike any she’s ever used with him. It’s devoid of teasing or condescension.

“Ew, seriously?”

Abigail shrugs. “Well it’s not going to change itself.”

“He actually pissed himself in a diaper?” Apparently, she’s back in the disbelief phase again.

“I mean, just look for yourself,” Abigail says, her hand reaching between his legs and giving the soggy padding a good squeeze. “That thing is completely soaked.”

“That’s so fucking gross. I cannot believe you got him to do this.”

“Oh, this is nothing,” Abigail says. “I bet I could get him to do anything I wanted.”

“How?”

“It’s not hard. Watch.” She looks down at his face, biting her bottom lip. “Baby? Tell me that you’re a pissy little baby boy.”

“But…I…”

Abigail’s hand shifts from the bottom of the diaper to the front of it, grasping his hard cock through the saturated padding. She gives it a few quick strokes set to the sounds of the plastic diaper crinkling with her shifting hand.

“I…I’m a pissy little baby boy,” he mutters in between long moans.

“See?” she says to Bridget. “It’s just that easy.”

“Dakota would fucking flip if she knew you were doing this.”

“Yeah, I know,” Abigail says. “That’s why you’re not going to tell her.”

“What about Charlotte?”

Abigail shrugs. “If I see an opportunity–I’ll tell her. For now, I wanted you to see this.”

“I cannot believe what you did to him. He’s so…pathetic.”

“Have you ever even changed a diaper before?” Abigail asks her.

Charlotte shakes her head. “Gross, no. And I hope I never have to.”

“So I can count you out as a babysitter?” Abigail responds, her lips curled into a wry smile.

“No thank you,” she says. “He literally smells like piss.”

“Yeah… He’s been marinating in this one for a while. I guess we should take care of this one before he gets a diaper rash.”

Bridget snorts. “Jesus. Could you even imagine? Being a middle-aged man with an honest-to-god diaper rash because you pissed yourself?”

“I mean, that’d be plenty embarrassing for an adult man,” Abigail says, tearing away the first of the tapes from the front of the diaper. “But Petey here is just a little baby. Aren’t you, Petey?”

He can argue. He can deny it. He can try and explain that this is all just some sort of game. But he can see now that he is in a precarious spot. What would happen if he went against Abigail’s wishes? What would she do? Who else would she tell?

He can assume that Abigail would continue keeping this game a secret for as long as he plays by her rules. If word of this got out to the wrong people, Abigail would be losing her baby too–so it only made sense that she’ll keep it to herself. Bridget is a wildcard, however. She isn’t playing the game.

It seems to be for the best, for now, to keep Abigail as happy as possible. As long as she’s happy, he hopes that she’ll keep Bridget in check.

And so he finally answers her question: “Y-yes. I’m a little baby.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Bridget says, shaking her head. “I just…can’t get over this.”

“See? I told you! He’ll do anything I tell him to.”

He can see it in Bridget’s face–she’s warming up to the idea. Sure, maybe she’s not crazy about the idea of diaper changes and pants-wetting, but she seems pretty hooked by the idea of having a pathetic man to push around.

“What else could you make him do?” she asks Abigail. There’s excitement in her voice. She wants to be surprised and disgusted by the answers.

“I’ve got some ideas,” Abigail says. “First things first, let’s get this big baby’s diaper changed, huh? Char, you can at least watch, right?”

“Oh, don’t worry–I’m not going anywhere.”

“Perfect.”

Abigail jumps right into it, ripping back each of the tapes on the front of the diaper before pulling the front of the diaper down between his legs. His most vulnerable bits are exposed and on display now, and Charlotte seems very interested in inspecting the goods. She steps forward, leaning in to observe his mostly-erect cock, his balls, and even the dark void between his asscheeks.

“Is this what an old man’s cock looks like?” she giggles.

He’s very tempted to open his mouth and ask what the difference is between his penis and a man closer in age to them–but he’s not sure he wants to know the difference. He’s got enough complexes about his age and appearance as it is.

Abigail shrugs. “No, it’s not an old man’s. This is a little baby cock.”

“Yeah,” Charlotte says. “That sounds about right. It’s not that big.”

Abigail bursts into laughter. “Yeah? Who have you seen that’s bigger?”

“Almost everyone! Tom Seaver? Bruce Kaning? Hell, I think Ryan Ordley’s was bigger than this.”

Fuck. He knows Ryan Ordley. Works over at the hardware store downtown. Well, there’s no way that he’s ever going to be able to look Ryan in the eyes again.

“Dakota thinks Adam Jennings has a pretty big dick,” Abigail says. “I’d be pretty curious to see how this compares.

Pete isn’t even sure how to process that information right now. He feels like he probably shouldn’t be surprised that his little girl is out in the world now, looking at–and touching–the dicks of young men, but he definitely didn’t need to know about it. And the way they talk about it right in front of him–like it doesn’t even matter that he’s there to hear it. They have absolutely no respect for him right now.

“So what are you gonna do with that thing now?” Charlotte asks, waving a hand towards his semi-erect manhood.

Abigail shrugs. “Not much. All I want to do is wipe him up a little. Change his diaper. Then I’ll send him on his way. And we should probably get back to Dakota at some point…”

“Dakota’s chatting with Sean,” Charlotte says, rolling her eyes. “We could get in the car and go home and she probably wouldn’t even notice.

“Wh-who’s Sean?” he finds himself asking.

Both girls erupt into laughter, with Abigail literally slapping her own thigh as she doubles over.

“You should really mind your own business, baby,” she spits. “The big girls are talking now.”

“Dakota can talk to whoever she wants,” Charlotte adds. “She’s an adult now. And potty-trained too.”

That’s a punch to the gut. He latches his mouth shut, thinking to himself that he’d be better off if he didn’t try to barge into the conversation again.

“Will you at least hand me the wipes?” Abigail asks.

Charlotte chuckles, fishing the package out of the bookbag and handing them over. “I suppose you’ll want a fresh diaper too?”

“I’ll be needing that too.”

Abigail draws a moist wipe from the package and guides it between his legs–running it along his inner-thighs first. He shutters and wiggles a little, finding the wipe to be a little colder against his skins than he was expecting. But it feels good. She doesn’t seem to have any methodical plan for cleaning him–every few seconds the wipe touches down on another area of his skin. He can never seem to predict where it will land next.

She runs it up and down his shaft, milking a few moans out of him as she does. He offers some similar noises when she runs another wipe deep between his legs–her fingers pushing the damp cloth between his cheeks.

“Do you hear that?” Abigail asks Charlotte. “Baby likes it when I get near his little back door.”

“You should shove one of those plugs up it,” Charlotte shrugs, her attention seemingly focused on her phone.

Really? The father of her best friend is getting his diaper changed and she’s just going to read her phone like it’s not a big deal? This is why he finds his daughter and her cronies to be so terrifying–he just doesn’t understand them at all.

“Lift your bottom up,” Abigail says. “Gotta get the new diaper under you.”

He complies, lifting his ass up from his workbench.

“Charlotte? I have some baby powder in my bag. Could you grab that for me?”

“Yeah,” she answers, shrugging as she puts her phone down long enough to root around in the bag and find the white bottle. She tosses it to Abigail.

“M-maybe powder isn’t a good idea,” he says.

“What? What do you mean?” Abigail replies, her lips locked in a curious little grin. “Powder is good for little babies. Helps to prevent them from getting rashes.”

“Right… But, it also smells, doesn’t it?”

She holds the bottle up to her nose and takes in a big whiff. “Hmm, I suppose it does.”

“My daughter… My wife. If they think that I smell like a baby, they’re going to have questions.”

Abigail shrugs. “Yeah, that does sound like a bit of a pickle. Have you thought much about what you’re going to say to them?”

“N-no… Abigail, look, I was hoping you’d consider…not putting powder on me?”

But it’s too late. She’s already upended the bottle and is in the midst of shaking a decent layer of fine white powder over his balls and cock.

“It’s for your own good,” she says, shrugging. She says it like it’s just common sense. She says it like she didn’t even hear what concerns he had about the powder.

There’s no denying the truth–the baby powder has a strong scent. In just a moment, the cloud of powder seems to have filled the entire garage. It takes him back to when Dakota was just an infant herself. Back then, everything smelled like a baby. His life seemed to have revolved around the scent of diapers–both clean and dirty.

“There we go, baby,” Abigail coos. “All clean in your new diaper.”

“Wha…” He sits up a little, amazed that she already secured the fresh diaper around him while he was lost in a small bout of nostalgia.

“Try not to soil yourself in this one so soon,” Charlotte mutters with a nonchalant shrug as she continues to stare at her phone.

Abigail grins as she turns to Charlotte. “Oh. Did I tell you why I put him in a diaper?”

Charlotte shrugs. “Because you thought it’d be funny?”

“Well, yeah. But also–I made him cum in his pants the other day.”

“Are you serious?”

“And they weren’t even his pants. I was making him wear my panties. And he just jizzed all over them.”

“Holy shit!” Charlotte is cackling, her head shaking in disbelief.

“So, yeah. I think the diapers are for his own good. Otherwise, he’ll be making sticky little puddles everywhere.” Abigail’s hand plops down on the front of the diaper, her fingers gently stroking the outline of his cock through the padding. “But here? In his little diapey? He can make all the little puddles he wants.”

“Show me,” Charlotte says. “I want to see him do that.”

He almost speaks up, but thinks better of it. They’re going to do whatever they want to.

Abigail shrugs. “Yeah, okay. What do you think, Baby? Wanna see how quickly you can make cummies in your diaper?”

Suddenly there are many hands on his diaper. One of Abigail’s hands strokes his cock, while the other rubs the diaper’s plastic–soundtracking the moment with a steady rustling sound. Charlotte even has a hand on the diaper, rubbing the area just below his cock on the bottom of the diaper, occasionally offering a playful swat.

It’s over in less than a minute. Soon, he’s just a wriggling mass atop his work bench as he spurts into his diaper.

“I thought that was going to be fun,” Charlotte whines. “But it was just kind of pathetic.”

“Yeah…but he can’t help it. The widdle bay-bee just loves his diapers so much, right?”

He sighs, the world feeling a little fuzzier as he slowly recovers from his sudden climax.

“I think we’re all going to be heading out in a little bit,” Abigail says to him. “You’re going to keep your diaper on, right?”

“My, uhm, wife will be home soon and… Well, I don’t think I can do that.”

“No, you can,” she responds. “And you will.”

“N-no offense, Abigail. But…do you really expect me to just keep wearing a diaper around my family?”

“You’re going to because I told you to. And because, if you don’t…”

Charlotte is suddenly at attention. Her hand is extended–her cellphone pointed towards his diapered crotch. Click. Click. Click. She aims the phone at his surprised face. Click. Click. Click.

Abigail doesn’t finish the thought, but she also doesn’t have to. There are photos now. And at any given moment, they could be sent to Dakota. Or literally anyone else in the world.

“Just do what I say,” she says. “Trust me. It’ll be a lot easier.”

He’s sure she’s right about that. “Fine.”

“We’ll all be back later,” Abigail says. “And I’ll see you right back here on your changing table.”

“But…”

She narrows her eyes and glares at him. Her expression says: ‘This better be a good question.’

“But what if I have to use the bathroom,” he says. “I’ll probably have to take the diaper off. And if I take the diaper off, I don’t know if I’ll be able to get back on. And…”

Charlotte’s chuckling to herself before Abigail can react herself. “Dude. Did you forget what you’re wearing?”

He sighs. “Abigail…please. I can’t walk around my wife all night in a diaper. And I definitely can’t be expected to use my diaper while she’s around.”

Abigail shrugs. “Well, for your sake, I hope you figure out how you’re going to do it. I expect you to be in your diaper when I get back.”

There’s no point in arguing, it seems. This is just the way things are now. It’s Abigail’s world, and until he figures out how to escape from it, he has to play by her rules.

“C’mon,” she says to Charlotte. “Let’s go back outside. We should probably get going soon if we wanted to go to Mark’s.”

He opens his mouth to ask who Mark is, but thinks better of it. It probably doesn’t matter. And, honestly, he thinks it’s probably a good thing if Dakota is out of the house tonight. It’ll probably be easier if he only has to worry about his wife for the next few hours.

“Bye bye, baby,” Abigail says as they walk out of the door and into the house. “Don’t forget to use your diaper like a good boy.”

===

Trish swallows some lo mein from the takeout she brought home for dinner. “Did she say where she was going?”

“Mark’s,” Pete answers. “I think I heard them say they were going to Mark’s.”

“Hm. I don’t know who that is. Do you?”

He shakes his head.

“Well, I just hope she’s not, like, drinking over there.”

He almost laughs out loud. He often considers himself pretty poorly informed about the comings and goings of his daughter–but Trish might be even more oblivious. Does she have any idea the amount of alcohol Dakota and her friends go through when they hang out here?

“Kids being kids,” he mutters.

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Trish replies. “She and her friends are convinced they’re adults now.”

So far, so good. He’s been careful about every move he’s made since his wife came home. He moves slowly. He tries to position objects in front of his crotch when he can so that she never has a direct line of sight to his pants. He tries not to shift in his chair too much. He’s even drinking less than he usually does–hoping that it’ll mean he can last longer before needing to take a piss.

“So, what’d you do all day?” she asks.

It occurs to him that this would probably be a harder secret to keep if he had a better relationship with Trish. There was a time–a long, long, time ago–when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Even after Dakota was born. There’d be nights when she’d go away for a sleepover, and he and Trish would make up for lost time with a marathon of sex and kissing.

“Not much,” he shrugs. “Worked on some stuff in the garage and…”

“Did you buy the new topsoil for the garden?” she asks.

“Uh, no…I didn’t get to that.”

“What about the clothesline? Did you fix that yet?”

“Well, uh…”

“And I thought you said you were going to replace the lightbulb in the hallway today.”

“I didn’t get to that just yet.”

These days, when Dakota was out of the house, it just provided a space where Trish could be a little more open about her disdain for Pete.

“Seriously? You didn’t do any of the things I asked you to do today?”

“But…” What defense did he actually have? What was he going to say? “Sorry, but I was getting my diaper changed by our daughter’s best friends,” probably wasn’t going to fly.

“You’ve seemed off the last few days,” she says. “More off than usual. Is there something going on?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry, Trish. I’ll, uh, do better.”

“You’re not cheating on me, are you?”

He shakes his head again.

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I believe that, actually. An affair would require some balls. And I feel like you’ve misplaced yours in the last few years.”

He winces, but offers no response. He hates that this is how she thinks of him now–but he’d almost rather this than have her suspect the truth.

He’s not sure how she’d react if she knew the truth. Oh, she’d be pissed. For sure. But she’d probably laugh right in his face too.

“And why the hell does it smell like baby powder down here?” she asks. “Is it you? I swear, I smell it everytime you’re near me.”

“Uh…right,” he says. “I was cleaning up some shit in the garage today and there was a box of, uh, baby supplies.” He’s pretty sure that there is a box of baby supplies in the garage. “I knocked it over, and it…made a big mess.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes again. “So you couldn’t be bothered to do any of the things I asked you to do? But you can fuck around with boxes in the garage?”

“Well, I mean…”

“You smell like a toddler, Pete. It almost seems appropriate, given how useful you are around here.”

===

An hour or two later, and he’s pacing around the living room. Trish has gone upstairs to ‘take a bath.’ It’s what she says when she just wants to be by herself. Or, more accurately, away from him. She is probably taking a bath. But then she’ll watch TV or read a book in the bedroom for a few hours. The goal, he suspects, is for her to be passed out by the time he comes up for bed.

Fair enough. On the nights she goes upstairs like this, he figures it’s probably for the best that she’s not sticking around to nag him about whatever else he’s been neglecting around the house.

And right now? He’s glad that she can’t see him like this–waddling back and forth in his big diaper. It crinkles with every step. Scrunch. Scrunch. Scrunch.

He needs to go. His bladder feels like it’s going to explode. Worse, even his bowels are aching now.

What are my options? Either use my diaper like an infant or…use a toilet like an adult and have Abigail release a bunch of pictures of me to Dakota?

Neither option sounds all that great to him. Using his diaper seems like the path of least resistance. But, he’s not a baby. He shouldn’t be expected to shit his pants just to avoid drama.

Scrunch. Scrunch. Scrunch.

But there’s a part of his logic that he knows is flawed. No, he may not be a literal baby, but it’s been a long time since anything has made him feel pleasures like this. As humiliating as it is, he longs to be laying on the workbench again, looking up at Abigail’s face. If he’s being honest with himself, if Trish wasn’t in the house, he’d probably be squatting down and grunting in an effort to use his diaper.

Scrunch. Scrunch. Scrunch.

His eyes keep darting out the living room window, waiting to see the headlights of a car pulling into the driveway. It’d be amazing if they could come back before he ends up using his diaper. But that’s probably not the way this is going to go down. No, the cosmos is waiting for him to flood his diaper. Only then will the girls arrive back home.

And so he does, sincerely believing that this act will help to summon Abigail back to the house. It’s almost too easy to start pissing–he barely even thinks about it and suddenly his dick is like a firehose. Almost immediately, the diaper swells and sags–he figures if he hadn’t been holding it, this would’ve been, like, three trips to the toilet.

The scrunch has become a squish.

Squish. Squish. Squish.

He hates how much he likes this. He almost wants to thank Abigail for introducing him to diapers–as he never would’ve discovered this without her.

With the pressure depleted from his bladder, he’d like to think that he’s bought himself a little comfort. Until the heavy diaper begins to get uncomfortable, at least.

Squish. Squish. Squish.

But, no, he’s not as comfortable as he hoped he’d be. With his bladder relieved, the discomfort in his bowels suddenly feels three or four times as sharp as it did before. It’s so bad that he has to stop once in a while to hold his belly as a series of cramps course through his midsection. The temptation to just run to the bathroom and use the toilet is stronger than it's ever been.

No, I can hold it. Shitting himself in the diaper isn’t an option. The way he sees it–he’s either using the toilet, or he’s holding it until after Abigail has had her way with him. But he’s sure that he’s not going to mess in his diaper. And he’s certainly not going to let Abigail see him in that state.

Squish. Squish. Squish.

Another round of immobilizing cramps passes through him. The situation is dire. If he doesn’t use the toilet soon, he may not have much of a choice. At some point soon, he’s going to need to go.

“Come on,” he mutters as he stares out the window. “Come on, come on, come on.”

A muffled toot escapes his bottom. He panics for a moment, fearing that this is the moment that he just loses control. And while he’s relieved that it was just gas, he knows it's a harbinger of what's to come.

He contemplates the toilet again. Weighing the worst case scenarios, he wonders if having lewd photos shown to his daughter is better than being caught in a poopy diaper. He tugs at the waistband of the diaper, wondering how easy it would be to shimmy out of it. Alas, he finds it to be a little too tight. He’s sure he could get it off–but he doubts he’d be able to get it back on without it being obvious.

He realizes he can’t stay in the living room. If he does end up having an accident–and that’s feeling more and more likely–everyone who walks into the room would know it immediately. He’s going to have to retreat back to his only sanctuary–the garage.

It’s at this moment that two things happen–almost at the same exact time. The first is that he sees headlights in the driveway. The girls are home.

The second is that he loses the battle for control over his bowels. Perhaps the pressure had just grown to be too much. Or it could be that the girls’ arrival was so distracting that he lost his ability to focus on his control. Either way, the seat of his diaper was quickly filling with a soft and squishy mass. There was a loud rippling noise as the mess filled all of the available space.

He’s thankful that the girls weren’t here to witness that, but now he definitely needs to scramble back to the garage.

His diaper is no longer squishing as he walks–it’s a new sound now.

Squelch. Squelch. Squelch.

He closes the door behind him in the garage, pressing his ear to the door to see if he can hear what’s happening on the other side. Already, he can smell the foul load in his diaper as the toxic odor wafts up to his face. He has no doubt that the entire garage is going to smell like this, soon enough.

He can hear muffled voices and giggling coming from the other side of the door. He’s too far away to hear what they’re saying, let alone who is even talking.

There’s not much to do but wait. And pace.

Squelch. Squelch. Squelch.

===

It’s been an hour. He’s tired.

Not only is it late, but he’s been standing up and pacing for the last hour. He refuses to sit down in his disgusting diaper–fearful for how disastrous that’ll be. He keeps imagining the ‘blowouts’ that he’d have to handle when Dakota was a baby.

He never imagined that he’d be worried about having one of his own.

The door finally opens, slowly and dramatically.

“Hellooooo,” Abigail’s voice coos through the door. “I’m looking for a big baby. Is there any in here?”

“I can certainly smell a big baby,” comes another voice–Charlotte’s.

The two step into the garage, both waving their hands in front of their noses. Charlotte actually takes a step back at the door, her face wrinkling in sheer disgust.

“It smells pretty bad,” Abigail says.

“I seriously think I might throw up,” Charlotte says.

“How long have you been in that dirty diaper?” Abigail asks him.

He sighs. “I…don’t know. An hour?”

“Jesus,” Charlotte hisses, shaking her head.

But there’s another voice in the doorway, behind Charlotte. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”

It’s Bridget. She stumbles into the garage with a curious look on her face. He can literally see the moment that the stench of his diaper slaps her in the face–watching her smile turn into a dramatic frown in an instant.

“Y-you…told Bridget too?” he asks.

Abigail shrugs. “She was curious to see what we were up to. So I thought I’d show her.”

“But…”

“Dakota still doesn’t know,” Charlotte says.

“Wh-where is she now?”

“Upstairs, I think,” Charlotte says.

“She said she was going to bed,” Abigail shrugs. “So you get to play with all of us now.”

“Oh my god,” Bridget says. “He’s fucking disgusting.”

“Wait’ll you see the inside of the diaper,” Abigail says.

“No fucking thanks,” Bridget says, shaking her head.

“It’s pretty gross,” says Charlotte. “But…is it weird that it’s kind of flattering?”

Abigail and Bridget both laugh. “How so?”

“I mean…this guy is so willing to take anything that you’ll give him that he’s willing to poop his pants like a baby? That’s like my dream. Well…not the pants pooping part. But…”

“I get it,” Abigail says. “And, yeah, it’s pretty nice having my very own pet. Do you like being my pet, baby?”

He wants to point out that a lot of what is happening is under duress. If there wasn’t the threat of exposure, this would be a very different scene.

Maybe?

Now that he thinks about it, he’s wondering if he would’ve shit himself just because she asked him too.

Maybe?

“I do,” he finally answers.

“What a good little boy you are,” she says. “See? He uses his diapers just like a good pet.”

“Except now you have to clean up after him,” Bridget says.

“Ah, see, that’s where you’re wrong,” Abigail smiles. “That’s the best part.”

Charlotte makes a mock-vomiting sound. “Yeah, have fun with that.”

“Sure, it’s gross,” Abigail shrugs. “But he’s the one wearing poopy pants. All I have to do is wash my hands when I’m done.”

“Well, think about changing him soon,” Bridget says. “He stinks.”

“I will, I will,” Abigail says. “All in good time.”

He considers chiming in and asking how long she considers ‘good time’ to be. He doesn’t–figuring he’ll spare himself the snarky answer. Whenever she’s ready, he’ll know.

“Who wants to see my little pet act like the baby he is?” she asks the other girls.

They chuckle and bob their heads, seemingly excited to see what Abigail has in her mind.

“First of all, take off your pants,” she says. “Hell, take off all your clothes. We want to see your diaper.”

“But…”

He spots the grins on each of the girls’ faces, and he already knows that they’re not going to allow him to talk his way out of it. He sighs, slowly peeling away his clothes. He starts with his shoes and socks. Then his shirt. Then, he unfastens the belt of his shorts, and allows them to just fall to the ground–leaving him in just the bloated garment they were hoping to see.

They gasp. Charlotte holds a hand to her open mouth, while Bridget waves a hand in front of her face as if she was reminded of the stench again. Abigail’s hands are on her hips. She looks satisfied, but she also looks like she wants more.

“Babies don’t usually walk around, do they?” she asks.

He shakes his head.

“No, they don't. What do they do, baby?”

“Uhm…crawl?”

“Exactly. So why don’t you get down on your hands and knees and show us how a little baby crawls around.”

Well, at least the garage floor is clean, he thinks. Everything in the garage is kept pretty clean. It’s his sanctuary. It’s where he goes to escape his wife and daughter.

He doesn’t hesitate, dropping down to his knees before his body arches over so that his palms land on the ground. At this point, having already filled his diaper, there’s little else they can do to him that’s worse than what he’s already done to himself. All he has to do is get through tonight. Then? Maybe he can figure out a way to get out of this.

But, then again, he’s had that thought before. And look how that worked out.

He crawls. He can’t remember the last time he had to crawl–but he supposes it’s one of those things that you never forget how to do. His legs and hands sprawl forward, one side at a time, and he crawls his way across the garage. The girls are laughing at him–so loud that he’s worried someone could hear them if they were downstairs. He won’t ask them to be quiet–but he hopes that the rest of his family isn’t stirred.

“Look at that pathetic diaper,” Charlotte says, pointing at him. “It’s, like, all droopy.”

“Yeah, because it’s filled with shit,” Bridget retorts.

“Do you see the colors?” Abigail asks. “There’s that yellow splotch on the front. And on the back…”

“...brown,” all three girls say in unison.

“I want to touch it,” Charlotte says.

“Weren’t you the one who was all icked out by his diapers before?”

“Yeah…but, like you said, I can just wash my hands after. And I don’t want to, like, stick my hands inside of his diaper. I just want to feel the outside of it.”

“Go for it,” Abigail shrugs.

Charlotte casually walks behind him, stooping over enough so that she can cup the back of his diaper with the palm of her hand. She starts with a gentle pat, quickly following it up with her hand squeezing his bottom.

“Oh my god,” she proclaims. “Like, you can literally feel his shit in the back of his diaper.”

“That’s so fucking nasty,” Bridget says. “Move over. I want to feel that too.”

The girls take turns running their hands all over his bloated diaper. They squeeze it. Push on it. They slap it. At one point, he looks over his shoulder to see that Abigail and Charlotte are posing next to the diaper–their fingers pinching their noses–as Bridget snaps a few photos on her phone.

“Wouldn’t you say he’s been a good boy?” Abigail asks.

The other girls nod.

“I think he might have earned himself a little treat.”

His heart races a little. He’s thinking about how all of this started–with her giving him just a little bit of access to her pussy. And for all the humiliation he’s endured since then, he still finds himself eager for one of her treats again.

She shimmies out of her panties, pulling them down from underneath her skirt. She pulls it up at the hem, exposing her perfect little pussy to him again.

“Come here,” she says. “Come taste.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He crawls faster than he’s ever crawled before, stopping only when his face is inches from her crotch. He can feel the heat from her thighs on his cheeks. He can smell her pussy.

“That’s a good boy. Come on, now. A little closer and then I want you to start licking me. You can do that, right?”

Of course he can do that. He’s only wanted this since the day Abigail made him stick his hands between her thighs that first day in the kitchen.

He stretches his neck, lifting his mouth up to her. She’s wet, and for a moment he’s just content feeling that wetness pressed against his lips. Finally, he opens his mouth, unleashing his tongue straight inside of her.

Abigail’s body shudders a little as she lets out a soft moan. “Very good, baby boy. Maybe you’re not completely worthless.”

“If you’ve got that end under control,” Charlotte says. “Do you mind if we get the other half?”

Abigail laughs. “And…what are you going to do with it?”

Smack! Charlotte’s open hand soars into the back of his squishy diaper. It makes a comically loud sound that reverberates through the garage. It also serves to mash his nasty accident into new areas of his diaper. He’s forced to pull away from Abigail’s wet lips for just a moment so that he can let out a long and whining moan.

“That,” Charlotte giggles, shrugging. “We’ll take turns.”

“I like that,” Abigail says. “Keep going.”

And that’s the next few minutes–him suckling at Abigail’s vulva while the other two girls take turns smacking his soiled bottom and creating an even larger mess.

What the girls don’t realize–though they’ll probably figure it out eventually–is that every spank on his diaper brings him a little closer to cumming again.

Smack! Closer…

Smack! And closer…

Smack! And so close that one more good smack might just make him…

The door from the garage into the house opens. Abigail is the first to notice. Then Charlotte stops. Bridget eventually notices, but not before giving Pete one last swat.

That last swat does exactly what Pete thought it would, and feels himself creaming into his diaper again. Worse, his head is full of dirty and terrible thoughts. He’s lost in a fit of strange fantasies. When that final smack comes, pushing his cum right out of him, he can’t help himself as he pulls away from Abigail’s pussy again.

As he squirts, he proudly proclaims: “I’m a poopy little baby!”

It’s only in the split-second after this that he realizes how quiet the garage is. And, there’s a new set of feet over by the garage door. His head slowly rotates towards it.

It’s Trish.

It’s hard to get a good read on her. She doesn’t look happy, but she looks less pissed than he imagined she’d be. She almost looks…amused.

When she finally speaks, it’s using a pretty normal and restrained tone: “Does Dakota know about any of this?”

Charlotte and Bridget both look to Abigail for the answer to that.

“No,” Abigail says. “And we weren’t going to tell her either.”

Trish’s eyes remain fixed on him. She’s studying him and his diaper. If the color of his diaper didn’t make it clear enough what he had done, the smell of the garage made it incredibly obvious.

“You might as well finish what you started,” Trish says, shaking her head. “Just try to keep it down. Don’t wake Dakota. If she finds out about any of this–all of you will have to answer to me.”

All three girls nod.

“Pete?”

“Y-yes?”

“You and I are going to have to talk tomorrow.”

“R-right,” he says. “Of course.”

“Good night, girls,” Trish says. And then she turns and leaves, closing the door behind her.

This wasn’t at all what he imagined happening. It’s worse than even the worst case scenario he imagined. That look on her face? She looked like she believed that this was exactly what he deserved.

“Excuse me,” Abigail says, pulling him from his thoughts. “You’re not done with my cunt yet.”

He sighs, tempted to say that he’s no longer in the mood. But…no, he’s still salivating. He still wants to taste her. To bring her pleasure.

“And when she’s done, it’s my turn next,” Charlotte says.

“And if you want Abigail to change your diapers, you’re going to have to lick my clit too.”

“Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you, baby. Let’s go.”

He reaches up between her legs with his face again, letting his tongue drift across her perfect vagina. Behind him, he feels the other girls’ fingers on his diaper again–poking and prodding his lumpy bottom.

Tomorrow is going to suck. Tomorrow might just be the worst day of his life. If Trish didn’t have any respect for him before, there’s no way that she’ll have any for him now. Not after seeing him on his hands and knees in a stinky diaper–being played with like a toy by his daughter’s best friends.

But that’s tomorrow’s problem.

He’s got a few things to look forward to before that. Like eating out each of these hot young women. And getting his diaper changed. He hopes that after Abigail cleans up his messy diaper, she puts him into a fresh one. He thinks he could get that to last until whenever he has his conversation with Trish. That soft, squishy, feeling between his thighs might prove to be a useful distraction while she tears him apart.

As his tongue does laps around Abigail’s clit, he tries to imagine how he’ll answer Trish when she starts asking him questions tomorrow. There doesn’t seem to be much of a point in lying to her, he thinks. She’s seen him at his absolute worst–what else is there to hide?

Inevitably, she’ll ask him if he thought it was all worth it.

“Oh god,” Abigail moans from somewhere above him. “I’m totally going to cum all over this loser’s pathetic fucking face.”

What other answer could there be but ‘yes’?