Doing Business, Part 62 (Patreon)

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Sixty-Two

I was frozen in place, phone in my hand, as I decided on what I should say to Mommy–or if I shouldn’t say anything at all. I wondered if I had the option to just not respond, and later claim that I wasn’t near my phone at the time her message arrived. Could I buy myself enough time to satiate Megan’s before heading home to tell Mommy that I just got her message?

I supposed it was possible. But I already knew that I wasn’t going to do that. Mommy practically had a hand in my bottom already, and she could manipulate me like a puppet. If she wanted me to fill my diaper, I was probably going to do it.

But I felt like I owed it to Megan to let her know about the situation first. Fingers crossed that she’d kick me out before I smelled the place up.

“You, uh, alright?” Megan asked as I slowly waddled back into her bedroom. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. And Mr. Yang pays far too much money for this place for it to be haunted.”

“I, uhm, just got a text from Mommy, er, Ms. Heller.” I wasn’t sure why, but it still made me feel awkward to call her ‘Mommy’ when I was in the company of people I didn’t know as well.

“Okay? And is everything okay?”

“Well, she…” I found it hard to just spit out the words. What a ridiculous thing to have to say: “She said I have to poop my pants. You cool with that?”

“What? What is it? Does she need you to do something for her? Look, if you need to go, we can always do this another time.”

She was just handing me the opportunity. All I had to say was that I had something to do for Mommy and that I’d be back another time. Easy peasy.

But, of course, I couldn’t bring myself to say that. My subconsciousness’s desire for humiliation was overriding the forefront of my brain.

“We kind of have this, uhm, new thing we’re working on?” I started, nervously sliding my hand through my hair. “She, like, sends me commands and I…do them.”

She laughed, her lips curling into a curious grin. “I see. And just what did she ask you to do?”

“She wants me to…use my diaper.”

“And you have, yes? It looks pretty soggy to me.”

“N-no. I mean she wants me to…” The words still seemed stuck in my throat.

Megan giggled behind her hand, able to guess where I was going. “Ah, I see. And she wants you to do that…now?”

I nodded, my face felt hot.

“Well, do you think you could? Like, I don’t know if I could just shit on command.”

“I…dunno,” I shrugged. “But I feel like I never really know these days. One moment I’ll be fine and then the next I’m…squatting and filling my diaper.”

“You know what they say, right? You never know unless you try.”

“Y-you want me to…”

“It’s what she wants you to do, right? And I imagine there’s some sort of punishment if you don’t?”

Actually, I had no idea. But I also wasn’t sure that I wanted to know. I wanted to show Mommy that I was obedient enough to just do as she asked without consequences being a factor. Easier said than done when I was anywhere other than my home or in Mommy’s office.

“Go ahead,” she shrugged. “Do what you have to do.”

“But…”

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone pooped their diaper in this room. Though it would be the first time it was someone else.”

I sighed. I appreciated her giving me the permission, but I still felt uncomfortable about it. It didn’t feel right to pollute her home like that.

“Wh-what if we both went back to my place and…”

“Claire.”

My cheeks brightened at hearing the name.

“Don’t be silly,” she continued. “Just bear down and mess your pampers. You know you want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Jesus, Claire. Is this what your Mommy puts up with every time you have to use your diaper?”

It probably wasn’t worth trying to talk this out any further. She had made herself very clear, and now it was just a matter of doing it. I wondered if Mommy knew I was here when she sent that text. Or at least, if she had hoped I was here. I had told her that I’d be here today, though I didn’t think I told her when. Kudos on the timing. I was sure she’d get a kick out of this later.

“Alright, alright. If you swear it’s okay…”

“I do,” she said, hands on her hip–accentuating her assertiveness. “So go and do it. Right now.”

Megan was different from the other diaper-bound babies in my social circle. Myself, and everyone else, were born submissives. We were told to wear and use diapers, and we accepted that. But Megan was far more of a leader than she was a follower. As best as I could tell, her moments of submission were just a tool to secure her more power later. She was in a place now where she never had to wear a diaper again if she didn’t want to–and yet she stood in front of me in soggy padding.

And, while nobody did it better than Mommy, I was still susceptible to the demands of anyone with a domineering tone. It would be my first time being bossed around by someone else wearing a diaper.

“Could I…go over there?” I asked, pointing to the other side of the bed. I hoped that I could squat low enough that she wouldn’t have to see my diaper expand if I messed myself.

She rolled her eyes. “Just do it right here. C’mon.”

The sooner I get it done, the sooner we can clean up and move on.

I spread my legs a little and squatted down. Every single time I did this, all I could think about was how normal it felt. Here we go again. Just pooping like a toddler. I pushed. Nothing. I pushed again, this time grunting and groaning some as I did. Still nothing.

“I…I don’t think I can go.”

Megan laughed. “So what do you do then?”

“I don’t know. Th-this is the first time that she’s made this sort of, uh, demand of me. Remotely.”

“Maybe tell her?”

“That’s a good idea,” I said. I was apprehensive to just tell Mommy that I couldn’t do her bidding, but it probably seemed better to say ‘I tried and failed’ rather than just not communicating with her at all.

I quickly sent a text to Mommy: “I’m trying, I swear. But what if I just can’t go?”

Her response came quickly: “You’re a smart baby. You’ll figure something out.”

That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for. Though I also realized I was a fool if I really thought she was going to say that it was fine to just be excused from her little challenge.

“I, uhm…have to find a way to go,” I said to Megan. That wasn’t exactly what Mommy had said to me, but I think I got the spirit of it right.

“Oh? Is that what Mommy says?”

I shrugged. “What am I supposed to do? Keep pushing?”

“I mean, they do make products to help people…go.”

I laughed and shook my head, amazed that I didn’t think of that myself. “Is there, like, a store nearby?”

Megan nodded. “A few blocks away. It’s a quick walk. A shame you didn’t dress up. Wouldn’t that have made for a more interesting walk?”

“Please, Megan. It’s bad enough that I’m getting your help to fill my diaper. I don’t know if I could even handle the idea of having to wear a dress out in public too. Just take me to the store. Please?”

“That sounds kind of like begging,” she said. “But if that were true, I think you could do a much better job of it.”

I sighed, shaking my head. Why did everything have to be so goddamned complicated? I was like a magnet for humiliation.

“Y-you want me to beg?”

She laughed. “Yeah, sure.”

I was on a clock, so there wasn’t time to negotiate or attempt to change her mind.  I immediately dropped down to my knees in front of her with my hands clasped together, shaking them towards her.

“P-please, Megan. Help me out? I know I promised to play with you today, but I also don’t want to let down Mommy and…”

“Fine, fine,” she said, pulling me by my wrists to my feet. “I didn’t actually think you were going to beg.”

I felt myself blush as I tried to consider how else I could’ve handled that besides begging. “So we can go?”

“That’s fine,” she said. “But I need you to change my diaper first.”

“But…” I wanted to tell her that I didn’t have all the time in the world. Mommy had initially told me that I had an hour, though I hoped I had bought myself a little bit of extra time by telling her that I was having trouble going. Still, there’d come a point when Mommy’s patience would be stretched to its limit. And then what?

“It won’t take long.”

“I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“Oh come on, Claire. You said so yourself: the number of times you’ve had your diaper changed? You know what to do.”

“Uh, okay,” I said, figuring it was easier to just comply. “Let’s do this.”

“Everything you need is right there,” Megan said, pointing to a halfway open drawer in her bedside table. She rolled onto the top of her bed, facing up at the ceiling with her legs open.

I took a deep breath. You know how to do this. You just haven’t actually done it before. But you can do this. It’ll be easy.

I opened the drawer, assessing the inventory. There were more diapers. Some baby powder. Baby lotion. Wipes. Assorted teething toys. There was also a pacifier–which reminded me of Mommy’s penchant for sticking one in my mouth while she changed my diaper. While I had little time for theatrics, I did wonder how she’d react if I asked her to put a paci in her mouth while I stumbled my way through a change. I took it out.

“H-here,” I said, beginning to guide it towards her face. “You should, uhm…”

“No thanks,” she interrupted.

“But…”

“Why don’t you put it in your mouth,” she said.

“But I’m the one changing you.”

“Right,” she shrugged. “And we shouldn’t let you get a big head just because you’re changing someone else’s diaper for a change. Why don’t you pop that into your own mouth?”

“I…I didn’t–”

“Come on, Clark. The sooner you’re sucking on my pacifier, the sooner you can change my diaper.” She seemed to have keenly picked up on the exact tone needed to easily push me towards her bidding.

I couldn’t believe I was doing it–though I should’ve seen this coming–I slipped her pacifier into my own mouth. I was no stranger to pacifiers, of course, and my body knew what to do with it. I started suckling on it automatically.

“There you go,” she cooed. “Good idea getting the pacifier. This should go much quicker now that you don’t have to talk.”

My cheeks flared as I began to pull open each of her soaked diaper’s tapes, each rip sounding louder than the one preceding it. Pulling open the front of the diaper between her legs revealed both the soaked padding of its interior and her caged penis. It was a different style than mine–a thick plastic shell that seemed to contain her in an even smaller space. I couldn’t help but notice the tattoo over her chastity device–a scripted font that read ‘Daddy’s Girl.’

“I know, I know,” she said. “One of my few true regrets of my time with Mr. Yang. Trust me, someday I’ll be getting that removed.”

I had nothing to say–or I had no ability to say anything at all–and so I just continued suckling the pacifier as I pulled her wet diaper out from under her, balling it up and tossing it into a trash can near the bed.

As tempting as it was to grab either the baby oil or lotion from the drawer, I already knew that those were beyond my skills. My luck, I’d make an absolute mess of myself, her, and her bedroom. It was probably better for everyone involved if I just stuck to the baby powder.

“Do you like my little clit?” she asked, her fingers playing with the tight chastity device.

I nodded.

“Do you want to taste it?”

I made a vague, noncommittal, groan through the pacifier: “Er…” I didn’t hate the idea of it. In fact, I found the concept a little arousing. But she hadn’t asked–nor commanded–me to do it, and I felt like I needed to flex my agency when I was allowed to have it.

She giggled. “Let me rephrase that. Taste it.”

She already knew how to control me, it seemed–though maybe it wasn’t that hard to figure out. I sighed out from my nose and slowly removed the pacifier from my mouth.

“That’s it,” she said. “Just a little taste.”

My head bobbed down, my tongue sticking out like a puppy’s. I closed my eyes, wondering if it would be slightly less humiliating to not have to see what I was licking.

Impact. The bottom of my tongue was pressed into something soft and fleshy, while the top of my tongue was rubbing against the rigid plastic of the chastity. It tasted…mildly salty?

“Mm,” she moaned. “Thank you.”

I brought my head back up from between her legs, cheeks bright red, ready to pick up where I had left off in her diaper change.

“Put the pacifier back in your mouth, though,” she said.

I nodded and slid it back in place. I actually grabbed the baby powder this time, turning the lid and beginning to overturn it over her midsection.

“Hold on, Clark. I think you’re jumping the gun with the powder. You just took off a dirty diaper, right? So what do you think the first step should be?”

Oh yeah, right. I reached back into the drawer and grabbed the package of baby wipes. I felt like I wouldn’t have made this mistake at home. It was strange how taking care of someone else felt like an entirely different process. I drew a damp wipe from the package and gingerly began to dab her soft skin with it.

“Has anyone ever done that to you while changing you?” she asked. “You don’t do little dabs like that. You’ve got to, you know, wipe the skin clean. You don’t have to be so gentle about it. Get in there, you know? Get the job done.”

I sighed through my nose again and gave it another whirl–running the wipe along her thighs and around the skin of the chastity device. It occurred to me that I had tasted her before I wiped her skin clean. I didn’t think that was disgusting, per se, though it

“There you go,” she encouraged, her tone taking on the slightest bit of condescension. “Much better. And remember–put the new diaper down before you start spreading powder all over the place.”

I felt my cheeks blushing yet again as I offered a little nod. I didn’t think she was trying to be mean–maybe it was just a natural tone to take with someone so…babyish.

I went through the steps as carefully as I could, though I tried not to be too sluggish about it–I still needed to get to the store, buy something for my bowels, take it, and actually go. The new diaper was opened up and flattened on the bed. She hoisted her bottom in the air, allowing me to slide it under her. I then doused her with the powder–finding that it came out a lot faster than I was expecting. Again–I should’ve known this. It wasn’t my first time shaking powder out.

“That’s a lot of powder,” she commented.

I took the pacifier from my mouth and set it aside. “S-sorry… Should I, like, try to brush some of it off?”

“No, leave it there. I’ll just smell extra fresh for a while.”

I had never been all that great at fastening my own diaper when I was left to do it myself, and so I was actually surprised at how much easier it was to fasten one on someone else. With a better angle and all the elbow room in the world, I suddenly felt like a diapering pro.

“Well?” I said. “What do you think?”

“It’s a little loose,” she said, tugging on the waist of the diaper a little to show the gap between her skin and the padding. “But it’ll hold for a while. Probably.”

I deflated a little. “Oh…”

“Look, this is why you’re a baby and not a Daddy. Or Mommy. Or babysitter. Or whatever the other options are.”

“But you’re, uhm, good, right? We can go to the store?”

“Yes, yes. C’mon, let’s go and get something to make you shit yourself.”

We reassembled ourselves–she more than I. By the time I got my shoes back on, she came strolling into the room, fully dressed in tight black leggings and a brown tunic that did a terrible job of hiding the thick bulge in the leggings.

“That was quick,” I said.

“One of the many talents I’ve picked up during my transformation,” she replied with a confident smile.

“Transformation.” I wasn’t questioning it–I just liked the word. “What are you becoming? Who–what–do you want to be?”

“Nothing short of a goddess will be acceptable,” she said, strutting past me.

“Do goddesses wear diapers?”

She laughed. “So it would seem. But one day, when I’ve fully ascended, won’t it be nice for you to say that I let you change my diaper once?”

“Damn. I should’ve had you autograph your wet diaper for me.”

“Good call. When we get back, remind me to do that.”

Within a few moments, we left her building and were walking down the street. I couldn’t shake the notion that we were just pretending to be adults. With each person we passed, it felt like there was a chance that they’d look at us and see the truth. “Who do these babies think they’re fooling?”

Admittedly, most of the more curious eyes seemed to be fixed to Megan. Which made sense to me–she was the looker between the two of us.

“This is what gives me power.” she said as she walked.

“The people looking at you?”

She nodded. “These men–there’s one now–have no idea what they’re looking at. They get a brief look at my face–and maybe my tits–and they just start drooling. Meanwhile, you and I know that I’m walking around in a diaper, with a dick that’s stuck behind a lock.”

I could understand that. Secrets were powerful, as was information. It needn’t be said–but the men who stared at her now probably wouldn’t have anything to do with her if they knew the truth about who she was, and what she wore.

“You came to spend time with me today because you wanted to know about who told that Thomas boy about all the kinky-assistant stuff?”

“R-right,” I said, realizing that I had completely forgotten about that.

“If I told you what I know now, would you turn around and take off?” she asked.

“No,” I answered, shaking my head. “Besides…I think I can guess.”

She laughed. “Yeah?”

“I mean, it has to be Mr. Yang, right? How else would you know who was involved?”

“Another case closed by the great baby detective,” she said.

“I don’t want you to think that I came to see you today just because I wanted information. I came because I wanted to. I came because I wanted to get to know you.”

She seemed a little lost for words. Perhaps even flustered. “You, uhm, mean that?”

I nodded.

“You’re a good baby, you know that?”

I shrugged. “I’m trying.”

“So you’re not going to just leave?” she asked.

I shook my head. “And I’m not just saying that because I need to go to the store.”

“Are you still sure you have to go to the store? Like, have you tried, uhm, pushing again?”

“Uh…no.”

She shrugged. “Just saying. Maybe you can save yourself a few bucks and a few minutes if you can just go now. Sometimes moving around helps jostle my bowels when I’m plugged up. Maybe this walk shook you loose?”

“Maybe.”

“There,” she said, pointing towards a quiet side street. “I’ll watch your back. You see what you can do.”

“You just expect me to just squat and do that out here in public?”

“Oh, come now. You’ve probably filled your diapers in places more embarrassing than an empty street.”

That checked out. “A-alright. But just…keep an eye out. Let me know if anybody gets close.”

“Scouts honor,” she said, holding up three fingers.

“Oh, were you a Boy Scout? Because…”

“Clark. Go poop.”

I obediently turned into the narrow street. I waddled between some buildings and separated my legs a little–assuming that classic squat position. And I pushed.

Nothing. No wait…there was a little spurt of piss that trickled into my diaper. But that wasn’t what I was looking for.

I quickly trotted back to her side.

“Back so soon?” she asked. “Did you fill your pants?”

“N-no.”

“So we’re still going to the store?”

I nodded.

We weren’t that far away, just another block at that point. I thought I’d be used to waddling around in diapers by this point, yet every time I walked into a new building while wearing a diaper, it was as if my mind reset. What if someone sees you’re wearing a diaper? What if someone hears it crinkling? What if they smell it?

I could certainly smell something–Megan smelled like an entire baby powder factory. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. On one hand, it was kind of exhilarating to watch her walk around in such a state without seeming to give a single shit. Me, on the other hand–I was getting second-hand embarrassment. The powder cloud around us could just as easily be attributed to me.

It was just a small grocery store, nestled between a laundromat and a gold-for-cash operation–the kind of place the locals probably knew, but I would’ve walked right past without a second thought.

“You think this place will have what I need?” I asked.

“Probably?”

Thankfully, in the store’s rather minimal ‘Health & Body Care’ aisle, we were presented with a few options. Laxative pills. Suppositories. Enemas.

“There’s really only one option,” Megan said, grabbing a boxed disposable enema from the shelf.

“Wh-why that one?”

“The laxatives will take forever,” she said, sounding like she was an expert in the field of pooping medications. “Suppositories are better, but they’ll still probably take a bit longer than you want. Enemas…well, they’re as quick as you want them to be.”

“Alright, fine. Let’s get this and get out of here.”

She nodded. “Also, I was thinking that if you wanted to save some time…”

I took an uneasy breath, scared to ask where she was going with this. “Yeah?”

“If we administered the enema here, you’d probably be more than ready to go by the time we got back to my place.”

Amusingly, the only real issue I had with that plan was that she said ‘we.’ “I could probably just do it myself.”

She scoffed. “You think you can be trusted to do that?”

“They sell them over the counter at the grocery store,” I said, pointing to the shelf. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

She shrugged. “Probably better that way. I come here often enough that I don’t need them seeing me slip into the bathroom with you while you’re holding an enema.”

I made my purchase, having to face an actual cashier to check out–apparently this little hole-in-the-wall grocer hadn’t yet discovered self-service checkout kiosks. While the thought of having to deal with an actual human while buying something embarrassing would usually color me a deeper shade of pink, this elderly woman seemed completely uninterested in anything. She scanned the enema and tossed it in a bag like it meant absolutely nothing to her.

“All set?” Megan asked when I met up with her again.

I nodded.

“The bathroom is right over there,” she said, pointing to a little alcove near the checkouts.

But suddenly I was feeling pretty apprehensive about it. The store wasn’t that busy, meaning that for the few people there–they may have just watched me buy an enema, and they’d also watch me walking into the bathroom with it.

“Just go,” she said, sensing my doubt.

I waddled into the bathroom with my plastic bag. I was grateful to find that the bathroom only allowed for one occupant at a time. A little less grateful to find that the bathroom’s cleanliness wasn’t a top priority for the store’s staff. Not to say it was disgusting–everything just seemed to have a fine dusting of ick on it. It was the sort of place that made me feel superior for choosing diapers over toilets–and it was rare that I got to feel that.

I was right about the enema. The instructions on the box suggested lying on your side, but…I wasn’t about to lie down on this floor, instead opting to awkwardly bend over while reaching around my body with the nozzle aimed at my rear. I got the gist of how it worked, and so I just needed to get it in there and squeeze the bottle of liquid.

I could almost hear the laughter of everyone who would’ve gotten a kick out of seeing me in this position. Mommy. Lyndie. Kylie. Ava too, probably. And add Megan to that list.

Kylie. I wondered how she was. Did she harbor any sort of resentment towards me for contributing to her getting diapered herself? Maybe think about this some other time…

I felt the nozzle slip into my ass, and I carefully pushed it as deep as I could get it. That was the hard part. The rest of it was just squeezing, and that was easy enough.

I was reminded of how I felt at the office sometimes–especially back in the early days of my diapered domination. I’d be in Mommy’s office, or that little office that Lyndie and I used to share, and while the strangest things would be happening, I’d be thinking about the fact that there was a completely normal world on the other side of the closed door.

God, my world is so fucking weird.

“Well?” Megan asked when I emerged from the bathroom–the remnants of my purchase already stuffed into the garbage can. “How did it go?”

“It’s in,” I shrugged. “Now we just need to wait, I guess.”

“C’mon,” she said, waving me towards the door. “We should probably get back to my place before that little bomb of yours goes off.”

“I’m coming.”

We were back on the sidewalk again, clearing the distance between the store and her place. And while I felt mostly fine at the store–aside from a little bloated–every step seemed to be slowly increasing the new tension in my gut. I couldn’t say when it would happen, but I was beginning to worry I might not make it back before I filled my diaper.

“Just as a word of warning,” I said. “I don’t think I’m, uhm, going to make it.”

She laughed, but shook her head. “Giving up that easily?”

“What? Megan…I gave myself an enema. It doesn’t take long to do its thing, you know? I, uh, don’t think that I can…”

“You really have this ‘pathetic baby’ thing down, don’t you? I applaud your commitment to the role.”

“I’m not always a pathetic baby.”

“I doubt that.”

“I…I bet I could make it back to your place without filling my diaper.” What a stupid thing to say. As the words were coming out of my mouth, I felt my bowels spasm as a wave of discomfort surged through me.

She snorted. “I see why everyone likes you.”

“Wh-why?”

“You’re like…Charlie Brown. He’s a lovable guy with a good head on his shoulders, you know? A good friend. But he’s also perpetually the butt of the joke.”

“I’m not a joke, am I?”

She laughed. “Well…”

All at once, my bowels gave out and a torrent of warm mess evacuated into my diaper with a loud and dreadful sound. I was frozen solid as I waited for a number of waves to come and go–each delivering another parcel into the seat of my pants. I was terrified to look up at the other people walking to and fro on the sidewalk. Surely someone had heard what I just did. Megan certainly did. It took everything in me to look away from her–her laughter told me everything I needed to know.

This wasn’t the first time I had messed my diaper in a public setting, and I doubted it’d be the last. But between the enemas disgusting yield, and the fact that I was smack in the middle of two places that were quite alien to me, my humiliation had been ramped up to 11.

“Wow,” she finally said, controlling her laughter. “What were we talking about?”

“How I’m a, uh…pathetic baby?”