Singles: Masterpiece (Patreon)

Found a few short stories that I never shared before. Here's one of 'em!

If you need something else to read, check out the master index. 

________________________________________________

“See, each diaper is unique,” she says. “You could almost say that each is a specially prepared dish, using a new recipe each time. Though, to be clear, I’m not suggesting that you should eat the finished diaper.”

She reaches down and places her hand on the plastic-backed padding between the diapered man’s thighs and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“Even before each diaper gets used for the first time, they can be different from each other. Some might have baby powder in them. Oil or lotion, maybe. Perhaps a little bit of diaper rash ointment, too. This one? Mostly just powder, I think. But it was a lot of powder. See? Not every diaper of yours uses this much powder–this one is already unique.”

The man looks up at her, but says nothing–his pacifier, secured to his mouth by a piece of ribbon that’s wrapped around his head and tied in an exquisite bow in the back, prevents that.

“If you’re thinking that my part in crafting your latest diaper is done, once it’s on you, you’d be wrong. I mean, sure, you will be the one filling it up with your warm pee and your stinky messes–and that’s not nothing. I’ll certainly acknowledge the importance of your role in that. I mean, without you, I wouldn’t have a completed diaper at all, right? But if you’re the manual labor, think of me as the supervisor. Or, to use another analogy, if you’re the lead viola in the orchestra, I’m still the conductor.”

His stomach grumbles, almost sounding like a response.

“Ah, yes,” she says. “We’ll get to that in a moment.”

He exhales out of his nose, long and slowly.

“The pee in your diaper,” she continues. “Where did that come from? Well, it came from the juice I’ve given you, yes? The milk. Depending on what you’ve been drinking, and how much of it, it can really affect aspects of your urine. The color. The scent. The taste, even–or so I’m told. I gave you a lot of apple juice this morning, right? I imagine, then, that your soaked diaper probably smells a little different than if you had mostly consumed orange juice instead. A difficult thing to test, of course–but I’m going to think about it some more. Maybe we can do some experimenting someday?”

He offers no response to this. She squeezes his diaper again, a little more firmly this time.

“I also have a say in when I change you. If I decided that this diaper was done, and I wanted to change it, I think we’d have a much different finished product than if I were to wait another two hours before changing you. The wet padding changes a bit as it ages, doesn’t it? The smell can intensify. And that’s not to mention other things that could happen in the next hour or two. Sweat, for one. The longer you spend in your diaper, the more likely you are to sweat into it. You’ll never sweat more than you’ve peed, but again, it’s not nothing. We’re changing the unique composition of your diaper just while you sit there and listen to me.

“Consider, too, your pre-cum. I mean, look, I know you like it when I do this…”

Her open palm rests on the front of his diaper and she pushes upwards, stroking the outline of his semi-erect cock on the other side of the padding. His body wiggles and the sound of a little moan can be heard behind his pacifier.

“Do that a little longer, and you’ll probably start dripping into your diaper, yes? You might even be dripping now. But, the more I do it, the more likely you are to be dripping. Again, we’re creating a unique diaper here, see? And if you were to actually blow your whole load in your pampers? Well, that’d change it considerably.”

His eager eyes stare up at her. He might be silently pleading with her.

“I’ll think about it,” she says, “I haven’t decided what I want this finished diaper to look like just yet.” She laughs at this and wags a finger at him. “Ah, do you see? Once again, as much as it’s your diaper, it’s mine too.”

There is another gurgle from his stomach.

“Fine, yes, we’ll talk about that. There’s lots of different messes you can make in your diaper, isn’t there? There’s the ones you make yourself, when you’ve been made to wear your diaper for so long that you have no choice but to use it? And there’s the messes that I help you make. The enemas. The suppositories. Medicines and oils. Even the food that I feed you. I could go into detail about how your bowel movements can also differ drastically depending on what I feed you…but that feels a bit obvious.

“I’ve been working on a special diet for you lately. A little extra fiber. Some, er, supplements. Surely you’ve noticed how many more dirty diapers you’ve been making a day over the last week or so, right? I can assure you that it’s all the result of my hard work.”

He squirms a little, sighing again out from his nose.

“So how do you think this one will go?” she asks. “Do you give up the fight sooner than later, and just push everything out? Or do you hold it for as long as you can–knowing that it won’t matter in the end. There won’t be any reprieve. I won’t allow you to use the toilet. Whether it’s now or later, you’ll be filling the back of that diaper.”

He groans a little as a subtle, but still audible, rippling fart echoes inside his diaper.

“My opinion? Better out than in. Why delay the inevitable. Let ‘er rip, I say.”

His face turns red and he makes a grunting noise as he bites down on his pacifier.

“You probably don’t actually have to push that hard,” she says.

She’s right, and when he finally does expel his bowels, they unleash quickly and violently into his diaper in a torrent of squelches and crackles. Almost immediately, the back and bottom of his diapers expand as far as they can go.

“Bra-vo,” she says, clapping her hands together. “Amazing work.”

She reaches down to his diaper again, poking at the bloated padding.

“Very impressive. It’s dense. Like, you really packed this diaper. I’ll give you some of the credit, but I’m going to take a bit for myself too.”

She sniffs at the air, already detecting the sour stench of his freshly messed bottom.

“Pungent,” she nods. “I’ve smelled worse, but that’s not saying much.”

His cheeks glow bright pink.

“You might think the diaper is done–and it could be–but I think we’ve got plenty more decisions to make. How much longer could I wait until I change you? The composition changes over time, you know. The consistency. The smell. The warmth. All of that will be much different an hour from now than they’ll be now. And what if, between now and whenever I change you, you manage to deposit even more in your diaper? Another spurt of warm pee? A few new drops of pre-cum? That’s all going to contribute to the final product.”

Her hand finds his cock again, though it seems much harder than it did before.

“Or,” she continued, “I could rub this to completion, right? That would certainly change the composition of the diaper.”

He nods eagerly.

“Well, I don’t always like giving in to you. But I also wouldn’t be doing this for you–I’d be doing this for the sake of creating a better diaper.”

She proceeds to stroke the front of his diaper, her hand running up and down the firm shape. It doesn’t take too long–a minute and a half, tops–before he suddenly begins to squirm and moan, his hips thrusting into the air as he loses control of himself.

“Ah, there we go,” she smiles. “Was that it? DId you make big sticky cummies into your diaper? I bet that felt good.”

It takes him a moment or two to acknowledge her, but he eventually nods.

“Well…I think that’s all we can do for this diaper. For now.”

He looks confused. Satisfied, of course–but still a little confused.

“I’m just not convinced we’re done with this diaper yet,” she shrugs. “I think we’re in a good place, but it could be even better. I suppose, if this was a recipe, this would be the part where I slide you into the oven and let you roast for a few hours. So…maybe I’ll busy myself with something else for an hour or three while I let you marinate in your diaper.”

He groans to object.

“Oh, calm down. It’s not like you have to do anything. Just stay there and don’t go anywhere. Not that you can, I suppose–those new ankle and wrist straps are working quite nicely, I must say.”

He groans again, but it’s softer. More defeated sounding.

“Let’s see where you’re at in a few more hours. Wetter? Messier? Stickier? Well, stinkier, for sure. Then we’ll see if the diaper is finished or not.”

She begins to walk away, stops, and then turns around.

“Actually, now I’m pretty excited about your next diaper. Because if you end up getting a rash from this one, we’ll definitely need to incorporate some rash cream into the next one. See? Different. If this one isn’t a masterpiece, the next one might be.”

Her footsteps recede, leaving him to just marinate in his bloated and stinking diaper. He sighs, and then releases another dribble of piss.