Vignette: Desperation

(A small vignette taken from a prompt while chatting with my editrix, clumsily formatted and presented for your enjoyment.)

I'm a grown adult, 30 whole years old. The idea that I'm wearing a diaper under my jeans is just mortifying. I've never gone out in one before, not with any previous partner.

But the memory of the shame as you lifted my legs up in the air, the smell of that powder, the cool feeling of the wipes around my locked up cock and cheeks...I couldn't pretend they didn't happen. It was too real.

You did your best to lull me into a false sense of security once we went out, which was fiendishly smart. Stern mommy took a break, understanding and encouraging mommy was there. Holding my hand. Leaning a head against my shoulder as you steer us from little shop to little shop.

Thoughtful mommy noticed it was the time I usually get coffee, so we stopped. And you order me a large one. Joking to the barista that we've got a long night ahead with a wink. My cage stirs inside the diaper when I think about the difference between what she thought you meant and what you really did.

But I was thirsty and wanted the coffee, so I was already halfway through before the realization of what this would mean hit me. I paused and stared at the large cup, but you were also observant mommy today. "Finish it all, sweetie, or I'll find some place for us to discuss you wasting what I buy you."

Gulping before I resumed, you pause me one more time. "Treat that tiny straw like you wish mommy would treat yours. Maybe I will if you're lucky."

I do for a minute, but I gather from your face that I'm only making a fool of myself and you wouldn't even dare. "What a vivid and wanton imagination you have, Steven." You walk off to the next shop. "You'd best finish before I'm done in here."

I can already feel the cold brew working its way through me, pressure building in my bladder. I curse myself for not having gone before we left, before I remember why and blush again. The legs up, the powder, the cold wipes. I'm beet red and sipping furiously in fear of further consequences.

When you come out, all that's left is a cup full of ice and a boy dancing from one foot to the other. "Please can I go to the bathroom, mommy?" I ask as politely as I can manage, hoping against hope you settle for the humiliation of wearing and not using.

"Now sweetie, that would be terribly inefficient! Mommy doesn't want to have to take you in and wipe you down after again. No, that's why you're diapered right now. Go ahead and use it, baby." You answer in a too loud voice. I literally spasm in embarrassment and beg you not to do it, not to speak like that again

Before I blink my chin is in your hands. Not a slap, just a cold and assured tone that utterly denies any disobedience. "You will never, ever, say anything like that to me again. Now I told you to go, so stand right there and go."

On the sidewalk. With all the passersby. No relief from your hand in sight, I piss myself basically in fear for your command

Heat and shame are all I am.

Your face abruptly turns pleasant as you see that I have shamed myself as thoroughly as I could and finished peeing in the diaper. "See sweetie, that wasn't so bad."

You let go of my face and beam as I writhe in my own mess in front of you.

"Please can we go home and change my diaper, mommy" I ask, broken and small, just the way I should always be for you. I'm better this way.

"Of course not Steven, I've got a good amount of shopping left today. That's why we did this, remember?" You admonish, and poke at the bulging material inside my pants. I squirm but not away, too pathetic to protest.

"But just wait out here a minute, I'm gonna dip back into this coffee shop for a minute and pee really quick."

~end~