Drinking in the Humiliation – Part 2 of 2

This is rapidly becoming my own personal hell.

It's been barely half an hour since the last of that enema drained into my ass, and already I'm sweating with the pain of the soapy load churning within. Brenna, aka Mommy, has dolled me up in the sort of outfit I can imagine only a toddler would like: a stretchy cotton T-shirt with a derpy-looking giraffe stitched on the front, barely reaching my navel. A pair of close-hugging, blue-and-white striped knit leggings that end in elastic cuffs around my trembling ankles. A pair of simple white socks underneath. And of course, the astonishingly thick bulk of a booster-stuffed nighttime diaper, its every crease and outline visible beneath the unforgiving embrace of my childish pants.

That diaper is ready and waiting, you see. Ready for the inevitable explosion that will occur the moment Mommy takes pity on me and removes this devilish plug in my ass… if not before. And ready too, for the pathetic little dribbles and spurts of urine that are already finding their way into its cottony depths.

But shameful as it is to say, I'm not even aware of those dribbles at the moment. No, I've got far bigger problems on my hands. Starting with the raised eyebrows and confused expression on Marjie's face as she gazes first down at me and then back to her host.

"Wait, you say he… he… he asked for this?"

"Oh, but of course he did!" Mommy is chuckling softly, motioning at the heap of colorful toys in the corner of the room. "See, he's really quite the little baby at home. I don't suppose you ever thought that your big, tough, manly coworker had a bunch of stuffed animals and blocks waiting for him at home, did you?"

Marjie has to give a wry smile at that. "Well, no… not exactly. I'd never thought he was anything other than, well, you know…" She trails off, her eyes widening further as Mommy reaches into her apron pocket and produces one of my largest pacifiers, proffering it to Marjie. "Here, I almost forgot to give him his binky! Go on, why don't you see how much he loves it? Just stick it in his mouth, you know – simple as that…"

And sadly, it is. From my position on the living room rug I hold my breath and gaze up in growing mortification as Marjie, a look of wonder mingled with curiosity on her beautiful face, approaches and extends the infantile device toward my passive mouth. "Here, um… here's your… pacifier? Um… come on, open up for me… baby…?"

They are the sort of words that I once fantasized coming from her rosy lips, I must confess. But now they merely stoke the flames in my cheeks, even as I obediently part my lips and let them close around the girthy rubber bulb. Muscles contract almost involuntarily, and then the massive plastic shield is slipping home, pressing its muting, gag-like surface firmly against my smooth-shaven and lotioned cheeks.

I'm kneeling here before Marjie, just like the baby Mommy has been training me to be. And she's just given me – the baby – his pacifier. There is no way in hell I'll ever have a fling with her now, is there?

"See?" Mommy flashes a sweetly victorious look down at me as she steps forward and ruffles my hair. In her voice is nothing but pure gloating. "I told you he's an absolute baby around home! Honestly, I think he'd be better off if he was a baby at work too… if HR would let him, that is." She laughs and glances questioningly at Marjie, who is clearly doing her best – but failing miserably – not to stare at my visibly padded rump. "I don't suppose they'd be too keen on employing a guy who still pees his pants, would they?"

"Wait, so- so he really-?" Marjie's voice is astonished, her lovely dark eyebrows knitting into perplexity and mild disgust. "I mean, surely he doesn't-"

"Doesn't what?" Mommy is practically giggling now as she kneels down and tugs me upward. "Come on, baby – let's show Miss Marjie what's underneath your pretty striped pants!" Of course a whimper escapes my muted mouth, and my hands twist in a desperate attempt to stop her. But her manicured fingers have already seized the waistband and jerked it unceremoniously down, and I am left standing there, with bare-shaven legs and flaming cheeks, on display before the sexy coworker of my dreams: a pants-less, pacifier-suckling man-baby, complete with bulging, cartoon-covered diaper.

"Oh my god- wait, they actually… they make them that big?" "What, diapers?" Mommy returns, and now she is openly laughing while she firmly spins me around and begins experimentally squeezing the crotch of my diaper. "Oh, Marjie, do they ever! You ought to see the collection we've amassed for him – not to mention the trash bin of all the stinky ones he's filled…"

And now, as Marjie covers her mouth with one hand, hiding an expression I can only assume is some mixture of shock, horror, and hilarity, Mommy makes her move. Tugging open the back of my diaper, she runs her hand gingerly into the powder-filled inside, her fingers sliding easily down between my butt cheeks. "You haven't seen anything yet. You know, I was contemplating leaving him plugged all evening – just to keep him from making a smelly mess and ruining the atmosphere. But honestly, the way he's been squirming here tells me that my baby really, really wants to make a boom-boom in his pampers. Don't you, sweetie? Come on, tell Mommy. You want her to take out your plug, don't you, honey?"

I can feel her fingers toying with the flattened base of the plug within me, and horrific as is the prospect of what will happen when she removes it, the titanic gurgling and cramping that has been tormenting my belly for the better part of the last hour forces me to whimper out the reply I know she wants. "Yefhh- yefhh, Mom-mee! Bhweeevhe, bhweeevhe, fhaykh ih owwh, bhweeevhe…"

Out it comes: with a twist and a wrench and a laugh from her smirking lips. "Oh, baby, what ever am I going to do with you?", she mocks, gingerly tugging the smelly, bulbous silicone out from my diaper. "I can't even have a nice quiet evening with company without you begging to make a scene! Here, then: if you're really that dead set on letting Marjie see what a dirty little diaper baby you are, why don't you get down on your hands and knees and show her, hmm?"

I'm obeying, and the churning in my stomach and her mockery reach their nauseating peak together. "Go on – crawl for us, baby!" she orders – but of course I am already there. "Squat down like a good baby now." My diapered ass is in the air as she speaks. "Scrunch up that face, why don't you?" The liquid mess within me is poised to explode, and the expression on my face must be nothing short of petrified fear. "And listen up: look at us when you do it. Look at us when you squat down there, a grown-ass man, and shit your pants like a baby."

I am shaking like a leaf as those red nails dig into my chin, forcing my aghast face upward to stare helplessly into the eyes of the two beautiful women above me. I- I am- Yes, I am- I'm going to-

The noise of the filthy enema soup erupting into my poor diaper seems to go on for eternity.

When it is finally over, those beautiful faces have become twin teary blurs. As the tears trickle down my cheeks and the burn of my aching bumhole mingles with the revolting sensation of diarrhea trickling heavily through my devastated diaper, Marjie's words sting me more than anything. "Oh- oh my… He's- that's just disgusting, Brenna! And wait, you- you have to clean him up? Clean that?"

"Oh, not for awhile," Mommy sniggers, and now she is playfully forcing me backward, propelling me awkwardly back into a sitting position, forcing my quaking and shit-covered ass backward and down into contact with the floor. "I generally like to let him stew in his own mess for awhile. Honestly, though – and smelly as this one is – I suppose we could change him sooner. After drinks, of course. Because believe me, I'm gonna want quite a bit of booze to get me through this one!"

She snickers and rises once more, clearly relishing the pathetic sight I make: her own humiliated man-baby seated on the floor before her, his filthy and swollen diaper bulging between his splayed legs, and his pacifier preventing him from doing more than whimpering and moaning up at her. "Come on, Marjie. Here, let's get you a drink – or three. And afterward… hey, I know! How about you watch me clean him up and prep him for bedtime? I'm sure he'd love to have you watch!"

Would I? Well, no one asked the baby, I guess. And so all I can do is gaze after the two women, my filthy diaper squelching with my every movement as if to remind me of my situation, and my bladder already beginning once more to spurt and dribble into the ruined padding. Sure, I can hope that Marjie might be so disgusted that she will bow out and leave early. But somehow… I have a nasty feeling that it isn't going to happen.