A Temporary Solution - Chapter Eight (Commission)

Thanks to our lovely Gold-tier patron Devin for commissioning another installment in this story!

***

"Um, Daddy... It's getting late. So, um, could you please hurry? Maybe a bit more?"

Even as I speak up into the unshaven face of my caretaker, the sinking feeling in my tummy warns that I maybe I shouldn't have said anything. It's not that I don't want him to take care of me. It's just that- well, a glance at the battered little clock on my nightstand shows me I have barely a half-hour to get dressed, eat, and head out the door to be on time for work...

Yeah, I got the job – yay me! But I don't have time to think about that just now. I have this soggy diaper to contend with, and Scott's agonizing slowness, and my own impatience and fear of being late.

His low response is anything but reassuring. "Devie, baby. What did you say? Are you trying to tell Daddy how to do his job?" The tone of slight amusement, tinged with a dangerous sarcasm, tells me I've made a major mistake – and I begin to splutter out a confused apology. "No, of course- Daddy, no, I'd never-"

But even as I lift obediently and feel the fresh diaper slipping at last beneath my naked and freshly wiped ass, Daddy Scott clearly has something else in mind. For with a sudden downward thrust, his faded green boxers are on the floor – and a swing of his hips later, he's suddenly atop the table straddling me, facing my toes with his knees parallel to my shoulders. Thank goodness we just invested in this sturdy new changing table, I reflect idiotically, even as his next actions set my heart hammering.

"Silly little diaper boys need to learn to let their Daddy do his job," Scott reprimands in that dangerous, low voice of his. "And they also need to learn to hush up and be good little boys. Come on, open up, Devie. You know what to do." My eyes widen as I see my Daddy Scott's already stiffening – and formidably sized – cock descending toward my face. He's- he's going to ride my face- Wait, please-

But of course, like the obedient little subby baby I am, I open and begin sucking the instant it slips between my lips.

"Good boy," he mutters softly, pumping in and out of my already-drooling mouth. "Good little baby..." His hands are dusting my crotch with powder, checking the fit of my fresh diaper, all the elements of any normal diaper change. And yet as moments pass I scarcely notice, focused as I am on the swelling firmness of his cock in my mouth and the thrustings that are slipping ever deeper, bringing me perilously close to the point of gagging...

But then, just as I'm bracing for the warm salty rush of his cum erupting into my throat... He pulls out. And with a sudden jerk and slide downward, he's straddling my well-powdered – and still uncovered – crotch. "Oh, fuck, yes," he's grunting as he seizes his drool-covered cock. "Such a good little diaper boy slut for me. Such a good little cock-sucking baby, all locked away in his diapers-"

And with a sudden jolt I feel his cum spurting down on me, splattering all over my poor, straining little cock in its cage. Daddy- he- he's cumming all over me and my clean diaper- Does that mean-

Oh, yes. His shoulders are heaving with satisfaction as he bends down with a satisfied sigh and finally tapes my diaper shut. "Fuck, yeah. You think that will help you remember who's in charge? Now, why don't you waddle off to work now, Devie? Why don't you think all day about whose cum is in that diaper of yours? And about who decides when and how to change you?"

"Because," he chuckles now as he helps me up from the changing table, then casts about for his discarded boxers with a grin. "It's definitely not you."

***

My life is one hell of a contradiction these days.

How else to even express it? Here I am, a grown young man on the subway, making his way to his little cubicle on the eighth floor of that downtown office complex. I'm smartly dressed, and I've got my ID card, and I know exactly what duties I'll be tackling when I get there. I'm adulting the hell out of the day... and yet, at the same time, the hidden little swell of padding beneath my slacks and the cage tucked discreetly within are mute testaments to the other, far more subservient and infantile sides of my life.

I can feel my face warming even as I think of Daddy Scott's treatment of me barely an hour ago. The memory of how his cock felt in my mouth... the warmth of his cum splattering over me... the stickiness I can feel even now against my powdered skin... Oh, god. I was and am his owned little fuck toy, and I can't deny just how much it satisfies my sordidly subby self to know that.

I can't deny that the glow of embarrassed pleasure returns now and again throughout the day. I might be hard at work sorting through a spreadsheet, or headed to the copier to pick up a print job, or typing up an email to my new supervisor, Clair. And then it hits me. I'm diapered, and caged, and still sticky with Daddy Scott's badge of honor...

But of course I don't let all that get in the way of my work. I have to keep up with the work Clair sends my way, after all, and I genuinely want to show her just how dedicated and competent I am. Fortunately she seems genuinely nice so far: a thoroughly normal, middle manager type, with a brisk air and a loud laugh and an irrational love for chai tea. Her office is nothing fancy – just a boring room full of little more than a bland desk and a few management books and pictures of her cat. Mainly pictures of her cat, to be honest. But so far she hasn't chewed me out or given me any super crazy deadlines or anything, so I'm happy.

But all that adulting, nice as it is, lasts only for the duration of the workday. I can feel my adult self slipping away already as soon as I step in the door. I'm soggy, naturally, and let's face it: it's always harder to feel grown up when every step you take feels more like a waddle than a businesslike stride. "Hey, I'm back," I call – and then Scott is there, his eyes atwinkle, and he's firmly taking the backpack from my hands. "Welcome home, Devie," he rumbles, and instantly I feel myself tumbling headlong back into little space...

***

Is this really me, then, only half an hour later? Is this truly me, this quivering little mess of a boy, squatting on the floor in nothing save his bulging, clearly soggy diaper? Is this still the same fellow who so recently was briskly typing up confident emails to his supervisor?

I suppose it must be.

"Go on," Daddy Scott's voice orders me, and I feel a shiver of tingles sweep over me at the sound of his command. "Show me just how badly you want a change, Devie. Show Daddy just how much you love filling your diapers. Show the camera what a good little diaper baby you are..."

And yes – I squat obediently, a grunt escaping my pacified lips as I begin to push a messy load into my already sagging diaper. I feel my eyes squeeze shut in silent humiliation, but in all honesty I don't want things any other way. I can't help being a little diaper boy any more. I want this, and Daddy Scott wants this. And really, it doesn't matter how big I have to be at the office, does it? As long as I can come back here and be Daddy Scott's silly little baby... well, I'm happy.