September Exclusive - "The Boss" - Part 4 of 4

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“Come on, honey,” Crystal says. Her tone is firmer now. She doesn’t sound like someone who’s about to get canned. She sounds like someone who thinks she’s in charge. “You’re getting all flustered. Remember your special music, Matthew.” 

How could I forget? That panpipe, floaty-flute and whispering junk she tells Alexa to play when we go to sleep. First few months I put up with it, lying on my back and drumming my fingers on the sheets while my beautiful, perfect wife zipped off to sleep and did her cute, fluttery little sleep noises. After a while, I started going to sleep just as quickly. Later, when I was away on business, I discovered that I couldn’t get to sleep without it! I ended up calling Crystal and she played the music - what she was now calling our ‘night-night song’ – over the phone. 

Truth is, I did sleep better. I woke up each morning, feeling rested, feeling peaceful. Sure made a change from how I used to wake, with that burst of anxiety and tension about the day ahead. But now, I wonder what the music was really about. 

In the office, standing in a thick diaper, I blink and realize two things. One, Crystal is standing beside me. Two, she’s playing the music on her phone. 

“There now,” she says, with a gentle but take-charge tone. “There’s my good boy. There’s my little wiggle butt.”

I manage to shake my head. Weakly, but it’s still there. “I’m not a- “

“Wiggle butt?” Crystal says the words so sweetly, so playfully, that I burst out laughing. I must have closed my eyes, because when I open them again, I’m wearing my special shirt and overalls. 

“There,” says Crystal, and she pats my chunky rear. “Look at you, my smart boy! Are you all dressed up to ride your choo-choo train?” She kisses the top of my head and I just smile in response. Because I’m her smart boy. I’m all dressed up for my choo-choo. I think of Donna’s jar of colorful treats. I’m gonna get a sucker! 

And then I think of something else. Something I’ve thought about so often since marrying Crystal. A funny little fantasy. 

“What a lovely smile,” says Crystal. She takes my hands in her own and whispers, “Are you having your big boy dream, sweetie?”

I can hear the music, still playing, sending me off into a daze, and I nod my head. “Uh-huh.”

“Mmm,” says Crystal, “that must be feel so nice. Are you getting all excited?”

I don’t reply, but Crystal decides to find out for herself. She reaches between my legs and presses on my diapered crotch. “Oh yes,” she says, sounding as though she’s feeling the pleasure herself. “What a big boy dream.” She giggles sweetly. “Is it the one about the farm?”

I blush. I nod. Because it’s always that dream. I’m on a farm, and I’m not a CEO, I’m not rich, I’m just some guy working the fields or something. It’s a hot day and I’m so thirsty. I knock on the farmhouse door to see if I can get a glass of water.  Crystal answers the door, and she must be the farmer’s daughter, she’s incredibly hot looking, and she…she looks like the Crystal I married, but she’s younger, and she’s got her hair in these cute braids, and…I can feel my erection growing. I push clumsily against Crystal’s hand and she laughs in a way that feels good and humiliating at the same time. 

She pats my penis through the overalls and the diaper. She asks, “What am I wearing, sweetie?”

I whisper the answer. “You’re…you’re wearing cut-offs and this checkered shirt…”

“That’s called gingham,” says Crystal kindly, like a kindergarten teacher correcting one of her students. “Do you like my gingham shirt?”

“Yeah.” I lick my lips. “It’s all tight. Makes your…your breasts look really big…”

Crystal laughs. “Bigger than they are right now?” She turns my head, pushes out her chest. Yeah, she’s got such amazing tits. They take my breath away. Maybe, they’re taking my mind away as well.

“Okay, farm boy, and then what happens?”

Like always, I lie. I tell her about rolling in the hay with the pretty farmgirl. Because am I really going to tell her the truth? That in the dream, my wife isn’t the farmer’s daughter anymore? That she’s the farmer’s wife, she’s a mommy. 

No, I’m not going to tell her that, even as she pats and strokes the front of my diaper, even as she kisses my face and makes encouraging little moans. 

“We’re all, like, covered in hay,” I lie. “I come really hard and…and you love it, and you’re crying out ‘cause I’m so big.”

Crystal moans again, and I push against her hand. I’ll make a mess in my diaper, but I don’t care, I’m beyond caring about anything. The music, the dream, it’s happened so many times, I get that now, and I just need to let it go, so I can get my mind back. 

“What a lovely dream,” Crystal says softly, and then she takes her hand away. 

I whine in frustration, but Crystal just tuts at me and says, “I’m so glad you have such big boy dreams. Because if you’re just a little wiggle butt, I’ll have to keep you in your diaper.”

I shake my head desperately as this new nick-name echoes around my skull. “I’m not…I’m notta…” But my head is swimming again, my thoughts are being cast to the wind. I try to plant my feet firmly on the floor, so I don’t fall forward, so I don’t end up crawling like a stupid baby. 

“It’s okay,” says Crystal. I watch as she puts her phone in the back pocket of her jeans, and it’s only now I realize that the music is over. So the dream is over as well, and we can get back to reality. 

But what’s reality?  

“It’s okay,” Crystal says again. She puts a finger under my chin, looks me in the eye. And she says out loud what she’s said a hundred, a thousand times in the dream. “I know just what thirsty babies need.”

My mouth falls open in surprise. 

This is when I wake up. It’s when I always wake up. 

But I’m not dreaming. This is real life, it’s my real future, and I watch as Crystal pulls off her sweater, revealing her magnificent breasts encased in a frilly, red gingham bra. 

She’s the farmer’s wife. She’s the mommy. 

I gaze at her chest. I only want one thing. I only want to drink. Because I’m a thirsty baby. I’m Mommy’s silly wiggle butt. 

Crystal cups the back of my head with her hand, brings me so close to her chest that I can smell her sweetness. 

“You want Mommy to take off her bra, honey?”

I don’t protest my wife’s new title. I don’t even blink. All I can do is stare at the red and white checkered pattern as it blurs in front of my eyes, and nod. 

“Tell Mommy,” Crystal says, and she moves her hands to her back, ready to unfasten her bra, ready to release the best thing in my shrinking, simplifying world. 

“I…I want…you take off…”

“Use your manners, wiggle butt.” And when Crystal reaches around to put my bottom, part of my mind gives way. I don’t worry about it. Such a feeling is just a relief. It makes what I’m supposed to say very simple. 

I stare at the gingham bra. “Peez…wanna see yoh boobeez.”

Crystal giggles, but that’s okay. It’s all okay. I smile, I made a funny. 

“Oh-kay,” says Crystal, drawing out the word. “If you insist.” Finally, she takes off her bra and I gape open-mouthed at her perfect breasts. 

“Who’s in charge, wiggle butt?”

I swallow. “You. You are.”

Crystal gives her shoulders a shake, her chest wobbling wonderfully before my eyes. 

I giggle at the motion. What a funny, lovely thing. I cold watch it forever. 

“Who’s the boss?” she whispers. 

“You are.” Yoo ahhh. I sound hypnotized. I sound brain washed. 

No. I sound simple. I am a baby; I am starting from scratch. 

Crystal pulls my head forward and I groan in ecstasy as I’m permitted to nuzzle her breasts. I could drown in them.

“What’s my name?”

I try my best with lazy, uncooperative lips and tongue. “Cuh-cuh-kisstal.”

“No, silly. What’s my name?”

Silly. So silly. I giggle. “Moh-mee!”

“Good boy.” She pats my butt affectionately. “Mommy’s in charge, isn’t she.”

I nod, and I gasp with delight as Crystal pushes my face between her tits. 

I babble, “Moh-meez in chadge!” 

“Good boy. Mommy’s the boss, isn’t she.”

“Muhhhh…muh-mee buth!”

“Mmm. Such a good wiggle butt. Such a good lil stinker.”

And then I drink. I guzzle greedily at Mommy’s boobies, because she has milk, another of her magic tricks. a thin but steady stream when I suck. I don’t come, I’m not hard, all of that is in the past. I just tinkle from my sleepy penis into my thick diaper, and as I drink, Mommy tells me how it’s going to be. How she’ll keep me dressed up, how she’ll keep me simple and sweet, and how I won’t have to worry about anything because Mommy’s the boss. 

Mommy talks as I drink. “Remember how you said once, you said my breasts were too big? Remember that? When we’d just started dating?”

No way. That wasn’t me. I’d never say something like that. I keep on drinking.

“It wasn’t the only alteration you talked about. You wanted to change me; you wanted some perfect wife. Thing is, I’m already just the way I want to be. But I was happy to change you, Matthew. And it didn’t take much, honey. Just some special medicine, some special music, some special bedtime stories. And now you’re perfect, honey. Now, we can be happy together.” 

Tummy full, I finally stop drinking, and Mommy tells me I made a mess, I got milkies on my chin and on my front. 

That’s okay. Mommy will clean me up, she’ll take care of everything. She wipes my face and pats my head. And now she’s going to take me home. My diaper’s kinda soggy but Mommy says it’s okay, she’ll change me at home. Mommy’s got lots of toys for me to play with at home and I’m all excited about showing her how smart I am and playing with them. 

Mommy packs her bag and then she looks me in the eye like she’s looking for something special. “All gone,” she says, nodding with satisfaction. “Just my happy baby now, aren’t you.”

I smile at her and put a finger in my mouth. It’s good to have things to suck on. Mommy looks at me and laughs. She tells me it’s time to visit with Grandma Donna, and that if I’m a good boy, she’ll give me a sucker!

THE END