Re: It’s My Job - a messy business Pt 1-4
It’s my job 4
In the hope of keeping you interested I suppose I could tell you a litany of horror stories that my customers subjected me to, thankfully they were few and far between. Steve had a particularly keen sixth sense when it came to any possible trouble and, as I’ve mentioned before, not averse to using his thuggishness to intimidate or get what he wanted. I have to say that this only applied to any punter who was abusing any of his ‘boys’. No, I wasn’t his only one. He had several other ‘escorts’ who he would supply to his rich and demanding clientele but he looked out for us all. Having said that, if one of us got a bad review or he heard back about an attitude problem, you were let go and never used again. He insisted on a degree of good looks, great attitude, pliability and willingness to try new things… he had around ten other ‘boys’ as well as me but as far as I knew, I was the only one doing ABDL.
Steve was a clever operator and I suppose it was his charm, and the promise of loads of cash, that got us ‘boys’ to work for him (or as in my case into his bed first). Being a former ‘model and masseur’ himself he knew a lot of people and his connections made it easy for him to build up a high-grade stable of working boys and well-heeled customers. It wasn’t only men who paid for our services. Far from it, as one of Steve’s chosen operators you were expected to be able to perform your required duties for everyone and anyone. If you were gay (like me) and really found it difficult to service any female customers he only sent you to the work where sex was not the main task. Thus I ended up at Doctor Jasmin Bernfelt’s apartment early one winter’s evening.
Steve’s instructions were simple, the doctor had booked me for a week and during that time I was not to speak. I could gurgle, smile and make baby noises but under no circumstances were I to utter any ‘proper’ words. This he knew would be a trial but, as I’d be with her every minute of every day, it was imperative to her that I behave as a baby. At first I thought Steve must have been nuts to agree to such terms and even nuttier to think I could carry it off. How the hell can a grown man (well that’s what I liked to think I was) not speak for a week. More importantly, what if something happened, or she did something I didn’t like or, and this seemed more probable, I simply forgot… what then? Steve then showed me the fee that was promised but only on condition that I fulfilled every aspect of the contract.
“The entire week will be recorded on camera; every move you make… every sound you utter… every change of diaper…every wipe of your…” he left the obvious embarrassing parts of the contract unsaid but I knew what was expected.
“Do you think I can actually do this?” I looked doubtfully at Steve. “It’s a huge project and, what if I fail?”
Steve didn’t shy from his response, “We… I mean you… only get a tenth of the fee. She’s doing this as part of her research, although I suspect that there’s more to it than that. However, I have a video link that I can tap into as and when I want… so I’ll be keeping a watchful eye on you.”
He seemed to think this was enough to reassure me… it wasn’t and I had an uneasy feeling about my ability to be a baby for more than a couple of hours. Steve once again just waved the fee in front of my eyes and said that this was a challenge I couldn’t turn down. By the end of another heavy (and scream inducing) persuasive session in his bed I’d agreed to every part of the deal. I didn’t know at the time that he’d already approved the doctor’s demands.
The contract stated that I was to appear hairless (apart from the hair on my head, which Steve had taken care of when I became ‘L’il Babee Markee’) and be delivered to her apartment naked… she would provide everything else. I didn’t like the idea of being completely naked in public so Steve re-negotiated that I could wear a diaper but, and she was adamant “…absolutely nothing else”.
I felt stupid travelling to my client dressed only in a diaper. Steve had told me to use a pacifier if I thought I wanted to speak. This, he argued, would stop me from chatting and also act as a reminder of my role in all this. I was to be loving, courteous and more importantly, responsive to all and everything she wanted from me. I was her dependent little baby, and, Steve grinned at me: “The possible star of some research project that might have ‘global’ implications”. I think it was him who saw dollar signs rather than me but he was very upbeat about the entire endeavour.
He took me to her door, set a blanket down on the step outside, sat me on it and had me clutching a large pink teddy bear. He rang the bell, winked, told me to be a ‘good baby’, as I nervously watched him walk away and disappear before the door was answered. I felt really stupid and, I have to say, vulnerable waiting, thankfully I had my bear to cuddle and surprisingly, that helped. After a few minutes Doctor Jasmin Bernfelt opened the door, looked down at her new arrival, held out her hand, which I tentatively reached for, and was soon guided, on my hands and knees, into her apartment.
Dressed only in my thick diaper (Steve had been very thorough), clutching my pink bear and sucking on a paci I entered the place that was to be my ‘work space’ for the next seven days. I had to rid myself of any normal thoughts and try and find an area in my subconscious and consciousness where I could be a baby for the doctor. In truth, my 20 years of life (my birthday had only recently passed) had given me no real grounding in how to handle people. I prided myself that I was a nice guy, easy going and not quick to judge but that opinion was mine alone, I had nothing to base it on. Why she’d particularly sought out Steve’s organisation to provide her with a subject I was never to know but he liked the idea that perhaps she’d heard of me from a previous client or perhaps had seen my profile on one of the various sites he now used to promote his business. After all ‘L’il Babee Markee’ was now our business. Thank god for the paci as it gave me time to take in my surroundings and the woman I’d be spending a great deal of time with.
The doctor was in her late forties and appeared very experienced at what she did. This, she’d told Steve, was a research project that she intended presenting as part of a further, far-reaching piece of work on the ‘Psychiatry on the regressive mind’. The place was set out like a nursery, everything in pale pastel shades, mainly pink but with soft blues and greens. It had a very relaxing ambiance with areas set aside for play, sleep, feeding and changing. The place had cameras everywhere and I’d been warned by Steve that they would be on 24/7 but to try and ignore them as they may inhibit me from playing my part. In fact he’d told me to ignore everything except the doctor, she was to be my sole focus and keeping her happy was paramount.
“Now Markee,” the show was starting, “Let’s get my cute little baby out of his wet diaper and into something more comfortable.”
I wasn’t wet but I realised that the diaper I was wearing was not something she’d supplied so I was to be rid of it. She led me over to the changing area and, with hardly any effort on her part, lifted me up onto the counter top where she lay me down. I really was just a little baby in her hands. The plastic mat was soft and rather pleasant under my skin and I enthusiastically sucked on my paci as she started to pull apart the tapes. My enthusiasm was to cover that first moment of awkwardness because being naked in front of any woman was, for me at least, disconcerting. I noticed the camera in the ceiling above me pointing down onto the changing mat and inwardly stopped myself from showing a grimace.
As she wiped, checked and prepared the area I was desperately trying not to let my cock react to her gentle, motherly touch. I had wondered if this might be a problem. For some of my previous clients, this had been a bonus but for others it had been the last thing they’d wanted to see. The doctor was one of the latter and had come up with a solution. Once she’d ensured that I was clean and thoroughly hairless ‘down there’ she produced a bag of ice and pressed it against my genitals. That deep suck on my paci hid the yelp of surprise that travelled up my groin and into my brain. Any rampant hormones that might have led to me getting a stiffy were quickly frozen as, once she thought it had shrunk to as small as it was going to get, she fastened a little metal cage around it all and locked it into place.
“There my little sweetheart,” she beamed, “All safe and secure.” She slipped the key into her pocket, “We won’t have to worry about that now will we? No we won’t… no we won’t. My little baby is well protected from that causing any trouble or getting in the way.”
She made noises that I suspect she’d used on babies in the past but I could only think that I’d just lost a part of me and wasn’t happy about it, although I knew I had to respond in some way. Whether to cry at losing this most important aspect of me, or giggle and smile and pretend it didn’t matter? I wasn’t sure what might be for the best but opted for the ‘it doesn’t matter’ giggle. After all, I figured, a baby wouldn’t realise what had just happened.
Now I’ve had this ‘chastity’ type of device fitted in the past but only for a couple of hours or so and could cope with that. However, I had no idea how long the doctor intended to keep me so secure and that was a worry that hung in my mind. Throughout the entire procedure she had spoken in encouraging baby-talk; saying what a good baby I was and what a sweet temperament I had. Once the cage had been attached and my penis was no longer an issue she powdered the area and grabbed a thick pink disposable, which she fitted in place. This was followed by a pair of heavy pink rubber pants, which were all held in place by a pink onesie that snapped into place under my crotch. She removed my paci and substituted another, much larger pink one, which she called a ‘dum-dum’ and tasted different to the one I’d been happily sucking on. Once again she effortlessly lifted and placed me on the floor so that I could crawl over to the play area where a bunch of toys were piled up ready for me to enjoy. Despite the fullness of the diaper I was aware of the cage, which I assumed was there as a cruel and constant reminder of my status - that of a weak and dependant baby.
At my age keeping my libido under any kind of wraps was going to be difficult because it had been my blossoming sexuality that had partly driven me into this business in the first place. Now, because I was unable to get hard, that’s all my dick seemed to want to do and the frustration, even in those first few hours, proved to be difficult. I knew I had to get my thoughts into a different zone or I would drive myself mad. I thought of those early dates with Daddy Hadley and how we’d learned to play together. How I had to learn a different approach that involved an unspoken but active way of communicating. Though at least with Daddy Hadley I could murmur some babyish words but these had been denied me on this assignment.
I had an idea… perhaps that’s how this experience should be confronted… pretend I was being interrogated by the enemy and my entire platoon’s survival was dependent on me not breaking or saying anything. However, when she picked me up, pulled open the front of her dress and made me suckle, that tactic went clean out of the window.
At first I was horrified but she was so sweet and encouraging, rocking me in her arms, murmuring sweet babyish nothings and stroking my diapered bottom, that eventually I got the hang of it. I was expecting a rush of milk but alas none was forthcoming and my sucking was more for effect than achievement. Later it was replaced by a baby’s bottle of formula, which I’d tasted many times before and could just about stand in small amounts. However, one bottle followed another and by the time she’d finished I’d had four of the damn things. She burped me and, thanks to the amount of liquid consumed, and perhaps unsurprisingly, the wind brought up some excess milk that erupted down her back. Not a huge amount but enough that I felt really ashamed but she took in her stride. She wiped it up, wiped my face, told me what a clever little baby I was and lay me down in a crib. I wasn’t sure if this was now night time and I was to sleep or if she’d just put me there for her to have a break. However, I closed my eyes and, sucking wildly on my dum-dum, found it easy to drift off.
There were no clocks in the room and the windows were all covered so I didn’t know the time and I couldn’t gauge whether it was night or day but she woke me up by rubbing my tummy. I wished I’d done some kind of research into what babies do as I had no idea how to react, although I found her circular movements very pleasing and oddly enough quite relaxing. All the time her hand made those soft, clockwise actions she spoke to me as if I was indeed her little baby. I yawned and my dum-dum fell out so she quickly replaced it with her little finger and I found myself sucking on that. She picked me up and carried me to an armchair where, still holding firmly, she settled herself down. On a small table at the side were a couple more bottles and I dreaded being given even more formula. However, I made it difficult for her to put the teat in my mouth as I stretched and wriggled as if I wanted to go and play. She held on tightly and kept saying in babyish language that I could go and play once I’d finished my milk. OK, I understood milk was a damn sight better than formula so I eventually let her slip the rubber teat between my lips.
That first suck was tempered by the fact that she had slid her finger up between the onesie and the rubber pants to check if I was wet. I knew I wasn’t because I’d been holding it in like mad since she’d woken me up. She didn’t seem to mind as she continued to pet me while I sucked down the two bottles of warm milk she had provided… but by the end I really did need to pee. I didn’t want to go whilst sitting on her lap so held off until she had placed me by the toys and I could do it without feeling guilty. My caged cock had been trying to expand for some time and I was painfully aware of the discomfort I would feel if I stored up my bladder and didn’t just let it flow ‘as and when’. I was focused on playing with some dolls and stuffed animals when I eventually gave up and just let go. The warm damp patch flooded between my legs and, as the flow continued I could feel my diaper expanding to cope with it all.
I was sure the doctor knew what I’d done but left me to play in my wet diaper until she was ready to change me, which as it turned out was just as well because only a few minutes later my bowel added to the mess. Everything appeared well contained in my protection but it felt really uncomfortable. I continued playing hoping that she would notice my bulging diaper but she let me carry on crawling around and sitting in my poop. It took what seemed ages before she changed me and I thought she was being unnecessarily cruel to her ‘little poppet’. It was only when my miserable looks turned to actual crying that she came and sorted out my soggy diaper.
I have to say that, despite being worried about the fact of me being able to carry this role off, she was holding her end up admirably. Not once did she treat me as anything but a baby and I found myself responding to both our characters. When she changed or clothed me she was all smiles, laughter and playfulness and I was really unaware of just what it was I was being dressed in unless she was making a point of some lovely little bunny, animal or cartoon character that was on it. She seemed to like pink so most of the stuff I wore was that color and ranged from footed onesies, short onesies, plastic and rubber pants, diapers, coveralls and… dresses. It was all very cute and I suppose by wearing a little dress it made access easier when I needed a change and it was another thing that I was surprised just how quickly I got used to it.
Although I had to be on my guard against ruining the situation by forgetting my role, I have to say that we had a fantastic time playing together. She was fun and inventive and certainly taught me what it means to be a baby… and a mommy. She was always there. I suspect that she slept when I did but if I was awake, so was she. I’d be put down for a nap in my crib and I was always astounded, once I had the dum-dum in my mouth how easy it was to snooze. I stopped worrying about wetting and messing and just did it. I stopped thinking about my caged cock and took no notice when she changed my diaper. I got excited when she slipped a new, silky cover over my diaper and I’d sit amongst my toys (yes MY toys) playing and loving the attention.
Because I was not aware of time, I had no idea how long I’d been there… every meal and diaper change just melded into my day. Even when I didn’t think the doctor was looking (sometimes she was busy typing stuff into her laptop) I’d be more than happy crawling around, hiding in boxes, building bricks up as high as I could and giggling insanely when they fell down. Mommy (although I didn’t call her that it was what she called herself when she spoke to me) was always there being supportive, encouraging and… loving. I giggled a lot because we had fun. It was something I might not have expected at the beginning but I had so easily lost my reservations and fell into being someone’s baby. Being looked after 24/7 was wonderful and the doctor was very good at it. I was enjoying every aspect; the closeness, the intimacy, the sheer joy we appeared to give each other… I loved being that dependent on someone else who so obviously loved me.
One afternoon, after I’d been fed, had my nap and was wet through, she picked me up, checked my diaper and said our time was up. I wasn’t really thinking and I didn’t appreciate exactly what it was she was saying. As she changed my diaper for the last time and I was able to talk, what did I do? I burst into tears and cried my eyes out. I didn’t want to stop this, this… project. I was happy with my position. For the first time in a week she unlocked my cage and I stayed small and innocent. She powdered thoroughly, like she had done on so many occasions and slipped me into a huge fluffy disposable, then pulled the silky cover over it all. I had arrived with no other clothes except a diaper so I couldn’t wear anything else. She asked me what I’d like to put on and, still through tear-filled eyes, trembled because I was used to someone else making those kinds of decisions. She picked up a onesie, it was pink with a teddy bear on the front, she also seemed to be having more difficulty deciding. She held up a footed onesie and the little pink satin dress I’d worn. I think she was really keen on that but in the end decided on a pale blue short coverall with a duck on the bib. We were both quite weepy as she fastened the press-studs under my crotch and, despite the fact that my assignment was all over, I was still dressed like a little kid and I didn’t mind in the least. When she handed me my pink bear I hugged it close and wondered if I’d see her ever again.
A bell rang, which I hadn’t heard since I’d arrived, and she guided me the door. I hugged her tightly and saw, like me, she had tears in her eyes. It was strange but I really didn’t want to leave. I know it had been a strange experience but it had also been incredibly memorable and in some way I just didn’t want it to end. The door opened and there was Steve, he looked a little surprised to see how fiercely I clutched onto the doctor but eventually cajoled me into going with him. I was still crawling so he picked me up and I felt the first thing he did was check and pat my padded bottom. He seemed to appreciate what I’d been through and didn’t make any kind of comment about the way I was dressed… in fact he seemed relieved.
He took me back to his place and I miserably crawled around his room for a while. I saw him check his computer and he said that the full fee had been paid and that he was very proud of me. It meant absolutely nothing to me that I was now several thousand better off I just sat in my diaper in the middle of the floor lost without my ‘mommy’ or my toys.
Over the next couple of days Steve gently managed to coax me back but, for a little while at least, he let ‘L’il Babee Markee’ have a break. He thought it was best if I got back into my ‘normal’ clientele and within days I was out servicing the rich and powerful of our city. However, every opportunity I got when I was alone I’d find my diaper and plastic pants and try and relive that short time I spent as a baby.