It's My Job - a messy business Pt 1-4

It’s my job

The sticky substance rolled down my back and over the ultra-tight, thin white plastic pants I was wearing. The gloopy mass had slowly slid from my head and, with the aid of gravity, eventually collected in a pool by my feet; it was that gradual descent that turned Bob on so much.

He would watch fascinated as the yellow goo trickled and pooled, then, like a wave of lava, carry on its way to the final destination. My arse is one of my best features so that the thin, almost transparent, slippery material emphasised my hard-as-nails globes to their best effect. When the flow of the shiny, semi-liquid concoction completely covered my arse, I had to admit that the effect of my reflected image in the main mirror, which completely covered an entire wall, was quite stunning. Once he’d enjoyed the glossy sheen and appreciated that initial visual experience (there is also a lot of touching and stroking involved), armed with yet another bowl of custard, Bob would empty that over my head and watch yet another cavalcade of the sticky dessert drip onto my chest and slowly gather around the front of my bulging plastic shield. The wave of custard would separate around that projecting mound and rivulets of the sticky splurge would split up and trickle down each leg. He’d pour more custard so that the glossy bulge was covered and then position himself to let the occasional drip of the stuff fall into his waiting mouth; his tongue flicking wildly about in eager expectation. All the while, he’d be massaging custard into his erect cock barely hidden behind his own yellow, gloop-stained, diaper.

Bob is one of my regulars. Once a month, for the past 9 months, he’d book me to indulge in his sticky fetish and, I have to say, I thoroughly enjoyed these sessions. Some clients just want me naked and to get the deed over and done with as soon as possible. Some were guilty about what they were doing; some ashamed of hiring a rent boy to fulfill their needs, while others were on a deadline and just wanted a quick, no-nonsense shag. That is what I do and I am happy to do it while I can. I don’t moralise about what people want or ask me to do. In the main, they are the customer and what they want, and pay for, is what they get.

Bob is quite wealthy. I believe he made loads of money when he was quite young and now, in his early 40s, lives off the proceeds. His penthouse apartment has an ultra-modern kitchen, two bedrooms and a huge living room that opens up onto a balcony, which overlooks the city. He has also converted his third bedroom into a ‘playroom’ and that’s where we get messy once a month. Kid’s TV would be proud of the amount of slimy gunge he’s poured over the both of us in the times we’ve done this together. I am well paid for being the target of his slippery needs and it is great fun. He likes me to appear at his door dressed in suit and tie (and I’ve recently added a briefcase to complete the respectable young businessman look). He greets me dressed the same, it’s as if we are about to go into a high-powered business meeting, but that image only lasts a few moments as it is the removal of clothes, which are always neatly folded outside the play area, and the transformation into ‘sloshboys’(that is, guys who love messy fun), that gets him going. He supplies what he wants me to wear; sometimes I’m naked, other times I’ve worn gumboots, a plastic apron, rubber shorts, a divers wet suit, although he mainly likes me in a tight-fitting diaper and plastic pants. Whatever he has a sudden thought about, he gets me to try and I love not knowing what is going to be next. He’ll also have all the gooey substances he wants to use stacked around the room, while I supply the body, a smile and no attitude.

We laugh a lot as plates of food, tubs of mud, buckets of foam, paint, oil, porridge and his favourite… custard - you name it and it is probably in his repertoire of stuff that we launch over one and other. Sometimes he’ll walk up to me, pull at my shorts or underpants or diaper and drip a gallon of some sticky treacle or greasy gloop all over my arse, cock and balls. The stuff gets everywhere but at the end, and especially if the goo covering my arse is still slick and liquidy, he likes to rub himself off against my slippery butt cheeks. His cock has inevitably been hard from the moment I arrive but held tightly behind his disposable, however, when he does cum his copious orgasm is a flood, which is then rubbed into whatever it is he’s covered me in. He seems to derive as much fun from our sloshy antics as he does from cumming and he’s deliriously happy from start to finish. Afterwards we often sit facing each other, dressed in just our messy diapers, or sometimes pretty plastic pants and throw dollops of stuff to get us both even more plastered with it all. We giggle like big kids and perhaps strangely, we hug a lot and it has become something of a release for me, a release I didn’t know I needed, and always makes me feel better about… well, life.

He always pays me more than we’ve agreed so, after we both take an innocent shower (the messy and sexy business is kept strictly for the fun room), I leave his place dressed in my suit and with no tell-tale signs of what we’ve just done and always a lot better off than when I arrived. He never asks me to clean up, he never demands anything other than messy fun, and the memory of this monthly event actually keeps me happy until the next time he calls. In fact, that one session with Bob could mean that I don’t have to work for the rest of the week… but I do… you can’t let your clients down can you?


Re: It’s My Job - a messy business

It’s my job 2

Telling you about my clients is perhaps a bit naughty, although I have changed their names as a sort of safeguard. However, it seems only fair if I’m going to discuss others I should tell you a bit about myself. I’m 19, 5’5" tall, short blond hair and have a tight little body and I got into this business quite by accident a few months ago. At the time, I had just left school with reasonable grades but like so many others had no job. However, I was determined to keep up the fitness regime that I’d started as a student and as I couldn’t afford a gym membership, got my exercise from pounding the streets. It was as I was standing on a dark street one night getting my breath back after a particular frantic piece of jogging that a car pulled up alongside me. To cut a long story short, I was propositioned and, as the guy was young and good-looking, I agreed. However, that night I did things, exciting things, painful things, weirdly wonderful things I’d never done before but the handful of bills that I walked away with meant I could at least pay my way for a few more days.

The guy who had introduced me to this incredible sex life ran an escort service and, after our session, had asked if I’d like to make more money. I immediately said “No thanks” wondering why anyone would want to be an ‘escort’, wasn’t that demeaning, disgusting and dangerous? However, he’d given me his card and a couple of days later I was calling him back and setting up a meeting. Following another afternoon session, and nonstop compliments from him and about how much money I could make, I was intrigued enough to say “OK, let’s give it a trial.”

So, that was the start. Steve, the guy who was now I suppose my pimp, although he preferred the term ‘manager’, introduced me slowly to his clientelle which were some high-end customers who appreciated my ‘tight little body and butt’ and before I knew it I was making quite a substantial amount. I was still living at home at the time, and found excuses to explain to my parents the strange hours I was now keeping, but they saw I was happy and never questioned what exactly I got up to.

Steve told me that he only dealt with classy men, men with money and taste and who he would trust not to swindle or abuse me. However, he added with a glint in his eye, people like different things. He opened his rather large closet and showed me what was on display. Lots of leather, rubber, plastic and a cupboard full of whips, dildos, chains and stuff like that. That afternoon he dressed me up in different outfits; young kid, choirboy, schoolboy athlete, tenement toughie… er… even a baby (I baulked at wearing a diaper and stuff but Steve said there was big money in it if I just played along), and several other different ‘looks’. I wasn’t all that bothered about dressing up, I thought that all a customer would want is to get me naked and for him to cum in or over me. Steve told me it took all sorts and a bit of gift wrapping often helped. I found that comment to be very true.

My fourth customer was Mr Hadley. Apparently, he’d seen my photo on the company portfolio (Steve had taken loads of them on our last session and liked them so much he immediately put them online) and liked the ones of me dressed as a baby. My small stature was of course a huge bonus and as I tentatively went off to meet him I had no idea what would be expected from me. The only instruction I had received from Steve was that my ‘client’ would prefer it if I didn’t speak except in baby-talk or baby noises and gurgles.

I arrived at the door of a very nice apartment and knocked. It was answered by a man, aged about fifty or sixty who stood at the door and literally towered over me. He smiled, obviously I was just what he ordered, and I shyly said “Hewwoo Mishter,” and looked down and shuffled my feet as if I was nervous, which I was.

“Ohh, you’re a sweet little thing aren’t you,” I don’t think he wanted an answer. “We’d better get you inside and all warmed up.”

That was the start of our two hour session where Mr Hadley gave me a warm bath, washed then dried me with a huge towel with a baby duck on it and took great pleasure in sprinkling baby powder all over my body. Once that was all rubbed in to his satisfaction, he placed a pacifier in my mouth and proceeded to get me ready.

I sucked on my paci as he fluffed out a disposable diaper, inserted a couple of thick pads and pushed it under my bum. He took his time, and what seemed a great deal of pleasure, from spreading my legs wide so he could pull this monstrosity up between them. Once it appeared to his satisfaction he pulled the tapes tightly and stood back to admire the view.

“Mmmm. I think we might need a bit more,” he said to himself and repeated the procedure with a second disposable.

My legs were spread wider and I dreaded that this bit of the process might not yet be finished. He appeared to like the results and picked me up and placed me on the floor.

“Go and play with your toys while daddy does some work.”

And I was placed in a corner of the room with a blue plastic mat and a box of different toys. I pulled out a stuffed tiger and hugged it close. I knew he would be watching me so I wanted to be the best damned baby he’d ever had. As I played with it I gurgled eagerly and bounced it up and down. Strangely enough, I found that bouncing like that whilst wearing such a thick diaper was really rather pleasant so I checked what other toys were available. I kept my well–padded butt facing him as I understood this was what he appreciated most and I was pleased to see him ‘rearranging’ himself as I crawled about.

I tipped out the box and searched through the toys and found rockets and spacemen and dolls and puzzles. I thought I’d give the puzzles a miss; a six-piece jigsaw wasn’t really all that challenging. However, I left it out with one piece missing as I had an idea. For ten minutes I found my imagination taking over and, even with a paci in my mouth, I played like I hadn’t done for many years. It was fun and I could see Mr Hadley smile as I did certain things, especially if I was getting excited about something. As I moved about on the plastic mat I really had no option but to waddle and crawl so, when he called me over, that’s what I did.

“My, what a sweet baby you are.” He cooed and smiled as he patted my huge padded butt. “Let’s get some din-dins for my ickle boyzy.”

He’d made a baby bottle full of warm milk so he hitched me up onto his lap and made sure I was snug in the crook of his arm before proceeding to feed me. I hadn’t negotiated a nipple for some time (well not to extract milk) and it took a couple of attempts to get the rhythm right. However, his persistence, and my eagerness to please, meant that he had me sucking away happily fairly quickly.

Whilst I drank he kept telling me to fill my nappy. I wasn’t that keen on doing so but with a bit of perseverance I managed to force out a few spurts of pee and at the same time accidently broke wind, which seemed to signal a call to action for him. I was laid out, slowly unwrapped from my padding and checked.

“Who’s a good boy? Yes you are.”

He looked at the slightly damp diaper and seemed to conclude that it wasn’t wet enough so reapplied everything but not before rubbing some lotion into the required area. I fought valiantly not to be aroused by this manipulation as I thought it wouldn’t be how a baby reacts. However, once everything had been spread around, front and back, to his satisfaction and I’d been taped tightly back into the thick diapers, he found a pair of plastic pants to pull over it all so my hidden penis was of no interest to him… or me for that matter. These pants were huge and colourful with blue cartoon figures all over them and he obviously thought I looked great in them as he bounced me up and down on his knee. I was worried I might fall off so I grabbed hold of him around his neck and snuggled my face against his shoulder.

He wasn’t expecting that and he rocked me in that position for a short while before he said it was time to get me dressed properly. He placed me down on the plastic mat and went to a draw and pulled out a neatly folded onesie. It was pale blue, made of a shiny material and I could see his eyes light up at the prospect that soon I’d be wearing it.

He told me to raise my hands, which I did, and he slowly unravelled the item of clothing, almost reverently, down my body. It was short sleeved and felt cool on my bare arms. It felt cool against my shoulders and chest as he continued to unfold it down my body and it felt cool against my thighs has he pulled it up between my legs and popped the fasteners into place. It certainly was tight-fitting but equally emphasised the bulkiness of my protection as he got me to crawl around on the floor and resume my game. He took a couple of photos and, judging from the number of times he reached into his pants to rearrange himself, liked what he saw.

However, the diaper had become a bit of an irritation for me and I was hoping that our session would soon be over. I goo-gooed, and ga-gaed and pretended I couldn’t work out how to fit the last piece (of a six piece) jigsaw together and began to sob. He liked that. He came down and sat next to me on the mat and helped me fit it into the correct space. Once I’d got him there I kept passing him toys and stuff so that he had to play with me and join in rather than just watch. Pretty soon he was making silly car noises or whooshes as rockets set off just as I did. I shuffled around in my silky onesie and he just kept stroking me as and whenever he could. I quite liked the attention but the irritation in my diaper was getting worse and I couldn’t wait for our session to finish and I could be on my way. The problem was, he was now having fun playing with the toys and I couldn’t see a way out of it.

He put in a call to Steve and requested a further hour, which I later learnt that he’d agreed to but at a slightly inflated fee, so I was going to be there for some time yet.

The milk I’d drunk had an effect and it suddenly dawned on me that it might not have been just milk. My bowels gurgled and despite my best intentions I could hold the growing storm no longer. Once it started I was sure there was going to be no end to it. My diaper filled fast as I sat on the plastic mat unable to control anything. The frantic look on my face gave him a clear indication as to what was happening and he quickly found a paci and slipped it into my mouth. My stomach hurt and I hated Mr Hadley at that moment but remembered what Steve had said about being professional and to give the customer what they’d paid for… I started to cry. At that moment I wasn’t sure how much of the sobbing was real or acted, all I knew was that there was a mess in my pants and I wasn’t happy.

Mr Hadley hugged me and said soothing words as my tears cascaded down my cheeks, which with a paci in my mouth must have made for a really good picture (he took another photograph) before he set about changing me. He slowly released me from the onesie, pulled off my plastic pants, which appeared to have helped contain the mess, though the smell was quite strong. However, as he peeled back the tabs and slowly examined the damage, the stink didn’t seem to worry him at all. In fact, he seemed overjoyed that I’d made this huge mess and slowly started to clean me up.

As I lay out on the plastic mat he gave me a stuffed animal to hold whilst he got on with the major job of cleaning up baby. As I lay naked (except for my paci and stuffed toy) he went and retrieved a bowl of warm water, towels, wet wipes and a host of lotions and powders. For the next half hour or so he slowly and methodically cleaned, wiped and powdered every bit of my body. At one point I did notice that my fine pubic hair had disappeared and where it had once been, there was now a red blush (I supposed that’s what the cream he’d applied earlier had been for). I was a little bit angry that he’d done this without asking but it was hard to get too angry whilst you are holding a furry animal, have a paci in your mouth and magic fingers are creating incredible sensations to your body.

He finished off by pulling a disposable up between my legs and making sure it fit snugly, then, like just about everyone does, he patted my bum. His gentleness, and obvious delight in seeing me that way, made me shiver. He hugged me tightly and rubbed my padded bottom in appreciation, thanked me and said he hoped he’d see me again soon and pointed me towards the bedroom where I’d changed when I first arrived.

I got dressed but I didn’t take off the diaper. Instead I walked back into the room holding my pants and let him watch me pull them over the protection he’d put me in. I wanted him to know that I would be wearing something from him for the foreseeable future. His eyes lit up as I zipped up. I handed him back his paci, gently kissed his cheek and said my ‘bye-byes’ (still in baby character).

Walking away felt strange because of the thickness between my legs which was both a reminder of what we’d just done and a comfort and I wasn’t sure why.


Re: It’s My Job - a messy business Pt 2

A very good chapter, even though I personally am not a fan of messy diapers(which is why the first chapter was a bit much for me) but I quite enjoyed this second chapter, it reminds me of interactions with care givers I’ve had where it’s not quite sexual but is certainly sexual in a sense, that and I found the interaction quite cute in the deviant was as the character is a fetish export of sorts.

Re: It’s My Job - a messy business Pt 2

Hi weegee

Glad you liked the latest chapter. It’s difficult sometimes to aim a story to meet everybody’s criteria - :slight_smile: some dislike mess whilst others insist on it. However, I’m really thankful that you found something in my story to hold your interest and I thank you for taking the time out to comment as it is greatly appreciated.
THANKS :slight_smile:

Re: It’s My Job - a messy business Pt 3

It’s My Job 3

I saw Mr Hadley on a further five occasions. He’d changed to a much more relaxed person who just wanted to be with someone. Despite being so much younger I realised the fact that he was a man who had a load of love to give but didn’t really know how to channel it. For some reason it had developed into this ‘baby fetish’, possibly some need to feel responsible and loved, but, as Steve constantly told me, “Don’t put people into boxes – everyone is different and everyone has their own special wants and desires”.

Over the few visits I had to Mr Hadley (I called him Daddy from my second visit) he changed into something more than just an observer; he played and got involved in my babyish games. He still wanted a baby boy to look after but he was no longer detached from what was going on and he seemed to really like what I did for him. Indeed, Steve said that he was constantly being called by Mr Hadley who never stopped singing my praise. When we met, I was happy to go along with everything he required. He acquired some really nice baby clothing, that he appeared to have had made especially, and took great delight in dressing me up in it all. He was never happier than when I was wearing a thick diaper, which he would take every opportunity to pat and fondle, and I learned to mess, cry, giggle, hug and cuddle when necessary. It wasn’t difficult because I went out of my way to try and please him. He was a gentle soul, generous and had few things he appeared to have faith in however, his little baby boy, even for only a few hours, was the one thing he had no doubt about. A baby like me was the welcome surprise he needed; someone who accepted him for him, weird or not he wasn’t being judged. He was, for those few hours, my daddy who I knew loved me and I loved him.

I’ve just read that all back and it seems that I am either ‘bigging’ myself up or making excuses for Mr Hadley. I’m sorry if that is the case because that’s not what I wanted to do but you do get to know your clients and, if they are regulars, you do get a rapport going. Some men don’t want anything more than ‘wham-bam thank you man’ and as soon as they’ve cum, you’ve gone. I can understand that but when you do get something special, it’s just that, special. Mr Hadley was special but it all came to an end when I arrived at Steve’s place and there was a huge box addressed to ‘Baby’. Steve seemed to know immediately who it was from but he left it for me to open. It had all the baby clothes, toys and stuff that we’d used during our time together. There was a letter of thanks and a banker’s check for $1000. It appeared our time together had come to an end but I didn’t know why. Steve didn’t know, or if he did, he wasn’t saying and I felt really sad that our time together had finished.

Ever the businessman Steve looked at the clothes that he had sent and said that there were plenty more men who would appreciate seeing me in some of those things. I was still feeling a little down so didn’t appreciate what he was saying until he had pulled out a couple of diapers and told me to strip. Minutes later I was wrapped in the diapers, rubber pants and onesie and Steve was taking more photos for the ‘portfolio’.

“You’ll have them all wetting themselves when they see these,” he gleefully promised.

He said that my sad, babyish look would only add to my fee once they started asking for ‘L’il Babee Markee’. I had a new name and a new image and I was very surprised at just how quickly the offers came in and just how popular having an AB to play with was.
Once again Steve showed just what a hot entrepreneur he was as the images of me dressed in those special outfits went viral. Over the next few days he was inundated with offers. ‘L’il Babee Markee’ was very marketable and photo sets exchanged hands as well as ‘opportunities’ for me to be someone’s ideal baby… at ridiculous rates.

I was very nervous about this turn of events and although I’d been happy with what I was able to do with Mr Hadley, I worried that there would be some really weird people ‘out there’ who weren’t as nice. I was concerned about my safety and other client’s expectations but, after another wild afternoon session with a very virile and demanding Steve, I saw where my future lay and it was with me accepting ‘toddler’ status. After my body was still ringing after his attention Steve did two things: He brought it down to simple finance and said how much I would earn per session and made it clear that I was a brand name so my desirability would go through the roof. He also suggested that Mr Hadley would be proud to know that his little baby was wanted by so many… a sort of ‘Daddy Legacy’. Steve was very persuasive.

I still had my occasional other clients but Steve wanted me to concentrate on this more lucrative venture. I wasn’t overly happy about being a baby all the time and actually longed for the ‘straight’ sex sessions instead of my having to dress up. However, ‘L’il Babee Markee’ did attract a growing number of ‘admirers’ and pretty soon I was discovered by one client as a ‘foundling’ in a wooded glade. I was wearing just a thin, soft cotton diaper, sucking (and crying) on a paci and wrapped in a fleecy blanket. I thought this was just too much but later, when I saw the amount Steve had charged for this little piece of theatre, I saw why he was so keen we went down this route.

My most recent client was ‘Daddy Melrose’, he wanted me permanently and tried to hypnotise me to become his acquiescent little boy. I saw my job as being submissive and compliant to what was expected of me so he had no real need to force me into doing things, I was happy to do them, but I think he felt he needed more control. It started off OK but the items of special clothing he got me to wear became more bizarre and restricting. There aren’t many chances for running away when you have a butt plug inserted, your cock is trapped in a small restrictive cage, you are in several pairs of ultra-thick disposables, a tight-fitting rubber onesie and have leather reins buckled around your chest which your ‘daddy’ is keeping hold of very tightly indeed. A thick, ball-gag style paci was strapped into my mouth and all I could do was basically crawl wherever he wanted me to go or just sit at his feet in this cramp inducing outfit. Of course he’d plied me with drink beforehand so I was both desperate to piss, which I did continually and take a dump, which I couldn’t do because of the plug. He kept putting on these videos of men being regressed back to their childhoods and obviously thought I’d be easy to influence. I did feel my will slipping on occasions, he probably drugged the drink to make it easier, and I’m sure that without Steve’s early intervention, I might well now be some rubber baby – property of Daddy Melrose.

When I hadn’t checked in with Steve, at a time we’d arranged, the alarm bells had gone off. Even though Mr Melrose had been an occasional user of Steve agency, being rich and powerful and all, he wasn’t as well-known to Steve as perhaps he should have been (thus the need for a call). He tracked me down, kicked in a few doors and confronted the manipulative daddy who seemed surprised at being disturbed in this way. Once he realised that Steve’s anger was real he was all apologetic and desperate to fend off the beating he was taking from my irate manager. Steve took photos, made him transfer an extra fee (for my inconvenience and his time) before issuing a dire warning to the scared and pathetic looking would-be Daddy.

However, Steve didn’t release me from my rubber outfit he just bungled me into his car and didn’t let me loose until we arrived back at his place. I was still a bit woozy but he admitted later that night how he’d found the entire image “such a fucking turn on”. He even joked about how much more of a baby I looked when I’d been drugged and was a little spaced out. More photos and no doubt he had another stream of finance coming in. As he slowly unravelled me from my ‘costume’ he apologised and said he would never let me get into harm’s way again… although he guessed I’d have a completely different lifestyle if Daddy Melrose had succeeded. First came out the gag but again I was too out of it to make much sense. He unbuckled the reins, unzipped me from the tight rubber onesie and eased me from it. Never one to miss an opportunity he took more photographs at each part of the process and once down to the huge amount of soaked padding he carried me into his bathroom for the final removal.

It all seemed to be packed tightly into a huge pair of rubber pants but Steve battled on regardless. With some difficulty he eased them down and untaped the multilayers of diapers (yes, stopping for more photos) and was happily surprised to find my cock straining against a small, locked cage. He left that for a moment and began to wipe me down. I moaned and he suddenly realised that there must be something else and noticed the black object inserted ‘where the sun don’t shine’. He began to pull on it but my moaning got worse and I think he got the idea that perhaps that wasn’t a good idea. I was sat naked in his bath at this time with my cock in a cage and a dildo or something large shoved up my butt and I desperately needed to take a dump. He manoeuvred me onto all fours, grabbed the black object and told me to push at the same time he pulled.

It came out on the second tug and we were both immediately covered in an almighty deluge of shit… I suppose Daddy Melrose had the last laugh.


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.