Two

I’m on my hands and knees, and for a moment I’m wondering if this makes me like Luna. But no, I don’t think so. I’m not crawling around–I’m just perched on my hands and knees atop Philip’s bed. And he’s behind me, stuffing me full with his sizable cock. This is nothing like what Luna ever gets to experience.

She’s wearing her new purple collar, and the little bell on it jingles when she shifts around.

She’s watching us. I’m glad she is–I get more into it when she’s here. Last night, she wasn’t in the room with us. I wasn’t completely sure where she was, though Philip speculated that she was just taking a nap somewhere. The sex was still good, don’t get me wrong–it’s hard not to have good sex when Philip’s working with an apparatus like his–but it just wasn’t the same. I missed Luna’s eyes staring at us. I missed glancing over to see the pathetic droop in her diaper.

When Luna and I look at each other–especially as I’m getting fucked–I swear that we’re communicating with each other telepathically.

‘Do you wish you were me?’ I ask her.

‘Yes,’ she responds. Maybe she doesn’t–maybe I just imagine that she does. Or maybe I’m just that good at reading the expression on her face. She adds: ‘Do you wish you were me?’

‘No,’ I respond.

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m not a pet like you. I’m more of an owner,’ I say to her.

‘But how do you know you aren’t a pet if you’ve never tried to be a pet?’

A fair question, and one worth mulling over at some point–though I’m still confident that my opinion won’t change.

Soon after, I see that Luna’s face is changing again. For a moment, I think she’s pained or in some sort of discomfort. Actually, maybe it’s a look of focus and determination–as if she’s…pushing?

Wait. Is she…

“Do you see that?” Philip says in between his primal grunts. I don’t have to ask what he’s referring to–it’s clear that we’re looking at the same thing.

“Yes,” I say.

“Remember that face,” he says. “You’ll see it again.”

“So she’s actually…”

“Yes,” he says. “She’s filling her diaper like a good little kitten.”

We’ve talked about this. He’s made many references to the fact that it’s something that happens–and something that he has to clean up after–but it’s something I have yet to see for myself. The closest I’ve come was the day before when I arrived at his place just after he had finished changing her–the lingering scent of her dirty diaper still in the air.

My instinct is to be repulsed. It’d be no different, I think, than if I watched an actual infant squat and make a mess in its diaper. The fact that this is, supposedly, an adult woman who should know better makes it even–theoretically–disgusting. She’s shitting. She’s literally pooping her pants right in front of me–as Philip continues to enter me from behind.

Either I don’t find it disgusting, or I like that I find it disgusting–I’m not sure which it is. I also don’t think it matters, because the end result is still the same: I like what I’m seeing.

There are people online who like this sort of thing. I shouldn’t be surprised by that, I suppose–the internet seems to have a haven for just about anything you can imagine. But I just learned this recently, having looked it up after my first encounter with Luna. There are thousands and thousands of people who like to dress up like babies. They role play. They use their diapers and waddle around like that. Had I learned this a few weeks ago, I’d have rolled my eyes and been disappointed in humanity. Now, I hunger for it.

“Go on,” I say to Luna. “Keep pushing. Make a big ol’ mess in your diaper. Do it for me.”

Her cheeks get pinker and she looks more determined than she did a moment earlier. And–I think–her lips might be curled into the slightest smile.

Those people online–I see their posts on message boards and in their secret corners of social media. They’re all looking for experiences like the one I’m in now. They all–as best as I can tell–either want to be Luna, or they want to be me. All those poor babies who haven’t stumbled into their dream scenario as I seem to have.

Luna is facing me, so I can’t see the back of her diaper. I wish I could. I want to see it swell and sag. I want to see the plastic padding expand before growing taut. It’s fine, there’ll probably be a next time. Instead, I get the satisfaction of watching her face as she pushes out her mess, occasionally accompanied by the sound of the plastic in her diaper shifting, or the squelching sound of her bottom giving birth to whatever disaster awaits Philip.

Finally, the smell hits my nostrils. I figured it would eventually, though I think it happens a little sooner than I expected. It’s as pungent and noxious as I expected it to be, but that doesn’t make it any less thrilling to me.

“Sorry,” Philip says, sniffling behind me. “She can be, urgh, quite stinky.”

“It’s fine,” I say. I mean that.

Philip continues to fuck me, and it continues to feel good. But, if I’m being honest, I’m barely thinking about Philip or his cock. I’m thinking about Luna, while Philip’s pounding provides a pleasurable presence in the background.

“Urfff,” he grunts. “I…I think I’m gonna…”

“Go ahead,” I say to him while maintaining eye contact with Luna. “Fill me.”

Luna bites her bottom lip as her eyes gaze into mine at the exact second that I feel Philip’s cock unloading itself into my pussy.

===

The stench of Luna’s diaper continues to permeate the room as Philip and I cuddle in his soft sheets. He’s on his back, while I lie off to his side–my arm and leg are draped over his body, as if claiming him for my own. Perhaps I am. We’re still completely nude, which is fine by me–this room is the perfect temperature.

“I should do something about her,” he says finally. “She smells atrocious.”

“I’d have thought you’d be used to it by now,” I say.

He laughs. “You’d think so–but sit in her cloud long enough and it’ll eventually get to you. I have a theory about that.”

“Oh? Care to share?”

He clears his throat. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“No crazier than I already think you are for keeping a young woman in your apartment in diapers.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugs. “So my theory. If humans–parents, in particular–were able to adapt and get used to their childrens’, uh, accidents…they may grow less prone to cleaning up after them right away. So, it’s a scent that we can never fully acclimate to–so that we’re always pressured to care for our children. Some sort of, uh, evolution, perhaps.”

“An interesting theory,” I say truthfully.

There’s a little flaw in his logic, though I don’t want to say it aloud: Twenty-some minutes after Luna’s filled her diaper, I’m still enjoying the scent. In fact, I might like it more now than I did earlier–it just seems to keep getting better.

“Do you have any experience with changing diapers?” Philip asks.

I laugh. “Some. I had very young cousins that I was sometimes drafted into babysitting when I was a teenager.”

“That wasn’t as long ago as you think it was,” he says, his grinning face turning towards mine.

He’s right. I’m not sure where the line got drawn, but somewhere between graduating high school and this moment, a line had formed that separated my childhood from my adulthood.

“Are you trying to draft me into doing your dirty work for you?” I laugh.

“No,” he says, laughing a little to himself. “Well, I’m not asking you to help today. But do you think you’d ever have an urge to, uh, participate?”

“Participate?”

“Wait until you see some of her diapers, Nora. There’s times I think they’re a two-person job.”

It has the cadence of a joke, so I laugh–though his expression suggests that he was being partially serious.

“Do you think you’d ever return to that career?” he asks.

“Hmm?”

“Babysitting. If someone asked you to babysit for them, do you think you’d do it?”

“Ah, well…” It feels like he’s actually asking a different question, and I’m not sure how straight-forward I should be with my answer. “Maybe it depends on the baby.”

“A good point,” he says. “Petsitting, then?”

I laugh again. “Are you asking if I’d look after Luna?”

He shrugs. “Let’s say I did. What would you say?”

“Well…I still feel like you and I are just getting to know each other, and I know her a lot less than I know you…”

“How well would you need to know her?”

I’m not sure that I can answer that question yet, so I ask him another question instead: “Do you have the need for a sitter?”

“I might,” he says. “I’ve been invited to my parents' 50th anniversary party. They live far away, but it’s a big deal for them so I want to find a way to attend.”

“When you say they live far away…”

“Greece,” he smirks.

Somehow, this doesn’t surprise me.

“I can’t take Luna with me. And I suppose I could leave her here by herself. But…”

“She’d have nobody to take care of her,” I say, taking a shot at predicting where he’s going with this. “Left to her own devices, she’d have to take care of herself. She’d have to break the illusion that you and she have created.”

“More or less,” he says.

From somewhere else in the room, I hear the subtle sound of a crinkling diaper. I forgot that she was here with us, listening to a conversation about her without being a part of it herself.

I take in a long breath through my nose and hold it as I ponder his request. Actually, no, he hasn’t formally requested anything yet–but the idea is out there. The job of looking after his pet could be mine if I just say so. I slowly breathe out, feeling my chest sink.

“Honestly,” he says. “I’m not expecting you to want to look after her. I just…”

“I’m interested,” I say.

“Really?”

“I might want a little more time to think about it–just to be sure.”

“Of course,” he says. “Take all the time you need. But, right now, I think I’m going to go change Luna.”

“Right,” I say. “Because evolution has determined that her diaper is still stinky to you?”

He laughs. “Something like that. You’re welcome to tag along if you’d like.”

“No thank you,” I smirk. “This mess is all yours. I’m just going to wrap myself up in your sheets.”

When he leaves, I let my hand wander between my legs, where Philip’s cum still drips from my pussy. I take in another long breath through my nose–trying to take in as much of Luna’s filthy stench as I can–while I play with my clit.

===

“So wait,” Trini says as she takes a dress off the rack to more closely examine it. “You’ve only known this guy for a few weeks and he’s suckered you into housesitting for him?”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘suckering,’” I respond, flipping through some cardigans hanging from another nearby rack. “I volunteered.”

I never get sick of some good ol’ retail therapy. Have some doubts about your life? Run to the store and throw some cash at things you don’t need until the anxiety fades away.

“So, you’re literally going to be sleeping at his place for a few days?”

“That’s the plan.”

“He needs someone to be at his place 24/7?”

“He has a pet,” I say. It’s true.

“What kind of pet?”

“A, uh, cat.”

“I thought cats were pretty independent.”

I laugh and shrug. “This one’s a real handful. Finicky, you know?”

“Sure,” she says. “But I’m not a cat person, so what do I know?”

“Plus, his place is amazing. He’s got these bed sheets that feel like heaven.”

“Is that how I get men to stay at my place longer?” Trini asks, the wink implied. “Nice bed sheets?”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“I dunno… It seems like a lot to ask of someone who he barely knows,” she says. “Is this a sign that things are, uh, kinda serious?”

“Maybe. Or he just trusts me.”

“I mean, I can’t imagine he’d trust anyone to look after his cat,” she says. She’s right about this–even if she’s missing some of the context. “Plus, I guess that’s a good opportunity for you to do some reconnaissance, right?”

“No! Trini, this isn’t some sort of elaborate scheme to dig through his things.”

“But you could if you wanted to.”

Admittedly, it’s something I’ve already put some thought into. Thing is, though, I don’t think I want to do all that much digging around in Philip’s personal belongings. And, well, he doesn’t even seem to have that many things to dig through–he’s a minimalist who’d probably laugh at the very idea of Trini and I shopping for clothes that we’re just going to throw in our closets and forget about.

What I really want to dig into is Luna. I want to know everything about her. I want to know who she was before she was a pet. I want to know why she wanted to become Philip’s pet. And I want to know where she thinks she’s going to go from here.

“So, be honest with me now,” Trini says a few minutes later as we gawk at expensive leather purses we wish we could afford. “Do you think this guy is, like, the one?”

I burst out in laughter. “I know it seems like things are progressing quickly, but it’s way too soon for that kind of talk.”

She shrugs. “Just sayin’. I can’t remember the last time I saw you this smitten.”

I bite my tongue before I can ask the question that’s on the tip of my tongue: “But what if I’m more smitten with his cat than I am with him?”

===

I can’t eat another bite, and it looks like Philip is done too. We’ve ordered Thai takeout–a whole assortment of little plates and containers that we’ve passed back and forth to share. I don’t know what the rest of the night entails, but I imagine that once we’ve digested a bit, I’ll follow him back to his room and he’ll fuck me once or twice.

“Ah, look,” he says, pointing at Luna who is crawling between the coffee table and the television. Her little purple bell lightly jingles with every shifting movement forward. “Do you see her diaper?”

It’s drooping. The normally-white padding has a yellow-ish tinge to it. No doubt about it, Luna used her diaper.

“What do you think?” he asks. “Ready to try your hand at changing her?”

“I can handle it,” I confidently nod.

“I’m happy to walk you through it.”

“Let me have a go at it,” I say to him. “I can take care of this.”

“Sure,” he shrugs, chuckling to himself. “Go for it!”

I stand up from the couch and stroll alongside Luna. As confident as I may be about changing her diaper, and as confident I might feel when I’m staring at her while getting fucked–it’s the rest of the time that I find myself feeling a little awkward. It’s hard to know how to just…talk to her. Do I talk to her like a person? A pet? A baby? Or something else altogether–something that nothing else in life really prepares you for?

“Hi, Luna,” I say, adding a little sing-songy tone to my voice.

She pauses and looks up at me.

“What do you say we go and change that diaper of yours?”

She offers a little nod, though she remains still. From what I’ve learned while watching Philip and Luna together, I just need to lead her. I start walking, looking back as I do. “Come on then. Follow me.”

Luna doesn’t have a bedroom of her own. If she has any possessions of her own, they’re either not in this house, or they’re hidden out of sight. Maybe they’re in the basement. Or the attic. Maybe they’re in a storage garage somewhere. What Luna does have is a nursery, of sorts. There’s a changing table, and some shelves of extra diapers and assorted baby supplies. Cat toys. Different colors of cat ears.

Luna already knows what the next step entails and she crawls to the changing table before righting herself long enough to climb atop it without any hesitation. I imagine it’s a habitual reaction for her whenever she crawls into this room.

“It’s been a while since I changed a diaper,” I say. “Though some skills never truly go away, you know?”

Luna says nothing, but nods politely anyway as she settles into her position on her back, legs separated.

“The biggest diaper I ever had to change was this kid named Louie Parker,” I tell her. I doubt that she cares about this story–she might not even be paying attention–but talking helps to steady my anxiety, so I keep going. “HIs parents were friends with my parents. They were in a bind…so I guess my Mom volunteered me. They told me he was a toddler, but this kid couldn’t have been any younger than 4. Still in diapers, though. It was weird, having some kid talk to you while you’re changing his diaper.”

Again, there was no response from Luna, but her eyes remained fixed on my face as I grabbed a new diaper from the shelf and brought it back to the changing table.

“I guess yours is bigger than his,” I continue, pulling free the tapes on her diaper. “But in my memory, his is, like, huge. That still seems stranger than changing you, right now.” I pause, think about what I just said, and quickly add: “I don’t think this is strange. Well, it is. A little. But it’s not a bad thing. It’s a good strange. Louie Parker? He was a bad strange.”

The closest thing I get to a response is her smile getting a tiny bit bigger–and even that could just be my imagination.

I pull open the diaper, impressed by the weight of the padding while it's soaked with her piss. Beneath, I find her hairless pussy. Perfectly hairless, it seems–the skin is unbelievably smooth and soft looking. I can’t help myself–I reach down to touch it. A tiny moan escapes from her mouth while I ponder the impossibility of skin so soft. What process was used to remove that hair? Lasers? Chemicals? Witchcraft? I want to rub my face on it–though I don’t.

Maybe another time.

Moments later, and I feel like I’m babysitting again. She’s just a baby, and this is just another diaper. The diapering routine comes back to me so easily that it feels like no time has passed at all. I draw moist baby wipes from a package and slide them across her skin, causing her to let out little gasps and moans again.

“Do you do this when he changes you?” I ask.

“Sometimes,” she says.

“All this time in diapers and you still like them, huh? Still like getting changed?”

She doesn’t say anything, but the increased redness in her cheeks seems like enough of an answer.

This is crazy, I know it is. It’s something I can’t imagine being able to explain to anyone else–not even Trini. And it’s not even the act of changing an adult woman’s diaper that feels so crazy to me–it’s how much I’m enjoying it. I’m tempted to say that it feels ‘normal,’ but I know that’s not true–I’m not sure if this would ever feel ‘normal’ to me, even if I did it a thousand times.

I see this as a good thing.

“Your owner needs to be careful,” I say as I pull the soggy old diaper out from under her. “If he lets me spend too much time with you, I might just end up keeping you for myself.”

Again, she has no direct response to this, but I swear that her smile grows a little more.

===

I’m lying next to Philip in his bed while he sleeps, though I’m wide awake. Somewhere out there, I can hear the jingle of Luna’s collar as she crawls about in the dark house. I wonder what her sleep schedule is like. I see her napping all throughout the day when I’m over–and Philip’s made jokes about her getting more and more ‘nocturnal.’ Like most things he says about Luna, it’s hard to tell where the line is between joking and reality.

I know I seemed pretty into it while I was changing her diaper earlier, but the more that I learn of the daily upkeep for Luna, the more anxiety I feel. It’s more than just nervousness. Sure, I want to impress Philip and show him that he can trust me–but it’s this increasingly heavy feeling of stepping into a world that feels just a little beyond my grasp. I talk a good game. I can change diapers with the best of them. But is this really my scene?

She doesn’t wear clothes. She crawls around in a diaper that she’s expected to use. She eats food and drinks water from dishes that are placed on the floor. If I were to describe this to anyone else in my life, they’d demand I call the authorities and have Philip arrested.

Sometimes, I still can’t shake the feeling that it’s too weird for me as well.

It helps knowing that this is the way that Luna likes it. Or so she seems to indicate–though I doubt I’d be surprised if she came to me as soon as Philip’s plane took off across the Atlantic, and she confessed that she hated everything about her life.

This is what my time as a petsitter is going to be about–definitively determining that both Luna and I want to be here. I almost wonder if this was what Philip had in mind when he asked me to take on this role in his absence.

Too, part of me wonders if this is a just a momentary obsession–much like the way I was once obsessed with the TV show Game of Thrones and I ordered the entire series of books on Amazon…only to donate them to the local library six months later when I realized I had no interest in actually reading them. Will there be a morning when I look at Luna’s sagging diaper, shrug, and decide that I don’t want anything to do with it?

I hear that jingling noise again. It’s getting closer and closer. Soon, it’s close enough that I can also hear the crinkling of her diaper harmonizing with the bell on her collar.

She crawls up onto the bed. I wonder if she’ll position herself between Philip and I–there’s enough room for her petite body to squeeze in there if she wants. No, she curls up into a little ball at the foot of the bed. Just like a cat. If she could purr, I’m sure I’d be hearing that too.

It’s the strangest thing, though–once she finally settles down, and I hear the lightly muffled sounds of her tiny snores, I finally feel at peace myself.

I can finally sleep.

===

“I leave a bowl of water out for her,” Philip says, pointing to the bowl on the floor of the kitchen. “And sometimes, if she’s been behaving herself, I’ll put out a little saucer of milk at night. I keep a carton in the fridge.”

I pull out my phone and open the Notes app, ready to type out some of his instructions.

“No, no,” he laughs. “You don’t have to do that. I already wrote everything down for you. There’s a list on the counter over there.”

“Thanks,” I say, slipping my phone back into my pocket.

“I have her on a balanced meal plan right now. Chicken, vegetables, things like that. I usually cook and prepare her meals ahead of time. I’ve got a weeks’ worth ready to go.”

“And how do you serve it to her? Do you heat it up, or…”

“It’s already ready,” he smiles. “Take a container out, open it up, place it on the floor, and she’ll do the rest.”

“No, uh, silverware? Or…”

“Have you ever seen a kitty holding a fork and knife?” he laughs. “She does just fine with her mouth and hands, I promise.”

“Sure,” I nod. Just another one of those weird things that I find hard to believe, though I’m sure is true.

“Now, I feel like we’ve already talked about this a bit,” he says. “But…diapers? I just want to be sure that you’re okay with taking care of them.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say. If anything, I’m more confident about my ability to take care of her diapers than I am anything else. “Promise.”

“Okay,” he nods. “I trust that.”

“Are you going to miss her while you’re away?” I ask.

“Of course. Though…don’t get me wrong–I’m looking forward to the break.”

I laugh, thinking about how I’ve heard some variation of that statement from every parent–for both human and pet children–I’ve ever known. Sometimes you just need a break.

“She’s excited for you to be staying with her,” he says.

“Really? She said that?”

“I can just tell,” he shrugs, suggesting that there wasn’t any actual verbal conversation about me that took place. I have questions about how the two of them interact–but maybe those are questions better suited for Luna once she and I are alone.

“I’m excited too,” I say.

“Nora, can I just tell you how much this means to me?”

“Philip, it’s my pleasure…”

“I really like you, Nora,” he says. His voice sounds raw. The way that the light glimmers in his eyes makes me think he has tears welling in them. “And it was so important to me that you, you know, get Luna. It’s a lot to take in–I know this. But you’ve surpassed even my most optimistic expectations.”

“I’m not the first to meet her, right?” I ask.

He nods.

“How does this usually go?”

“It usually goes one of two ways,” he says. “Either they immediately want out, or…they want out–but they want to have sex first.”

“Ah. But nobody’s ever…stuck around?”

“You’re the first.”

“It probably means that I’m as crazy as you are,” I say, hoping he detects my sarcasm.

He grins, playfully sidling up to me so that he can kiss my cheek. “Welcome to the asylum, dear.”

===

Okay. Now what?

Philip has left. He loaded his suitcases into the back of the SUV he called to take him to the airport, we kissed goodbye, and then he was gone. For a few minutes now, I’ve been standing at his living room window, watching the driveway to see if the SUV would return. The longer I stand here, the more real it feels–it’s just me and her now.

Luna, I assume, must’ve said her goodbyes to Philip earlier, because I haven’t seen her in a bit, and she wasn’t in the room with me when he finally departed. Occasionally, I can hear the jingle of her collar coming from elsewhere in the house–faint enough that I can’t say for certain where it’s coming from. She’s just a diapered ghost at the moment.

I’m tempted to go find her, but I decide against it. I’ll let her come to me. That, I think, is what Philip would do.

Another jingle. It seems closer now, bringing a smile to my face.

“Luna, is that you?” I ask.

There’s no answer, but when I hear her collar jingling again, I can also hear the sound of her body crawling on the hardwood floors.

“It’s just you and me now,” I say. “He’s gone.”

There’s another momentary pause before I can hear that she’s on the move again. She’s getting closer. And closer. And closer.

And then, I finally hear her soft voice behind me: “Hi.”

I slowly turn around, seeing her blushing face looking up at me. Her diaper has a yellow-stained sag to it that is immediately noticeable.

“Hi,” I say to her. “I guess it’s just us girls now, huh?”

Her head tilts forward and back again–a movement that only barely qualifies as a nod. I give her a moment or two to actually say something, but she remains silent. I’m not really sure how to proceed. Do I just keep talking? Asking questions?

It feels awkward. Immediately, I start to think that this might have been a bad idea. What was I thinking? Did I really think that I had any right to leap headfirst into this strange world?

But then, to my relief–and surprise–she speaks: “Thank you.”

“Well, I haven’t done anything yet…”

“You’ve been really nice to me,” she says. I wonder if it might be the longest sentence she’s ever said to me. She has a lovely voice.

Still, I laugh. “Nice? Have I been?” In the time that I’ve known her, I’ve made Philip cum in her diaper, I’ve changed her after she pissed herself, and I stared at her while I was getting fucked. Does that qualify as ‘nice?’

“You respect me,” she says. “You respect who I want to be. You…get it.”

Philip said something similar to me not that long ago.

I’ve asked her this question before, but I have to ask it again: “Luna…this–all of this–is what you want, yes? Philip isn’t here. And if you don’t think he’d like the answer that you give me, I don’t have to share it with him. You can trust me.”

She smiles, and seems to ponder the question for a moment. This is good–if she was to just immediately spit out an answer, I’d doubt the validity of it.

“I’m very happy to be where I am,” she says. “And to be doing what I’m doing.”

Oh, this cute little muffin. I want to devour her. I want to hug her so tight that her head pops off. I want to steal her and flee the country with her in my suitcase.

“Do you miss…” I pause, wondering how to finish this question. Does she miss her family? Friends? Jobs? Grocery stores? Concerts? Ice cream stands? “...everything?”

“I don’t really think about it,” she shrugs, propping her body up so that she’s just kneeling now. “I don’t need a lot. I don’t want a lot. And I have it all here.”

How very lucky. I do wonder if she and Philip got exactly what they both wanted, or if there were some concessions that either might have made that they’ve since just adapted to. Maybe it didn’t matter if she was genuinely happy now.

“That’s good,” I say.

“He likes you, you know,” she says, her lips tilted in this cute little grin.

“Oh yeah?”

It’s one thing to just assume that he likes me. It’s another for Luna to confirm it. She knows him better than I do. She might even know him better than anyone else. If her entire life revolves around staying in his home and observing him–she might even know him better than anyone has ever known him.

“You like him too, I think,” she says.

“Hrm,” I hum, nodding my head a little. That sounds right. But for the last week or two, I’ve found myself thinking about Luna far more often than I’ve thought of Philip. I don’t think that means I like him any less. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all. Actually, on that note, I feel the need to tell her: “I like you.”

Her little cheeks blush and she looks down at the floor. I doubt I’ve said anything she didn’t already know, but I’m sure that hearing it is a lot different than just assuming.

“How’s your diaper doing there, kitten?” I ask, filling the void left by her silence.

“Oh, it’s…” her cheeks seem to get a little more pink. For as often she might use her diapers, she doesn’t talk about them much–Philip usually just takes it upon himself to check the status for himself.

“Go on,” I say, taking a step or two closer to her. “Tell me about your diaper.”

“It’s…wet.”

“I see that,” I say. While she remains kneeling in place, I orbit her body–staring down at her and her diaper as I assess it for myself. ‘Wet’ seems like an understatement. It’s soaked. Drenched. I see moisture on the back of her thighs–it’s likely she sprung a leak at some point recently.

I like this. I really like this. I can’t even explain it to myself–there’s just something about Luna, and her strange place in my life, that just drives me wild. It makes me want things I never thought I wanted before. It makes me want to change giant diapers.

It makes me want to…lick the piss off the back of her thighs.

“Stay there,” I say. “Don’t move.”

“Yes,” she obediently replies.

Her body tenses as I lower myself down towards the ground behind her. She’s not frightened, and I’d even hesitate to say that she’s nervous. But she’s very curious. I’m not Philip. She can’t guess what I might want to do. Hell–I’m not all that sure what I’m doing either. I’m a wildcard.

I’m on my hands and knees behind her, my head sinking below her diaper. Here, up close, I can smell her piss. It excites me even more. I’m so close to the back of her thigh now that I can feel the warmth of her body on my face, just as I’m sure that she can feel the warmth of my face. I open my mouth and I extend my tongue, making contact with the beads of moisture on her skin. Honestly, I have no clue what I’m tasting. It could be piss. It could be sweat. It could be some water that she somehow managed to sit in before she crawled into the living room. It tastes salty. It tastes naughty.

She blurts out a single word: “Oh!”

Satisfied with my appetizer, I slowly prop myself up before standing again. “I saw you had a little leak. I just wanted to help keep you clean.”

“Thank you,” she says, her cheeks the reddest I’ve ever seen them. “D-did you…like it?”

“You’ve never tasted for yourself?”

“No…”

“Has Philip?”

“No, I don’t…think so.”

“Well, you’re missing out,” I grin, before adding the command: “Stay put.”

She does. She probably won’t go anywhere unless I tell her to at this point.

I reach down and begin to untape her diaper. Again, she seems surprised by this–though not alarmed. She’s just curious, as I can tell that she has no idea where I’m going with this.

Good.

By the time I get to the last of the four tapes, the diaper is just barely clinging to her–the heft of her saturating padding pulls toward the ground. When I do finally release that last tape, the diaper falls between her slightly spread legs. It’s not a very long drop, but the diaper is heavy enough that when it makes contact with the floor, it does so with a loud SPLAT. She bites her bottom lip after the diaper’s release–the look on her face seeming to say: “Did I make that thing so heavy?”

I pull the diaper out from underneath her and cradle it in both hands in front of me–cradling it like it was some ancient relic that required an incredibly gentle touch. She watches as I pull it in towards my face, taking a whiff of the soaked garment. Quite pissy, as to be expected. Next, I hold it close to her face.

“Do you smell that?” I ask. “Go on. Take a big sniff of this.”

She does, her nose making an extended ‘snifffffffff’ noise as she breathes it in. Her cheeks get darker yet again.

“You made that,” I say. “Isn’t that amazing? Such a little tiny creature soaked a diaper this much. I swear, this thing probably weighs more than you do. No wonder you have to crawl around–you probably aren’t strong enough to support this when you walk.”

She looks plenty embarrassed, but she also looks like she loves that.

I pause for a moment, finding myself a little conflicted suddenly. What am I doing? This doesn’t feel like me. This doesn’t feel like the person I usually am. Am I just bullying this girl? Am I just being needlessly cruel?

She looks up at me, her eyes hungry for more. With just a glance, she’s practically begging me to push this moment a little further.

Then, as if to further assure me that she’s happy with this, she says: “Please? D-don’t stop…”

I don’t know what this is. I don’t really know what’s going on here. I don’t know if this is who I am. But I can’t deny that we’re both enjoying this. She wants more. I want more.

Good.

I push the diaper into her face, and I don’t stop until I feel the padding squishing against her skin like a sponge, and I can actually hear the pee being squeezed out of it.

“Feel it,” I say. “Taste it. Smell it. You did this. Are you proud of yourself?”

“Y-yes,” comes a muffled voice from the other side of the diaper.

“Hold this,” I say, taking one of her hands and putting it on the diaper. “I want you to hold this against your face.”

“Yes,” she says obediently, her hand putting enough force on the bulky diaper to keep it pressed against herself.

My hands free again, I crouch down to get a look at her undercarriage. Well, would you look at that? Her hairless pink pussy is glistening. It could very well be more of her piss–but no, I don’t think that’s all it is.

I slip my hand between her thighs and let my fingertips do some further investigating. A muffled and distorted moan oozes out from her diapered face: “Oooooooh…”

“Dirty little kitten,” I whisper. “Do you like this? Getting your clit stroked while your face is shoved into your diaper?”

“Y-yes…”

“So I should keep going?”

“P-please,” she begs. “Please? Please…may I cum?”

Nobody has ever asked me this before. No man. No woman. I’m not even sure that I’ve ever even held this sort of power before. Usually, when my partner wants to cum–they’ll cum. But she’s asking me. Her ability to reach climax hinges on me allowing it to happen.

I should be stingy–I’m sure Philip is. There’s all sorts of power in denial. I could string her along for minutes. Hours. Days, even. The longer I keep her climax out of reach, the tighter she’s wrapped around my finger. It’s a great idea, but today I think I just want to see her disgrace herself as she climaxes amidst this humiliation.

“Keep that diaper there,” I remind her. I trust that she will, I just want to say it again.

“Yes,” she answers. I can hear little sniffs. Sometimes, I hear these little noises that almost sound like…slurps? Such a naughty little thing.

I know my way around a clit. Sure, I have one of those myself and I’d like to think that I’ve figured out what to do with the thing when I pleasure myself–but I’ve had the opportunity to play with others’ too, over the years. Given how horny Luna seems to be, I’m sure I could get her to pop just by letting my fingers stumble around for a bit–but she’s lucky that I have a pretty good idea of what I’m doing. My fingers go to work, slowly and steadily, finding a nice circular rhythm.

“Oh!” she exclaims through the diaper. “Fuck! Oh god! Oh! Oh!” Each word is barked out–like she was more dog than cat this whole time.

Piss is dribbling down her neck, little streams of it running over her perky little breasts, some even making it as far down as her belly. I’m tempted to tell her again to keep the diaper pressed against her face, but she clearly doesn’t need the reminder. As bad as I want to see it there, she probably wants to keep it on her face even more.

“Dumb little…” I stop myself from saying the word ‘slut,’ which was on the tip of my tongue. No, she’s not a slut. The pathetic little thing isn’t getting fucked at all. She wishes she was a slut. I start over: “Dumb little kitten.”

“Oh! Guh…” It seems that she’s not even able to exclaim with actual words anymore–she’s reduced to just blurting out sounds and noises. Animal like? Or infantile? I can’t decide. “Uh! Gah! Urhh!”

And then it happens. WIth a final expulsion of a long groaning noise, the rigidity in Luna’s body dissipates. A moment later, she’s falling forward. I catch her and lower her safely to the floor, where she convulses and shakes for a few more seconds. She’s landed face first on the open diaper–though she makes no effort to relocate either the diaper of her face.

What now?

Well, for one, I’m wet. I need attention. She’s going to have some work to do when she recovers. And she’s going to need a new diaper too.

As tempting as it is to help her to her feet and check in on her, I try to imagine how Philip might handle this situation. He’d probably think that I’ve done more than enough just by getting her to cum–and he’d be right.

“When you’re ready, come find me,” I say. “We’ll get you into a new diaper, and then you’re going to eat my pussy.”

She doesn’t respond, and just continues to breathe heavily.

“Try not to make a mess on the floor before I get you into a new diaper,” I say.

And then I just walk away, leaving her in the state that she’s in now.

I feel like the most powerful woman in the universe.