My face burned with humiliation, so intense that I could feel the warmth radiating from my skin, my cheeks almost as hot and sweaty as the parts of me sealed away inside my diaper.

“I…” I started to say.

Billie stared at me. I’d raised my skirt to show her my ruined diaper, on Haven’s insistence, but I couldn’t yet make the words come.

“Okay, Chars, you gotta tell me what the fuck is going on,” Billie said, leaning against the wall opposite from me. She’d tried sitting down next to me, for a personal, intimate conversation, but the stench from my diaper had pushed her back and now she stood by the open window for relief. “Are you sick? Is something wrong with you?”

(Don’t you dare lie,) Haven whispered in my head.

“I’m not sick,” I explained. “There’s this…thing. It came out of the meteorite we found, and now it’s in my head, making me do things.”

“That’s insane,” Billie said. “I’m not exaggerating. Chars, I think you need to see someone. Like a doctor, or a psychiatrist or something.”

“I’m not crazy!” I objected, though I had a hunch she might be right. “I…Haven, can you help me, please?”

(Tell her the truth, and I’ll show her.)

I buried my face in my hands, too embarrassed to say it out loud.

“Who the heck is Haven?” Billie asked.

“I…” I mumbled. “This is really, really hot.”

Haven did nothing. I flushed deeper.

“You said you’d show her!” I objected.

Still nothing.

“Chars…” Billie reached up, putting a hand over her nose. “I don’t know if you ate a weird mushroom while we were hiking or what, but you really need to go talk to a professional. But change your diaper first, you really stink.”

(Please,) I thought. (Just show her you’re real.)

I could swear I heard Haven laugh, before they acknowledged my plea. (If you insist.)

They plunged into me, and my eyes widened with realization at just how they planned on showing off their existence to Billie.

I dropped to my knees in front of the couch, and Haven’s slick, cool form shot up my body, wrapping around my arms and forcing them behind my back. Billie yelped in shock as she saw the black symbiote that had overtaken my body, and though she couldn’t see them fuck me inside my devestated diaper, she could hear my moans of pleasure well enough.

“F-ffuck,” I cried out, squirting into my diaper in seconds. I fell down, and with my arms held behind my back, that left just my exposed diaper sticking in the air.

Sweaty and limp from pleasure, I rolled onto my back, and Haven retreated. Looking up at Billie, I mumbled, “Do you believe me now?”

She nodded, horrified. “Oh my god.”

“It… I can’t stop it,” I mewled. “It keeps saying it owns me.”

Haven whispered a thought into my head, and I turned pale.

“What?” Billie asked.

“It said…it’ll only let me take off this diaper if you change me,” I admitted meekly.

Billie stared, eyes darting between my humiliated expression and the overused diaper sagging around my hips. “That’s… it can’t enforce that, can it?”

“Haven says, it doesn’t care how badly I rash, and that if it wants to it could heal it. And it…can always find a new host if I’m too damaged to be fun.” I shuddered, terrified of the implications.

“O-okay,” Billie said, though her head shook. “Um…”

“I bought changing supplies, they’re in my bag,” I said. “With my other, um, diapers.”

(Already ‘your’ diapers,) Haven thought smugly. (So quickly you accept your new role.)

“Fuck, okay, sure, fuck,” Billie said, her head still reeling with the situation. “Okay. Tell Haven I’ll do this thing on one condition.”

“It can hear you,” I said. “It feels everything I feel, I think, that’s why it…tries to make me feel things.”

“Then, Haven, I’ll only do what you want if you promise to let Charlie go in a week.”

Haven purred within my head. (Does she think I’ll agree to that?)

“It won’t do it,” I quickly explained. “But Billie–”

(That’s not what I said. Ask her why?)

“It wants to know why,” I said.

“She’ll be boring in a week, won’t she?” Billie asked. “You can only escalate things so much. So give her a light at the end of the tunnel.”

(Sure,) Haven thought.

“Really?” I asked, my eyes widening.

(I promise. You will no longer be my host in a week.)

I didn’t know whether to trust the symbiote, but I took comfort in the possibility of hope. “Haven agrees.”

“Good,” Billie said, walking over to my bag of changing supplies. She took out the pack of wipes and a fresh diaper, taking a breath to brace herself. “Okay, I can probably hold my breath through this. Just lie back and we’ll get this over with.”

I adjusted my skirt to be completely out of the way and spread my legs, while Billie knelt in front of me, unfolding the new diaper.

“This is absurd, this isn’t real,” she whispered, reaching out towards the tapes on my diaper.

Haven lunged at Billie, and though I cried out, they simultaneously shot up my arms, sticky black semi-fluid pinning my hands to the floor.

Billie yelped and tried to pull free, but Haven had her in its grasp, creeping up her arms like ivy. They pulled her down, tugging her body forward, and though she fought it was hopeless. Haven pinned her to the floor, her nose and mouth pressed firmly into the seat of my diaper, so that every breath she took got a noseful of the foul disaster I’d made in the padding.

“Let her go!” I objected, pulling helplessly at the symbiote pinning my hands and feet. “Let her go!”

Billie let out a desperate mpph and I saw her face screw up in disgust as she was forced to breathe in the stink of my diaper.

(And what are you planning to do to make me?) Haven thought at me.

I had no leverage, no way to persuade or coerce Haven into compliance. I collapsed against the floor, helpless.

Haven let Billie go, retreating from her body. She pulled back, gasping for air and waving a hand in front of her face. “Jesus, Charlie!”

“I didn’t know it’d do that!” I said, still pinned to the floor. “I’m sorry. Can you still…I still need a change.”

She stepped back. “And what if it does that when your diaper is open? No fuckin’ way.”

Haven retreated from me, letting me sit up and say, “Please!”

“I’m sorry,” Billie said. “Chars, I’m really sorry, but this is just too fucked up. I can’t.”

Haven chuckled in my thoughts. (You’re welcome to put on a second diaper.)

I weighed my options between a second layer and letting the diaper leak, and decided on the second layer. I reached for the diaper Billie had dropped, but Haven’s black form was a step ahead of me, launching out and seizing the diaper, pulling it over my first one. I could feel him working against the plastic shell of my first, soiled diaper, cutting a thousand micro-incisions against the material so that liquids could pass through, and in moments the new diaper was taped snugly over the first, forcing my legs apart with their collective bulk.

“I…” I sat up. “I should go. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Billie mumbled. “Good luck, Chars.”

I ran out of the room on that awkward note, waddling outside and to my bike.

I couldn’t go home. Explaining this to Billie had been hard enough–I couldn’t even fathom explaining it to my mom. I’d have to find a motel or something and crash, and then…

And then what?

“Haven,” I whispered under my breath, standing next to my bike. “Did you actually mean to keep your promise about letting me go in a week?”

(I’d considered it. Why?)

“Well…Billie had a point. You’ll get diminishing returns if you keep doing stuff to me. My whole life can’t just be…this.”

(But you assume you’ll be boring in a week. I’ve gone through your memories–I expect you’ll be entertaining long after that point. Don’t think you can get out of this with any scrap of your current self intact.)

“What if I don’t eat?” I demanded. “I’ll go on a hunger strike until you leave.”

(I can force you to eat. I can force you to do anything I want.)

“Then why don’t you?”

The question hung in the air, and Haven didn’t respond.

“Why don’t you make me march back inside and humiliate myself in front of Billie even more? Why don’t you make me…I don’t know, get on a webcam and blast my diaper on the internet? You could think of a thousand things to do if I’m totally helpless, but you haven’t.”

Still no response–but I knew why.

“It’s because it’s more fun for you if I do it, right?” I asked. “You don’t get to enjoy it if you’re just forcing a limp doll to play out your instructions.”

(Are you getting to a point?)

“I’ll make you a deal,” I whispered. “Okay?”

(Agreed.)

Right. I didn’t need to say it out loud.

I said it out loud anyways. “I’ll be yours for the week. And then you let me go. If you try to play with me after that, I’ll starve myself and go limp and you’ll not be able to get anything out of me at all. But until then…whatever. I can ride this out.”

(How do you know you can trust me?)

“I don’t,” I admitted, getting up onto my bike. My double diapers squelched between my legs and I blushed, half in embarrassment, half in ashamed arousal. “But it’s the best I can do, and I will keep my end up if you don’t leave.”

(Agreed,) they repeated. (Now, would you like to earn your diaper change, or will you trap yourself in that same diaper all week?)

I swallowed. I knew he’d follow through on that threat, too.

“...how do I have to earn it?”

…

My fingers shook as I lay back on my hotel bed, setting up my phone for the video–a livestream onto my new twitter account, made just to show off my week with Haven.

With a dozen hashtags all meant to get the attention of the kinkiest parts of the website, I started the video, sat back, and lifted my skirt. Haven took the camera from me, holding it up so that I could be seen fully, from my bright red face to my heavily sagging double diapers.

I’d practically bought out the local sex shop, a dozen toys sitting next to me on the bed, and had to apologize profusely for the smell to the cashier, tipping generously to make up for it. I didn’t have much cash left, but Haven didn’t seem to care about little things like ‘my savings account’.

“Alright,” I said, biting my lip and addressing the camera. “Here’s the deal. I’ll do anything you tell me to, no strings attached, as long as I don’t have to leave this bed. Please, please someone tell me to change into a clean diaper–otherwise I’m not allowed to.”

The first reply appeared in response. A moment later, the second. Another. Telling me to get naked, to show off my tits, my diaper, to make myself cum–but not a one letting me change.

I swallowed, and moved to obey, feeling Haven’s satisfaction.

It was day one. Six more to go.