Bean Blogs A Bit

"Oh daaaaarling you simply smell wonderful! Do pray tell where this fragrence is from?"

A prick of anxiety feels your chest as Mandy, the 24-year-old woman Papa recently 'adopted,' pops the tab on the can in her hand.

You huff and pout, furious that this woman would so blatantly break your caregiver's rules just because he wasn't home.

"How's he going to find out, baby sib?" Mandy chirps, walking over and pressing a sneakered foot between your legs.

You whimper as she presses the sole of her shoe into the padding of your pull-up, wordlessly reminding you of your status in relation to you

She leaves her foot in place, pinning you to the ground, as she bends down to address you even more closely.

"Whose going to tell him? You?"

You shiver at her words, immediately shaking your head back and forth, not wanting to upset the woman hovering above you.

The smirk that crosses her face just before she takes a sip from her illicit can let's you know that she's satisfied with your submission.

Unfortunately, the sound of the front door opening breaks her revelry.

In a moment, she's bending down, pulling open the front of your bottoms, and pouring her soda into your once dry pull-up.

She tosses her can to the side before she darts towards the entry way, where you know Papa is taking off his shoes.

Before you have time to figure out what is going on, you hear Mandy chirp in the lilting, childish tone she only uses with your communal caregiver, "Paaaapa! Thank goodness you're home! The baby tried to sneak a soda and made a BIG mess!"

I'm holding his hand and leading him towards the single occupancy bathroom.

"Because," I say, pulling the door shut behind us, "I can't trust you to be all alone out there. What if you wander off?"

"I wouldn't wander off," he says. He hangs our backpack up on the hook.

"Then why couldn't I find you 10 minutes ago in the gallery?"

"Because I wanted to see the landscapes in the next room...oh." His words peter out.

He stands awkwardly in the middle of the bathroom, looking all around. He blinks at the bright ceiling lights and shoots a wary glance at the automatic hand dryer.

"Why do you look like you've never seen a bathroom before? I know you don't use them much these days but you did for years before you met me." I unzip my pants.

"I feel weird. What if someone saw us coming in here? What if there's a family or a disabled person who needs this one?"

"There's three of these on this floor, we're fine. Besides, people come into bathrooms with their caregivers all the time." I add the last part just to make him blush.

"You're not my caregiver in that way," he mumbles and rubs the back of his neck.

I sit on the toilet and start peeing immediately. Sometimes it takes me a minute, especially in public, but not today. We had been wandering the galleries all afternoon and my iced tea from lunch was hitting.

My pee hisses and hits the water with a splash. It feels so good. With every second what felt like a tightly coiled string in my abdomen unravels and looses. My stream maintains strength, I had more in me than I thought. I catch him looking at me intensely. His pupils are wide and his tongue does a few traces around his lips.

"Like what you see?"

He's already red from my ribbing, now the deep blush under his freckles is practically radiating off of him. He ducks his head down, but not at his feet. He's staring at his crotch. There's a slight bulge from his diaper, but nothing someone who wasn't looking for it would clock.

"Wow, seeing me pee really got you that excited?" I toss my damp toilet paper then pull my pants and underwear up in one movement. The automatic flush goes off.

When I'm at the sink my back is to him but I can see him in the reflection of the mirror.

"I thought I was getting hard but..."

"But?"

"I just started peeing. I was turned on watching you pee but I think my body got confused."

When my hands are dry I turn to face him. I need to check him before we leave.

"It seems to do that a lot these days. When everything that comes out goes to the same place it makes sense that the signals aren't so clear anymore."

With his pants at his knees I take my time checking his diaper. He wanted a plain one today, no cute animals or stars or polka dots. The front is swollen, and the once yellow line has faded to a blurry blue. I run a finger along the crease where the elastics meet his inner thighs. Not waterlogged at all. When I push on his hips to get him to turn around I can tell there's plenty of room in the back. We can spare the fuss of a public bathroom change.

"How're the tapes? I know they can get weird from walking around a lot."

He shimmies his hips and thinks for a moment.

"Uhm, I guess they could use a little adjustment."

I grab the baby powder from the backpack and he holds his t-shirt above his belly button so I can adjust the tapes, one set at a time. Thankfully this diaper has the velcro style ones so I can easily tweak them. While the top tapes are undone I shake a couple dashes of baby powder down the front. A mini cloud poofs up then drifts down to dust his pubic hair and penis. I can see it twitch and swell ever so slightly.

"Turned on again? Or gonna pee?" I quickly press the front of the diaper close to him to avoid any untimely sprays.

He just shrugs then shakes his head.

I wash my hands again and make him do it too, just out of principle.

"Ok, well, you're all set. Do you want to go to the gift shop?"

His face brightens, "Really? Even though I wandered?"

"You were still mostly good. You can get something small. No more coffee table books though, we have like 100 already and they're so expensive. Maybe a pin or a magnet."

He gets to pick his outfit. I get to stock his wardrobe. (Spoiler: he looks adorable in onesies.)

He chooses his breakfast. I limit his choices to either diuretic-filled formula or laxative-laced gruel.

He does the laundry. I hang it outside so our neighbors can admire his cloth diapers and plastic pants.

He orders our favorite takeout ramen. I blend it into a lovely slurry and spoonfeed it to him.

He empties the diaper pail. I make sure the contents are bagged in transparent plastic bags printed with "ADULT DIAPERS."

He folds the laundry. I inspect it afterward -- and spank him whenever his mittened hands don't do it well enough.

He gets to hang out with his friends once a week. I get to ask one of them to call me when he needs a change.

He works hard paying the bills. I set up his live streams and shoot his custom photo sets so he can focus on twerking that diaper butt.

He gets his own bedroom. I choose the decor and furniture -- from the crib sheets down to the padded cuffs.

He sleeps with whatever stuffies he likes. I sleep with whatever partners I like.

He watches me shower. I watch him hump his stuffies.

He gets an orgasm every day. I get to say whether it's into a dry, a wet, or a messy diaper.

I smile malevolently as you thrash in the restraints of your stroller, screaming into the paci gag strapped around your head, eyes rolling back, as you try futilely to escape my clutches.

I lock the wheels of your humiliating chariot, and drop to one knee, and begin to unbuckle you.

"Don't worry though, you'll still get to put on a show for all of your little friends!"

Your thrashing stops as concern overwhelms desperation on your face.

"I'm sure they'll all want to watch as I change your messy little bum! I mean, it's not often little ones get to watch their old babysitters have their didi's changed."

Your screams become wordless pleas as I pull you from the stroller.