Just What the Doctor Ordered – Chapter Eight (Commission)

A big shout-out and thank you to Gold-tier patron CleverSissy for commissioning this next installment!

***

That was a week ago now.

Oh, how Mommy had praised me when I'd waddled out that first morning and blushingly told her during my morning feeding that I'd soaked my diaper without once waking up. "But that's wonderful, sweetheart!" she'd beamed, planting an affectionate kiss on my forehead and tousling my already messy hair. "Now doesn't it feel so much better to get a solid night's rest? I knew Dr. Liu would know exactly what to do…"

Well, I couldn't very well disagree with her about the sleep. It was honestly amazing to get nine hours of undisturbed rest. But as I was about to find out, it also came with certain side effects that weren't the most pleasant…

Besides turning me into a literal bedwetter, I mean.

I'm thinking about those effects now as I sink into my office chair on my freshly diapered bum, the quiet crinkle resounding in the silence of a house whose Mommy has just left for work. A whiff of powder seeps up and out from under the onesie hidden beneath my big boy shirt, and I sniff involuntarily. It's the smell of babyhood, and Mommy, and everything the Little side of me loves. Ordinarily I'd just shiver and smile and start thinking lovely, dirty thoughts. But right now, through the cotton-wool fog that still fills my brain, one little puff of powder has me mellowing, drooping in my seat, turning to look for my paci so I can feel its comforting presence against my lips…

That's one of the side effects I mean. Because ever since I started taking Dr. Liu's medicine, even after waking my brain seems like it refuses to fully wake up. Oh, sure – I can crinkle around and carry on an adult conversation and even do my work more or less like normal. But it's a heck of a struggle to focus. Where before I used to be able to buckle down and plow through a spreadsheet for a good, uninterrupted half-hour, now I can barely go five minutes without my mind floating away like an errant balloon, drifting gently toward thoughts of sleep and soft pillows and the silly toys Mommy got me last week: partly as a joke and partly as adorable companions for her sweet little boy when he's regressed…

Where was I?

Oh, yeah. These emails. I need to read them. And then work on at least… three more spreadsheets. So I set to work, doing my very best to combat the seductive fog that even now tugs gently at the corners of my consciousness. It's beckoning me back to a dreamy land where I can simply lie in my bed, paci in mouth and stuffie in hand, staring comfortably and limply up at the pattern on the ceiling of our bedroom. No. I have to work. I need to get these tasks done. I'm going to sit up and focus and be an adult, just like everyone expects me to be.

Though not five minutes later I feel a now-familiar sensation: a sudden swell of urgency in my gut that tells me my morning feeding is at work, inexorably pushing out the remnants of yesterday's meals. And while in months past I would have shifted impatiently, worked a while longer, and then gotten up and trotted to the bathroom to take care of my number two like a big boy… well, I don't need to do that any longer. All I need to do is lift up from my seat a bit, and let it all out.

I mean, did anyone seriously expect anything different from a guy whose Mommy-wife has him wearing diapers 24/7?

As the familiar warm mush flows out of me and spreads gently through the crotch of my diaper, I settle my weight back down with a sigh, resuming my work and blinking against the sudden urge to close my eyes to drift back into Little space. Yeah, messing still isn't my favorite – not by a long shot. But the formula actually makes it nicer, since ever since we began my messes have become unusually soft and easy to pass. And even I can't deny that messing my diaper is the one thing that makes me feel more infantile than ever: just letting go every ounce of control and allowing my thick diaper to fill with whatever my body decides to release, just like an adorable, mindless infant…

Oh, and a messy diaper means I get another sticker on my chart, too.

But yeah, work. Yeah. This fellow needs to work. No matter the state of his now-warm diaper. No matter how badly he wants to sink down onto the floor and crawl around in his messy pants, playing with his babyish toys in a dreamy fog of infantile happiness.

***

"Honey, I'm sorry! I didn't know it was getting that tough for you. Aww, you should have told me sooner, baby!"

Mommy's voice is warm and caring, and I feel that little bubble of resentment within me dissipating as quietly as the soap bubbles in the tub around me. "I mean, I know it's for the best and all, the feeding and medicine and stuff. But it's just…" I trail off as she runs her sudsy washcloth across my arm and gazes sympathetically into my eyes. "It's just so hard now to focus and get things done…"

"I know, baby, I know," she soothes now, patting my arm affectionately. "I'm sure it must be. But honey, it's like I've been saying for awhile now. You've clearly been under a lot of stress, and it shows. I mean, that's why we went to the doctor in the first place, right?" She sighs and shakes her head as she lathers the bar of soap. "You know, I really think we need to let that job go for a bit. It's only part-time, and it's pretty dull – you've said so yourself. We just need to give you a bit of time to… you know. Rest. Unwind. Focus on yourself and your own needs."

Her hand has slipped below the suds, and I feel something down low twitch between my legs at the feeling of her warm washcloth. "Lean back, baby," she orders with a knowing little smile. "Mommy's gotta make sure it's all clean down here, okay?" Which apparently involves a very thorough application of the washcloth – and the brush of her nails against my thighs – and a rhythmic squeezing of wet cotton and fingers around my suddenly stiffening penis…

By the time she's through bathing me, I'm biting back little moans, my erect member protruding from the suds as she smiles down at me with laughing eyes. "Aww, is Kennie's little wee-wee becoming a big boy?" she begins, but I'm only half in Little space anymore, and I brush past the mommy talk. "Please- please, Rebecca- I need you," I beg, rising from the bath and reaching for the towel she's holding. "Like, for some real grown-up time. Can we, please?"

Well, her dress is on the floor within a minute, and her panties a minute after that. And as I hurriedly dab my legs dry and gaze hungrily at the incredible sight of my now-nude wife sashaying out toward our bed, my heart is thumping with anticipation. Yeah, little time is fun, I guess. But when you've been little for a week or more at a time… well, you want a change.

You want to reassure yourself that you haven't entirely lost your adult side.

We start in missionary. She's lying there waiting for me, looking stunning with her dark bush and her full breasts – even more full than I'd remembered, strangely – and a smile on her lips that makes me want to do the most unspeakable things with her. Mommy she may have been this past week: nurturing me, feeding me, pleasuring me. But now, my gut is saying, it's time to switch things up. Now that I'm out of Little space, I'll be the one filling her up… making her cry out… pleasuring her with all I have…

And oh, the touch of her naked skin is incredible. The taste of her lips – compared to the sterile rubber of the pacifier that I've been tasting these past weeks – is everything I want and more. The sensation of my fingertips brushing across the wet heat between her thighs is making me hunger for her, longing to feel her around me…

She half-rolls with me, her arms pulling me tight, and now we're lying side by side. "My, someone's frisky tonight," she murmurs affectionately, and I can't help the big boy response that escapes my lips. "Hell yeah," I mutter back, fumbling between my legs to position myself. "God, I want you- I'm so hard for you-"

And then she's giggling, rolling once more, pressing me deep into the mattress with her weight. "Oh, are you?" she laughs, half-rising, and now I can feel her legs spreading further, her own fingers reaching down and guiding my erect shaft home. "Here, why don't you show me, baby?" she sighs, and then she's leaning back into cowgirl position, letting her weight pull her down onto me, thrusting me deep within…

Oh, fuck yeah. Cowgirl's awesome.

Maybe it's the medicine still. Maybe it's just because I haven't done this kind of thing in awhile. And maybe it's the magic of my wonderfully sexy wife. But it seems like less than a minute before I'm feeling the tension mount, the inevitable eruption that I know can only end in a sticky, uncontrolled eruption of orgasmic bliss. "Oh, yes, yes, yes," I'm babbling, eyes screwed shut, feeling that wonderfully slick, tight heat working ever more insistently around me. "Oh- I'm gonna- I'm gonna-"

And then I'm gone, my body shuddering as I lose control and spurt convulsively in mindless climax. Oh, this is incredible! Even better than cumming in my diapers. Sure, Rebecca hasn't cum just yet. But if I just keep working it- keep thrusting- I can stay hard a bit longer-

Or maybe not. I can feel my erection fading even as she continues to pump, and then I'm slipping out… satisfied, true, but silently embarrassed and regretful at not having pleasing her…

"Now what were you saying you were gonna do?" I hear a minute or two later, as the orgasmic fog recedes and I catch my breath. And there's the oddest note in her voice. "Honey, you were trying to tell me you were going to cum, right? Because I think it might have been a bit more than that…"

I blink against the light. I half-rise on my unsteady elbows. And there, seated and leaning back between my legs, is my Mommy-wife, gazing down at my rapidly wilting penis. A penis, I should add, from which a steady stream of urine is now spurting.

As the dark stain on the sheets blossoms outward and I stare in horror at the sight of my body's betrayal, she clucks and shakes her head with an amused giggle. "Aww, I see now! Were you trying to tell Mommy you were gonna have an accident? Poor baby!"