Little Boys and Big Messes (Commission)

Thanks to our awesome Gold-tier patron Liam for commissioning this one!

"You're sure about that, baby?"

I nod firmly, trying my best to appear authoritative on the matter. Not that it's terribly successful, of course. It's tough to look tough when you're lying on your Mommy's bed, bare and vulnerable while she powders you and tapes your fresh diaper closed. The thinner diaper. The one you've begged her for, knowing well that the warm weather will no longer give you the excuse of wearing an all-concealing coat to shield a bulgy bum from the eyes of curious passersby...

"Okay, then," she shrugs, giving your freshly padded crotch an affectionate pat. "I guess if my little boy is sure he can go without his super-duper booster pants today, then I guess we'll let him try!" I'm sitting up, channeling my inner Little as I tug my shirt down. "Uh-huh! I jus' don' want everybody to- to see my dipie, you know..."

Mommy giggles at my affected lisp. "Oh, sweetie, nobody's looking at your booty - and if they are, I really need to have a word with them!" She bends down to buckle her own sandals closed. "Come on, let's get those pants and shoes of yours on, honey. The market opens at ten, remember?"

Sure, I remember. And as I tug my jeans easily over the delightful, discreet surface of my diaper, I find myself grinning. This is going to be a great day, I just know it. Spring weather, a festival in town, a weekend with my sweetheart... What's not to love?

***

It's an awesome morning for sure.

First stop after the parking garage is the coffee shop. Mommy loves her lattes as much as any other sensible twenty-something young woman, after all - and so do I. Mommy, bless her, surprises me with one of my favorites: a grande caramel mocha. We wander together toward the park, letting the creamy sweetness and caffeine infuse us with their life-giving energy.

The sun is shining at last. It's been another rough northern winter, and every particle of warmth feels heavenly on our skin as our bones finally begin to thaw. We saunter together in the direction of the festival, laughing at the squirrels and the antics of passing children. I sense the first twinge of pressure in my bladder and immediately relax, silently feeling the rewarding glow of warmth blossom between my legs. So nice. No worries, no cares. Just dribble and keep on walking...

Mommy notices my momentary lapse into distracted silence - at least, if one can judge by the tiny pat of my bum and the squeeze of my hand. Dang it, how can she always tell?

The festival is already buzzing with activity, the food vendors hard at work perfuming the air with the intoxicating scent of fried dough and roasting corn. We maneuver hand-in-hand through the growing crowd, ignoring the food for now. No need for lunch just yet, not when we're still sipping our drinks.

"Ready to do this, sweetheart?"

Oh, I am - and with that, we plunge into the other stalls: the ones with hundreds of books, and odd handmade jewelry, and amateur paintings, and wonderfully-executed handicrafts. Time blurs as the two of us slip into the happy trance of shop-browsing. Somewhere along the way I remember Mommy smirking and gesturing toward an elegantly-worked leather belt, asking if I thought I could help her find a use for it. I remember too feeling my crotch warm and swell a few times, my diaper discreetly handling the inevitable results of the drink I have finally finished...

We emerge at last, flushed and exhilarated, and find ourselves near a taco stand. The scent is too good to resist. Fifteen minutes later, we're munching away in the welcome shade of an antiquated tree, enjoying the lovely heat and flavors of our little lunch. Mommy laughs at the sauce on my face, and giggle-whispers in my ear that she should have brought one of my bibs to keep me clean. Of course I blush, and of course she only giggles more...

This day can't get much better, can it?

***

Uh-oh.

Food poisoning isn't a fast-acting sort of thing, I repeat internally. The lunch was just fine. It's just a bit of gas. Probably something to do with the burritos we had last night. Pphhbbbbtttt... Yep, see? Just gas.

I'm walking around the park on my own now, slipping from sun to shade to sun again in the warm afternoon light. Mommy said she had a few things she wanted to look at again in the stalls, and, well... fun as it is, I do tire of shopping more easily than she does. She, sweetheart that she is, told me to just have fun wandering around while she wrapped things up on her own.

Another cramp swells, rising to a swift crescendo. I'm virtually alone, I realize - and I relax my muscles into another much-needed fart. Oh, that feels so good. Yes, push a bit more, get all that gas out...

And then I discover that it wasn't just gas that time.

Shit. Muscles contract, but of course it's too late to help the sticky patch I feel between my butt-cheeks. Ugh, Mommy's gonna tease me so much... I keep on walking, trying to pretend that nothing - absolutely nothing - is wrong. And really, nothing really is, I remind myself. I'm safely padded, and I'm already quite soggy. A tiny messy squirt into an already wet diaper isn't anything to worry about, right?

But then another cramp hits, and another.

I wince, trying my best not to let any stray passersby note the struggle within my gurgling tummy. It'll be okay. I'll just hold it in somehow, and we'll go home as soon as Mommy comes back, and we'll get me to a toilet where I can go like a big boy should. I just have to wait a bit longer...

Nope, change of plan! Maybe I just let out the gas. I can tell when something's gas or not. Just gotta let the air escape. That will help. Oww, oww, cramp. Okay, here we go - that's gotta be gas-

Only it's not.

If you've never experienced the sensation of filling your pants before, you're not truly going to understand what I am feeling in this moment. It's a veritable cocktail of sensations: disgust and revulsion at the ickiness of your own fecal matter smearing against your skin; the odd mushrooming feeling of the diaper as it swells and fills, as your poop flows stickily out to engulf your nether regions; the irrational fear that everyone around you immediately will know what an infantile deed you've just done; and yet, perversely enough, the visceral relief of a body that has finally and quite literally relieved itself of such a painful load...

Only add to that the sheer panic and rush of adrenaline when I feel the first gooey trickle down the sensitive skin of my left thigh.

***

"Honey, what's wrong? Everything okay?"

Of course Mommy chooses this particular time to finally make her appearance, shopping bags in hand. I have to remain discreet, have to let her know what's happened, have to keep anyone else from hearing or noticing, have to shuffle-waddle along to keep this awful mess contained...

"Um, not exactly," I falter, cheeks hot with embarrassment. "Uh-oh," and her voice drops to a confidential whisper. "Did someone have a bit of a leak, maybe?" Her hand is descending, giving my rear a squeeze before I can pull away. "No!" I yelp before dropping back to a panicked whisper. "I mean, yes... but not that kind- I mean..." She bends closer, sniffs experimentally. "Oh, my! Someone had a real accident, didn't they?" I nod emphatically. "And, um, I think it's- I think I'm- leaking-"

I'm not at all prepared for the laugh that escapes her.

"Oh, sweetheart, you really are just a toddler, aren't you?" She titters, struggling and failing completely to keep her composure. "Listen, sweetie, I really love you. But there's no one else I know who will protest up and down that he's a big boy... and then go and mess his pants so badly! And in public, too!" She pulls me closer, leaning into my ear as we make our way toward the park exit. "You know, I bet you're actually enjoying this little spectacle, aren't you? Being a naughty, stinky boy for Mommy? After all, you knew that diaper wouldn't handle that mess, and yet you went and dumped a load in your diaper anyway!"

Oh, I protest - tremblingly, vehemently whispering back that I didn't try, that my tummy was just upset- "Oh, so you really couldn't help it? But that's even more embarrassing, isn't it? Because if you really couldn't help messing your pampers, honey, you're far more of a baby than even I thought!" I'm quivering now, repulsed as much by my stiffening dick and the glorious tingles that her teasing words are unleashing up and down my spine as by the warm muck that continues to squelch between  - and down - my legs...

The rest becomes a blur to me - the trot to the shopping mall, weaving our way swiftly through the milling hordes to the family restroom, the painful wait in line until it's our turn... And then we're finally there, safe behind a locked door, and Mommy is explaining that I need to lay down on the cold tile so she can start cleaning me up. "Good thing I brought your diaper bag!" she cheers, and the large purse we've given that name plops down beside me. "Let's see what the damage is, shall we?"

Oh, it's bad. And her teasing aside, Mommy's an absolute saint for dealing with it.

At last she's done, and finishes by rinsing my jeans in the sink to rid them of their smelly stains. "I'm afraid they'll take a few hours to dry, honey," she smiles apologetically, motioning me, now clad in a fresh diaper, to step into them. "And sure, it's going to look to the entire world like you've just peed your pants. But at least they're clean now, hmm? Certainly better to wear wet pants than run out of here in just your diaper! Or..." And here her eyes twinkle. "Maybe you actually wouldn't mind letting everyone else see what a silly little baby you really are?"

Her eyes are still dancing as she lays a hand on the stiffening front of my fresh diaper - but then she shakes her head and jerks my damp jeans upward. "Oh, baby, you're such a silly mess, aren't you? You may be clean now, but I still think we'd better get you home. You see, I have a pretty good idea of what I need to do with my little stinker once we're back..."

I nod silently, writhing internally in an agony of arousal and humiliation as I feel my damp jeans brushing against my bare legs. I'll try my best to persuade her of the truth, of course. But somewhere deep in the most sordid areas of my mind, I think maybe I should just let her believe what she likes. And somehow, after today I don't think I'll ever again be allowed to dictate what sort of padding I wear in public.

For when a little boy makes such big messes, everyone knows it's Mommy who needs to be in charge.