A Temporary Solution - Ch. 01 (Commission)

"So, who's this Scott guy, anyway?"

Trevor's question was simple enough - or it should have been. But somehow with me, everything ends up being far more sticky and complicated than one might think, doesn't it? "Umm, well, he's a nice guy," I faltered, tracing a ring of moisture on the table top with my sweating, ice-cold beer. "A really nice guy..."

He's my Daddy, my Big, my Caregiver, my Dom. But when none of those terms will even begin to make sense to your vanilla friend, what do you even say? Where do you even start?

I saw Trevor wrinkle his nose as he took another swig. "You don't say," he snorted affably. "Come on, bro. I mean, I get it if you two are a "thing," or whatever. I don't really care. Just checking to make sure you're not shacked up with an axe murderer or something. Y'know?"

I flashed a wobbly grin, feeling my cheeks flush with something akin to embarrassment. Or maybe it was just the alcohol. "No, no, it's not like that! I actually just used to work with him a couple of years ago. You know, at that sporting goods place?" I took another nervous sip. "We ended up kind of staying in touch after I quit. And then when those bastards downsized us back in April... Well, I guess he happened to hear about it. And yeah... he just up and said he'd be cool with me moving in for a bit."

"Pretty nice of him indeed," Trevor observed, raising his voice to be heard over a sudden outburst of laughter from a few tables over. "So he was literally like, 'Move in with me'? Just like that? No strings attached?"

Dammit, Trevor! I flushed again, relieved that at least my old college friend, perceptive as he seemed to be, still wasn't quite able to read minds. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. After all, he didn't need to hear anything about the specifics of our years-long relationship - or how exactly we'd worked it out. Oh, I remembered it well, that evening...

***

We'd been leaving our monthly munch when I first gave it away, the news of my termination. "Devie, baby, that's terrible!" Scott was nothing if not discreet around others - but there in the safety of the restaurant's darkened parking lot, he'd easily resorted to his affectionate nickname for me. "No severance, no grace period, no nothing? Just, boom?"

Yes, boom, I'd confided, feeling the anxiety welling up once more in the pit of my stomach. Rent in our city was astronomically high. And while I'd naturally been planning on renewing my lease next month, that damned pink slip had blown that plan to smithereens.

Maybe it was Scott's comforting fatherly presence. Or maybe it was the lovely warm padding concealed discreetly within my shorts, tugging me irresistibly into littlespace. But right in that moment, I'd wanted nothing more than to bury my head in his chest and open up for him to tuck my soothing binkie into my mouth...

And then he'd said it, slipping further into the quiet, sweetly paternal tone we both loved. "Aww, that's too bad, Devie! It really is. But listen, I've got a great big lovely idea on how to make it all better, okay?" I'd nodded, listening in amazement as he outlined his proposal. "My apartment is more than big enough for two, you know," he'd told me in that lovely, rumbly voice of his. "And I'm sure it wouldn't be for too long, baby. Just until you get back on your feet..."

Yes, yes, I'd agreed uncertainly. But was he sure? We'd have to think about it. I'd maybe have to sleep on it... "Of course!" Scott had assented, and even in the darkness I had caught a glimpse of his comforting smile. "But listen. In case it helps you decide, I've got a few rules in mind that we'd need to put in place if you do move in. At least, a few for starters..." He'd leaned closer, and my breath had caught as he began enumerating his conditions.

"It will still be my house, Devin, and that means I'll be the one in charge. So that also means little boys like you definitely won't get to decide when they get to wear big boy pants, and when they have to get padded up. Or even when they get changed." He'd laughed softly. "In fact, I'm pretty sure little Devie wouldn't even be allowed to ask for a change! Now, doesn't that sound like a fun rule?"

God, it did. I'd nodded mutely, feeling my inner, subby self melting as Scott continued. "Number two. I don't think little Devie will be allowed to dress himself, ever." "Ever?" Then of course, my stupid adult rationality had suddenly resurfaced, panic blossoming within me at the idea of going out, of job- "Not for job interviews, though. Please?" "Oh, well..." he'd conceded slowly. "Sure, I guess not for those. But any other time, I'll be the one dressing you. Got it?"

Yes, I did - oh, I did. "And I think a third rule will be that I'll be the one deciding when - or whether" he'd chuckled, "whether little Devin will be using the potty. I mean, water is expensive, sonny boy. And I can't have you wasting water all the time in my house, after all..."

***

"Dude. Hey, dude! Earth to Devin - you copy?"

Startled back into the fluorescent din of the bar, I shook myself free from those delightful memories and back into my current predicament: how best to answer Trevor. "Huh? Sorry... Strings attached? Um, no. I mean..." Dammit, I was just babbling now. "Nothing really different from anyone else. Things like water use and stuff..." Oh, yes, water usage. If only Trevor knew that I could still count on one hand the number of times I'd actually used the big boy potty since moving in with Scott...

"Okay, I mean... Sure? Hey man, I'm glad it's working out for you," Trevor shrugged - and took another gulp. He didn't seem particularly convinced, but then again, that wasn't a huge problem. He didn't even live on this side of the country, and once we parted after our drinks, I'd probably not hear from him for another six months.

"Yeah, me too," I agreed, draining the last of my Stella. God, me too. I'd been so excited by Scott's proposal that night that - and I'm not exactly proud of it - I'd only gotten a few hours of sleep, consumed as I was by wave after wave of feverish imaginations and hormone-fueled masturbation into my soggy (and increasingly sticky) Bambino...

Yet even while my hormones had been having their own private Mardi Gras, all that ensuing day the rational debate had raged inside my brain. Did I really know Scott well enough to do this? Surely he'd come to hate me after putting up with me for a few weeks. Or what about all those other rules he'd hinted at - the ones he might instate later on "just to make sure I behaved," as he'd put it? And what if my parents started asking uncomfortable questions? Sure, they didn't really mind that I swung both ways, but the BDSM and the ageplay were still best kept in the closet. And if I went as deep into things as Scott was saying, well, it might become impossible to hide...

But this would just be a temporary arrangement. It sure would be financially appealing. And really, who knew when I'd ever have a chance to live out my dream of being someone's sweet, caged, diapered little boy? Chances like that didn't come along every day, after all!

And so, less than twenty-four hours later, we'd had the fateful Discord chat, in which I, heart pounding and fingers quivering, had not only agreed to Scott's proposals, but proposed my own fourth rule to supplement his initial three. It was that fourth rule that explained the strange weight and tightness between my thighs at this very moment. For tucked deep within my already-soggy PeekABU was my caged little cock, locked up securely for as long as Scott saw fit to keep me diapered...

"So, anyway, man, enough about me," I shrugged good-naturedly, even as in a sudden fit of boldness I motioned the waitress over. "Another Stella, please, thanks." I knew my trusty PeekABU would handle it without a hitch. And so, I smiled brightly over at my college friend - so innocent, and nice, and utterly, boringly ordinary.

"How's the insurance business going, then?"