Mommy's Little Errand Boy

Thanks to Liam, one of our Gold-Tier patrons, for suggesting this general MD/lb theme this month!

Uh, oh. This wasn't good.

Pete grimaced involuntarily as the metro, with a ear-wrenching shriek, lurched clumsily around another curve. He'd have thought by now that he would have gotten at least passable at subway-surfing - standing there with legs braced, ready for whatever ungodly swerves and brakes the contraption made. But even after four whole years, there were always these few moments that caught him off guard - threw him off his balance - made him gasp and clutch for something to hang onto...

The trip might as well have been a Calvin and Hobbes sled ride - because it sure as hell was turning into a metaphor for how things were going with Mommy.

He hadn't meant to forget to water the plants. Honestly, he'd tried to remember. But there was that funny YouTube video, and then that email from an old friend, and then the new Minecraft update... And somehow, Mommy's admonition had vanished like fog in the warm sunlight. "Be sure to water the plants before I get home," she'd told him sweetly. One job, one chore. That was all. Surely a great big little boy of twenty-seven could remember that on his day off, right?

Not a chance.

Should've set a reminder, he mused darkly, catching the eye of a new passenger bustling onto the metro before he quickly looked away. It was a young mother pushing her sleeping toddler's stroller before her. She probably knew all about naughty little boys. She probably knew too about how hard it was to keep their pants dry. In fact, deep within that diaper bag of hers she probably had something suspiciously close to what was even now hiding underneath Pere's jeans...

Pete sighed internally and glanced up at the garish LCD above his head. Two more stops, that was all. Two more, and then he'd bolt out, and go up those stairs as quickly as he dared. His destination was two - no, three - blocks away, tucked into a decrepit old office building alongside a Starbucks and a nail salon. Maybe ten minutes, and he'd be there.

But that was only halfway. Then he needed to head all the way back home - with not only what would be a bulging plastic bag, but a bulging bladder, too. Or maybe a bulging something else...

"Bad little boys who don't do their chores get punished," Mommy had told him, with all the motherly severity her slight frame and twenty-four years could muster. "Come on, now. Let's get you ready for your little punishment excursion, shall we?" Of course he had followed. He was her little boy right then - not her muscly fiancé - and she would not to be disobeyed.

What would it be?, he'd wondered in a now-familiar mingling of dismay and arousal. A super-thick, boosted diaper that bloated his jeans and convinced him that everyone could see him waddling? His pacifier hidden away under his face mask? Maybe even a suppository? God, what a rush that would be...

Ding! It was his stop, at last. Jolted back into the present, Pete slipped past the dozing toddler's mother and strode briskly for the exit, mentally urging himself not to break into a jog. Running here would just look too suspicious. Best save that for the final leg home. Now up those stairs. And down the skyscraper-lined street, weaving past the milling tourists and alongside the business-folk headed home from the office.

But nobody knew. Nobody saw. Nobody heard the whisper-quiet rustle under his jeans.

Why would they, anyway? Not even Sherlock Holmes could have noticed anything amiss with this young man, apart from perhaps the odd gleam of rising panic in his eye and his unnaturally hurried gait. There was no bulge, no working cheeks, no clutching of the gut to indicate that anything was amiss. And yet, the punishment was there - and as Pete could have testified - it was all too real.

"Here to pick up an order for the name Muth," he told the middle-aged gentleman behind the counter. "Em, You, Tee, Aych. MUTH." Goddammit, why did the last name always sound so muffled behind a mask? But then it was there at last, just as he knew it would be: the bulging plastic sack, with two bulky plastic-wrapped cubes stuffed within it. Medical supplies. Just exactly as Ms. Muth - Mommy - had ordered. And just as he would now have to carry it, all the way back home, in front of God and everyone.

"You're going to go run an errand for Mommy," she'd told him as she tugged down his jeans with practiced hands. "On the bed, now." He'd stifled the submissive little whimper that rose to his throat unbidden. "You're all out of your special padding, you see," she had told him, rummaging in his drawer momentarily - for what, he didn't know. "So you're going to go pick more up, okay? And you see, because Mommy knows her little boy has such a hard time making it to the potty..."

And there it had been: in her hands a Pampers Size 7. Precisely what he used for stuffers - but never on their own. At least, not until today.

Ding! Back toward the metro again - through the turnstiles, rushing down the platform, darting between the closing doors. Whew.

His predicament wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't been sitting for hours before Mommy's return, surfing the web and playing Minecraft and chugging down a Monster. It wouldn't have existed at all if Mommy had let him use the potty before smilingly securing the Pampers' straining tabs around his hips. But he had, and she hadn't, and here he was: desperately trying not to perform a potty dance for the audience of fellow metro riders, even as he was clutching a massive, humiliating bag full of the very padding that would offer him salvation... If only he was wearing one right now.

But he wasn't. And the metro was grindingly, nauseatingly slow. And the pressure building in his bladder was reaching fingernail-biting levels.

He'd have to let out a little pressure. It was Pampers, after all. They could generally take everything Goodnites could - he knew that much from past experimentation. So now to dribble a little out, just to relieve a bit of pressure. Just a little bit, then clamp down. Go ahead. Relax just a bit more...

The first warm trickles caught him off guard as much as the lurching subway did.

***

Ten minutes later, a red-faced young man could be seen emerging from the subway station, a large plastic bag twisting in his left hand. He had somewhere to be, clearly. But only he knew exactly where, and why.

He was losing it - badly.

Warm spurts of urine were sputtering out of him now with every frantic step. His aching bladder was past caring about Pampers capacity. All it wanted was relief, and relief at any cost. Pete felt the flimsy, undersized padding warming and swelling between his thighs, even as his brain was shrieking that no Pampers was going to be able to hold so much without at least a few drips...

And then he felt the left tape, straining under the load, begin to tear.

Mommy, please. It's falling off! I need the potty- need to go- can't wait- But even as he broke into a panicked run, Pete felt the final strands of the left tab tear loose, and knew it was all over.

So it was that, when the young man finally darted down the side street and toward the apartment building that he and Mommy called home, even the most casual observer could have seen the humiliating dark patches and streaks marring his jeans. How unfortunate, they might have thought - before quickly looking away out of embarrassment for him. Though a closer inspection would have turned up some oddities: a sort of little bulge in the seat of his pants, and a dry spot precisely where one would have expected the greatest flooding...

Mommy's contrite, red-faced little errand boy was home. And oh, he needed a change very badly: a change into something more... fitting.