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Luna, Part 1 of 4 [Tier 2 and 3]
🕑 Added 2023-12-11 22:07:03 +0000 UTC
This is the first of a four part series that will be running once every other week for both Tier 2 and Tier 3 readers.
Looking for something else to read? Check out the story index!
One
He’s quick to respond when I text him, and sometimes he’ll even text me first. You might be surprised at how often that’s an issue with other men.
He has savings and he invests money. I don’t know the specifics of his financial situation–and I don’t think I’m any sort of gold-digger–but it’s the simple fact that he’s responsible in this way that’s so attractive to me. He doesn’t have to rifle through his pockets for crumpled up pieces of cash that he then looks surprised that he has. He doesn’t have to ask for money or subtly suggest that I cover the next meal.
He doesn’t watch sports. He reads books and plays the piano. He loves classical music and jazz. He drinks his coffee black. He says he hasn’t touched marijuana in a decade.
He’s mature, that’s what I’m saying. He’s an adult. He’s normal.
“He’s boring,” says Trini, sucking down her cold-brew.
“Sort of,” I answer. “But is it crazy that I like that? I mean, I’m just so fucking sick of these boneheaded boys who are still obsessed with video games, collecting comic books, and watching Japanese cartoons with big-breasted women in them.”
“You’re describing Greg,” Trini laughs. “You’re not sick of boys, plural. You’re sick of the singular boy that you just broke up with after four long years.”
“Yes, well. I’m sure there’s plenty of boys who are just like him. Boys. I don’t want to date boys. I want to date a man now. And Philip–he’s a man.”
“I’m just saying, Nora. There’s other men out there who aren’t boring. A happy medium between this guy who has a stick up his ass, and the oversized toddler you were dating before.”
“Philip is boring on paper,” I admit. “But I promise you, you won’t think that when you meet him. He’s very conversational. He’s very friendly. He has this way of effortlessly making you feel like you’re the most important person in the world when he talks to you.”
Finally, a smile breaks across Trini’s hardened face. It can be a hard feat sometimes–especially when talking about boys. “You like him, huh?”
“I really do.”
“Then I’m happy for you. I hope he continues to make you this happy.”
===
Philip orders a bottle of wine at the dinner table. An entire bottle. He doesn’t even check with me to see if it’s wine that I like. In fact, my eyes scan the wine list when he orders it, because I’m completely unfamiliar with the name and I’m curious to see what’s coming. I find it at the very bottom of the list–one of the most expensive options.
I’m not really sure how I feel about this. I don’t need to be impressed by his wealth or his taste for wine. I like to make my own decisions about what I drink and eat.
But.
There’s this little thrill that runs through my body when the server walks away from the table after taking note of the wine order. I’ve never dated someone who drank wine on a date. Or ordered an entire bottle. An entire bottle of expensive wine, at that. That is a good feeling, and I wonder if it’s good that I get to experience it at least once in my life.
“I should’ve asked first,” he says. “Do you like chardonnay?”
“I like cheap bottles of chardonnay that I buy when I go grocery shopping,” I shrug. “Honestly, if you sat a glass of chardonnay next to a glass of riesling and made me tell you which was which, I don’t think I could do it.”
He laughs–but he’s not laughing at me. “Well, after you taste this chardonnay, I bet you’ll remember what it tastes like for the rest of your life.”
“Bold words.”
He offers a nonchalant shrug that suggests that he’s going to stick with this story. “So if you’re not a wine drinker, what do you like to drink?”
“Ugh,” I groan. “Nothing a fancy-pants guy like you would enjoy, probably. Girly shit. Cosmos. Margaritas. Daiquiris. Those fruity alcoholic seltzers that come in cans.”
He laughs again, though this time he may be laughing at me a little. “I think you should like what you like. I happen to like this particular bottle of wine a lot–but do you know what I have in my fridge back at home right now?”
“More fancy wine?”
“Half-a-case of White Claw.”
I sigh in relief. This isn’t the first time he’s done this–he’ll set me up to think that he’s this classier-than-thou elitist, only to reveal at the very end that he’s just another human like me.
It makes my heart flutter a little.
“How was your day?” he asks.
Nobody ever asks me that. I love being asked that. “It was alright.”
“Just alright?”
“Oh…you don’t want to hear about my mundane day.”
He smiles and leans in closer over the table. “I do, actually. Tell me about your day. Even if it really was the most mundane day you’ve ever experienced.”
“Ah, well…” I’m a little flustered and I need to take a beat to catch my breath. His interest has my cheeks blushing and my heart racing. “We had this, uh, meeting at work today. It’s this once-a-year team building bullshit that our boss makes us go through.”
Philip frowns and shakes his head. “I hate the sound of it already. What does that entail?”
“Well, for the first two hours we literally just sit in a conference room while he hits us with a presentation. It’s just slide after slide of stats and graphs. He talks about ‘trends’ in the industry and talks about all the things he wants to do differently in the coming year. And, like, I guess there’s an interesting nugget or two of information in that–but he could’ve just as easily put that in an email.”
“Sure,” Philip says.
“So then we had a catered lunch. Well, if you consider pizza to be ‘catering.’”
“You don’t like pizza?”
“No, I love pizza. Except for this shitty place that our office always gets pizza from. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I’ve heard that our boss is, like, boning the cousin of the pizzeria’s owner or something–so there’s some sort of obligation to always get our pizza from there. But it sucks. The crust is way too chewy and they don’t put enough cheese on it.”
“Sounds awful.”
“It barely qualifies as pizza.”
“So then, the torture is over and you get to go back to work?”
“No, that’s the worst part. After lunch is the actual ‘team building’ part. We’re sorted out into groups and we have to do, like, a scavenger hunt around the office.”
“That doesn’t sound terrible…”
“It’s just embarrassing. We’re not little kids. We’re fucking adults–and yet we’re running around an office, flipping over couch cushions and digging through filing cabinets for clues. And for what? The winners got a $50 gift card. Fuck. I’d have paid $50 just to not have to be in the office today.”
He’s laughing again. I love the sound of his laughter–there’s a genuineness to them. Someday, I imagine, he’s going to make a great grandfather, and his grandchildren are going to love making him laugh.
Maybe they’re my grandchildren too?
The server returns with a bottle of wine. She presents it to Philip, who examines the bottle, nods, and hands it back to her. She uncorks the bottle, pours a small amount into a glass and offers the glass to him again. He spins the liquid around in the glass, presses his nose inside of it, and takes a deep sniff. Again, he spins the liquid around in the glass before taking a sip of it. He seems to let it sit in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it. He considers it–not just the sip, but the entire experience–and finally nods to the server. She proceeds to pour me a glass before filling his.
The entire scene plays out like a strange ritual–one that he’s been a part of countless times. It feels like part of a much more sophisticated world than the one that I’ve been a part of–but that’s what makes it special. For a brief moment–maybe even for the rest of the evening–I feel like I’ve ascended. I’m playing the part of someone much more important than I really am.
“To tonight,” he says, hoisting his glass up into the air and tilting it towards me.
“To tonight.” I clink the edge of my glass against his and we drink.
The wine is wonderful. I’ve never understood the concept of ‘dry’ when it comes to wine–but I suddenly understand it.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“It’s very good.”
“You deserve it,” he says. “Especially after enduring the team-building hell you experienced today.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I say.
I really, really, like him.
===
“Do we dare explore the dessert tray?” Philip asks as our plates are taken from the table.
I’m stuffed to the brim, and we’ve completely emptied his expensive bottle of wine. The conversation has been fantastic–we’ve been laughing together all evening. As perfect as dessert sounds, I can’t help but imagine eating another bite and exploding all over him. And that just seems like a terrible impression to make on this man.
“I can’t,” I say.
“But you haven’t even seen what they’re offering.” He’s kidding, I think. Laugh with someone enough, and you start to understand them on a deeper level.
“I can’t,” I say again. “I wish I could. Believe me, I do. If this place does dessert as well as everything else, I’m sure it’s amazing.”
“Fair enough,” he shrugs. “But…we could always take some to go. Maybe we…go back to my place? I’ll make another drink? We’ll give our stomachs a little while to settle before we jump into dessert? I’m telling you, Nora, you’ll regret it if you leave this place without trying one of their pastries.”
I bite my bottom lip. I’ve been waiting for this–the invite. It’s what I’ve been hoping would happen tonight. I want to go home with him. I want to see his place. I want to see his bed–and then I want him to pin me down and fuck me on it.
I wish I could be a little more subtle about excitement, but I know that he likes my enthusiasm: “Hell yes.”
===
“Just one thing,” he says after parking his car in the garage. I wouldn’t say that it’s hesitation that I detect in his voice–but there’s a note of something that I haven’t heard before. Mild discomfort?
“Yes?”
“I do, uhm, have a pet.”
I shrug. “I love pets. And I’m not allergic to cats or dogs, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
He laughs. “Ah, well, good to know.”
“What do you have?” I try to take a guess, based on what I know about him so far. “You strike me as a cat person.”
Philip laughs and shrugs. “You’re not that far off.”
I don’t know what that means. What, if anything, is like a cat, without being a cat?
The question quickly falls from the forefront of my mind as I follow him into his house, though. The first word that comes to mind is ‘mature.’ It’s so much more grown up than any of my exes’ living spaces. I think about my last ex, Greg’s, place–recalling the pile of pizza boxes, the overflowing recycling bin and the haphazard arrangement of video game posters on his walls. Now, I look around Philip’s and see how much work he’s put into his home’s aesthetic. Everything feels minimalist and modern. Every piece of furniture feels like it contributes something important to the room it’s in. No space feels wasted.
“This is amazing,” I say. What I hope he actually hears is: “Marry me, Philip. Please.”
“I’ve been told that it’s a little too…perfect,” he shrugs. “And I get that. I don’t begrudge anyone with different ideals when it comes to home decor. But…I like what I like.”
“Good,” I say, running my fingertip along the back of the shining black leather couch. “Because my place looks nothing like this.”
“I hope I get to see it someday,” he says.
“My friends call it ‘thrift store chic.’ Just to give you a hint to what awaits you.”
He laughs, placing his hand on top of mine. “I’m sure it’s wonderful, just like you are. But please don’t let my place intimidate you. Make yourself at home.”
“I wish I could, but I feel like I’d be messing something up.”
“Impossible,” he says. “Besides, I don’t have to do the cleaning.”
“Ah, you’re one of those guys, huh?” I laugh. “You hire someone else to do all the cleaning for you?”
He shrugs.
“Or,” I continue, “do you just keep the help locked up in your basement?”
“No, no,” he says. “She has free reign to go wherever she’d like. I don’t keep her locked in the basement.”
I think that’s a joke.
===
We each have a glass in our hand and we’re canoodling on the leather couch. He told me what he made, but I don’t recall what it is. Something brown. There’s a big spherical ice cube in it and there’s an orange wheel dangling from the side of the glass. It’s as if he can’t do anything without it looking perfect.
One of his hands is holding his glass. The other is in my lap, having slowly slid up my thighs for the last few minutes. I’ve made no effort to stop him. Now, he’s under my dress, and his fingers rest just beneath the legband of my panties.
When we speak, our faces are so close that I can smell the alcohol on his breath–as I imagine he smells on mine too. I like this too.
“Nora,” he says, “I think you’re very, very, pretty.”
It feels like my cue to compliment him back, but I’m drunk on his compliments and my only response is a girlish giggle. I have something on the tip of my tongue to say, but I’m not sure if it’s appropriate or not. Fuck it. Seems as good as any time to just put it out there: “Philip?”
“Mmhmm?”
“You make my pussy wet.”
I immediately doubt myself. What a stupid–juvenile–thing to have said to him. He doesn’t want to be with some trashy girl who talks like she’s in the backseat of her highschool boyfriend’s car.
But he surprises me with his response: “Do I make you wet as you make me hard?”
Oh.
I should probably ask before doing such things, but how much more permission do I need when we’re already practically sitting in each other’s laps? I move my free hand from his arm to his crotch. He’s not lying–I feel something stiff in there. Something that feels impressively sized and shaped.
“Marry me Philip. For the love of god, please marry me.”
His fingers clear that final, microscopic, expanse to enter my panties through the leg. He pauses for a moment, seeming to take notice of how damp the silky fabric is.
“You weren’t lying,” he whispers to me. “You’re very wet.”
“That’s all you,” I whisper back. I could leave it at that, but I just can’t help myself: “I want you.”
“What do you taste like, Nora?”
“I…I don’t know.” His question catches me off guard. I’ve tasted myself. Hasn’t everyone? Maybe? But can I recall, right now, what I tasted like? No, I haven’t the slightest clue. The only flavors I can think of are dry wines and bourbon.
His fingers wriggle their way to my pussy, and he slips them in. Not too far–just far enough to push a soft and breathy moan from my lips. He then retracts his fingers–not just from pussy, but from my panties. He holds them up in front of his face. They’re glistening with my juices. I should be embarrassed–but I’m not. He opens his mouth and licks his fingers clean–his tongue slowly gathering every single drop.
“Exquisite,” he says. “It’s the best thing I’ve tasted tonight. Do you want to try?”
I nod.
This time, he takes my hand in his, and he guides it down into my panties–through the waistband this time, after hiking up the hem of the dress to my hips. He presses my fingertips into myself, then pulls me out. Finally, he guides my hand to my own mouth.
“Taste,” he says.
I do. I don’t know what sort of magic he’s worked on me–but I don’t remember tasting anything like this coming from me before. It tastes sweet to me, like honey.
Or, maybe I’m just hopped up on hormones. The drinks, the food, the feeling of his hard cock through his pants–it’s all got me spinning in a way that my own cunt suddenly tastes like the most succulent thing I’ve ever experienced.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“It’s…amazing.”
“Right? Actually, I feel kind of bad for you.”
“Wh-why?”
“Because, see, I can pull off your panties, stick my face between your thighs, and I can lick up every drop from your body. I don’t suppose you could do that.”
Fuck. “N-no… Probably not. But that’s not a bad thing.”
“No?”
“I mean, when you’re done–and believe me, you can take all the time you want–I can taste your face. And your mouth.”
“Ah,” he nods. “That’s true.”
“And, after your cock has been in me…I could lick that clean too.”
He takes in a deep breath before making a primal grunting noise to himself. “I like you, Nora.”
“I like you, Philip.”
“I’m going to take you to the bedroom now.”
“Yes,” I say. “That’s a good idea. You should do that.”
“I’m going to make you cum so hard that…”
He’s interrupted by a sound. We both hear it–the sound of movement. Something, somewhere, is slinking into the room. A dog. A cat. Something. It’s too low to the ground for me to see it from my vantage point. If it’s just an animal–a pet–I’m tempted to just ignore it for now and continue on. But Philip suddenly seems distracted.
“Luna?” he asks.
Is he asking me that? It doesn’t register as a name–it just sounds like a word. A sound. “I’m sorry?”
“Er, not you,” he says. He turns his head so that he can ask again: “Luna?”
I’m a little annoyed that we’ve put things on a momentary hold so that he can start calling out for his pet. But, then, I’m surprised. Because his pet–whatever it is–actually responds. With a human voice.
“Master?”
All at once, I am sitting up straight and I'm alert. I’m stone-cold sober all of a sudden.
“Luna,” he says. “Come here. I want you to meet someone.”
===
Words cannot fully express the confusion I feel when I first see Luna. It’s like being given a glass of water, tasting it, and finding that it tastes like coffee. Sure, you like water, and you like coffee–but you were expecting water. Your body rejects it. It tastes awful. There’s a moment where everything feels completely wrong and nothing makes sense anymore. Down is up. Blue is green. Eventually, you acclimate to the coffee-tasting water–but you have to train yourself to accept it first.
Luna is not an animal. Well, she’s not a cat. Or dog. Or ferret. Or potbellied pig. Luna is a human–and so she might as well be a horrific monster. I recoil in my seat.
“It’s alright,” Philip says to me.
“What the fuck?”
He sighs. “I know this is going to be a lot to take in. Why don’t you take a moment and process it. Then, if you have any questions…”
“I have lots of questions,” I quickly respond.
He’s waiting–poised to provide answers–but it turns out that I do need that moment to process.
Luna is on her hands and knees. She’s nude–well, mostly nude. On her head is a headband with furry cat ears. For a moment, I mistakenly think she’s wearing panties. Nope…it’s too big. Too thick. There’s a lot of puffy bulk between her legs and on her rear end. The only thing that it could be is a diaper–but that doesn’t make any sense to me at all.
I have to ask about that first: “Is that a diaper?”
He nods. “It is.”
“Oh,” I say. “Okay.” It quickly occurs to me that the answer to the question really doesn’t help me much at all. I feel like I understand even less about what I’m seeing. I only have more questions.
“Luna is my pet,” he says. “I’m never sure if I should be more upfront about her in advance, or if I should let people just experience her for herself. Selfishly, I tend to gravitate towards the latter–I want people to judge me for me before they know too much about Luna.”
“Right,” I say. “Because if I knew about this sooner…” I don’t finish the thought, but I imagine the rest of that thought is obvious. If I knew about her sooner, I probably wouldn’t be at his home right now.
Probably.
I look at Luna again. She’s pretty–almost too pretty. I suspect she’s a little younger than me, though the big diapers might take a few too many years off of her age. Her pale skin and short, dark, hair give her a doll-like quality.
Also, she seems much more comfortable to be in my presence than I am to be in hers. She’s met strangers before–and she’s met them in this state.
I open my mouth, unsure which of the thoughts tumbling about in my mind is going to come out–causing me to imagine myself as a gumball machine. “I didn’t realize you were…polyamorous? Or, at least, in some sort of open relationship.”
“I guess I don’t really think of it like that,” he says. “I love Luna. But she’s not my partner. She’s my pet. There’s a difference.”
“She lives here, right?”
He nods. “She does.”
“You can call her whatever you want, but a girl who crawls around your house naked isn’t exactly a roommate.”
He laughs. “That’s fair. Does she disturb you, Nora? I can ask her to leave if you’d like.”
“Why does she wear a diaper?” I ask.
“Ah, well. We tried litter boxes. It was cute to watch, but I just didn’t care for the upkeep. It’s hard to argue that diapers are better, but they’re at least more…contained.”
I wrinkle my nose and squint. I understand the words he’s saying, but it feels like he’s talking about a world that’s beyond any that I’ve ever known of.
“Can’t she just use, like, a toilet?”
He laughs–that sort of laugh I expect to be followed by a “Oh, my sweet summer child.” He says: “Well, no. That’s sort of the point. She’s my pet.”
He keeps saying this word like I should know what he means. And maybe, on some level, I have an idea of what he means, but I’d rather he explain it to me instead of me just guessing.
“Does she like it?”
He laughs again. “See? You’re asking me instead of her. Because you already view her as just a pet. As you should.”
My cheeks warm as I turn to face Luna again–he got me there. I direct the question to her instead: “Do you like this?”
What am I expecting? For her to start crying and confess that she hates this life and she’s being held against her will? No, of course she’s not going to say anything negative–not in front of her ‘owner.’
“Yes,” she says.
I wait a moment to see if she has anything else to add to that, but that seems to be all she has to say. I suppose, for now, I have to take her at her word.
Which leaves me. How do I feel about this?
“I know this is a lot,” he says. “I was hoping to introduce you to Luna a little later. A little differently. But someone was a naughty little kitty who couldn’t stay in her room.”
“S-sorry,” Luna says.
Philip smiles at his diapered ‘pet.’ “Oh, sweet little princess, I could never be upset with you.” He looks back up at me again. “How can you be mad at a kitten, you know? They’re mischievous and curious by nature.”
I sigh. “I’m, uh, happy for you, I guess. You seem to be happy with…whatever it is you have here. But…”
“But you don’t know if it’s a good fit for you?” he asks, taking the words from my mouth.
“Exactly.”
“But you like me, yes?” he asks. “We had some good dates together. We had a good time out tonight. We were having a good time here on the couch together?”
“Yes, of course,” I say. “But let’s not act like that excuses the fact that there’s a, uhm, naked girl in a diaper in your apartment that you’ve been withholding info about.”
“If I told you about my kitty sooner,” he asks, his voice still as calm and steady as it ever is, “would you have kept seeing me?”
It’s an absurd question, steeped in unknowns. We’ll never get to go back in time to see how that conversation would’ve played out. How would the information be presented to me? Was there a way it could’ve been phrased that made me curious to know more?
“Look,” he says, sounding like he wants to start over. “It’s fair of you to say that it’s a lot for me to put on you at once. Not everyone who meets her can handle this situation. In fact, I’d say that this is around the time when most people start putting their shoes on to leave. But I like you, and…”
“I like you too,” I say. At least, I think I do. I really want to like Philip. He’s handsome. Smart. Charming as hell. And it’s been a very long time since someone else made me as wet as he made me a few minutes ago.
A new question for myself: Does it actually bother me that he has a ‘Luna?’ Or was I just caught off guard? Because my eyes wander back to Philip’s crotch, where I can still see a firm bulge through his pants, and I remember how badly I wanted him to fuck me. And he wants to fuck me, not Luna. That sounds like Luna’s problem.
“I’m not going to pretend that I get what’s going on here,” I say. “But I don’t have to.”
“Luna is my responsibility,” he nods. “Not yours. Shall I send her away?”
Things like this never happen to me. I don’t think they happen to anyone. They happen in books and stories. Movies. Songs, maybe. But here I am, sitting next to a hot man with a hard cock while some other girl in a diaper, her tits hanging out, looks at us longingly. Yeah, that’s a trip. That feels like power–power I never get to experience.
I reach between Philip’s legs and stroke the firm lump in his pants with my hand. “If she wants to watch, let her watch.”
He exhales, and he sounds like he’s expelling all the stress he had been holding onto while I decided if I was going to stay or not. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that. She won’t bother us. Unless you want her to.”
Tempting. Maybe something to explore later?
“She’s just your pet, right?” I ask.
“That’s right,” he nods.
“So, the adults will do the adult things. The pet will do the pet things.”
“Fair enough.”
As quickly as they had been paused, my hormones come rushing back. The wet spot in my panties grows and my entire body feels charged with horny electricity. I use both hands to open Philip’s pants, and when they are, I pull his stiff cock from his black boxer shorts. It’s as big and thick as I hoped it would be.
“We can go to my room,” he says. “There might be more space there.”
“In a minute,” I say. “I just wanted to see.”
“And? What do you think?”
I lick my lips as I stare down at his manhood before answering. “I like this.”
Somewhere in the periphery, I see Luna crawling around. I don’t know what she’s doing or where she’s going. I don’t know what she’s thinking. The experience of having someone crawl around the room while I’m getting handsy with a man is new to me. It doesn’t feel right–but it doesn’t feel so wrong that I want it to stop.
The diaper. I’m curious about that. I’m thinking about it as he presses his lips against mine. I’m thinking about it as I taste his saliva and feel his tongue inside my mouth.
Unless Philip was joking–and I didn’t think he was–it sounds like Luna uses her diapers. Unreal. I wonder if she’s in a dirty diaper as I make out with Philip.
Is it crazy if I think that’s kind of exciting?
“Your room,” I spit out when pulling away from his lips for just a moment.
“You want to go?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes. Please.”
I need to be fucked. I need to feel his cock in my hands. I need to taste it. I need to feel it in my pussy. Fuck, he can put it in my ass if he wants to.
We both get up from the couch at the same time. He makes no effort to stuff his cock back into his pants–he just reaches out for my hand, I take it, and he leads me to his room. Behind us, I can hear Luna shifting around. I hear her hands and knees landing on the hardwood floor. I can hear the gentle crinkling of her plastic diaper between her thighs as she crawls. I still have so many questions about her–but I’m kind of enjoying the mystery at the moment. It’s surprisingly easy to not view her as a person right now. She’s a thing. She’s a machine. She’s a ghost.
She’s a pet.
===
I’m on my back, and I’m not wearing any clothes. His bedsheets feel ridiculously soft on my skin. I want to be wrapped up in them. I want to make clothes from them. I want to be swaddled in them and carried around like a…
I almost laugh. He probably doesn’t need another baby crawling around.
My legs are spread open, and his head is between my thighs, lapping at my soaked pussy. I’m never sure how universal this opinion is–but I’ve always found being eaten out to be a very hard thing to fuck up. Maybe I’ve been lucky enough to be partnered with men–and that one woman–who just happens to know what to do, but it’s always been good.
This is better than all that. I’m not entirely sure what Philip does for a living, but he might just be a professional clit-licker. And if he’s not a professional clit-licker, he really ought to consider quitting his job and becoming one. He should write a book about it. Film a series of instructional videos. He needs to share his knowledge with every other human being with even the slightest interest in licking someone else’s pussy.
“Hrrrrnn…” It’s more of a groan than a moan–a noise I don’t ever remember making before in my life. A testament to his skills, I suspect.
He pulls his mouth away from my skin for just a moment. “You’re getting close.”
“Yes,” I say. Less talking. Get back to work.
Soon, my back is arching again, and my hands rotate between holding his head in its current position and pawing at my own breasts. I’m groaning.
From somewhere else in the room–likely just feet away, though it might as well have been miles–I hear a crinkling noise. I don’t turn my head to see what, or who, it is. I know who it is. It’s the pet. She’s crawling around in her diaper. Has she just arrived, or has she been here the whole time–silently watching us from the corner of the room?
I’m quickly warming to the concept of Luna. I’m not sure I’m as fond of the idea of the required upkeep for a grown woman in diapers, but I don’t mind her presence. It makes me feel stronger. Important.
“Are you, uffff, enjoying the show?” I mutter from the side of my mouth.
Luna lets out a little noise. I don’t know the exact translation, but it feels safe to say that it’s affirmative.
“Does it make you…hrrrnn…wet?” I ask. “Or did you just piss yourself?”
Luna offers a single word, hushed and just below her breath: “Both.”
I can’t explain my reaction–I’ve never once been turned on by piss, let alone a woman watching me in a pissy diaper–but I really like her answer. This disgusting little creature is crawling around in her own filth while Philip sucks my soul out from my pussy.
This might be the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.
I cum, and I cum hard. I feel myself squirting on his face suddenly and with very little warning. I’m not entirely sure what happens after that, because I feel displaced from my body for a few moments. I’m floating around in space. It’s lovely.
“I hope that was to your liking,” Philip eventually says, his calm voice bringing me back to Earth again.
“Mm,” I moan. “I approve.”
He’s hovering over me, his arms and legs pinning me down beneath him. I look down and see that his massive cock is poised near my still-dripping vulva.
He doesn’t say anything out loud, but I can read his face–just as I’m sure he can read mine. Yes, let’s do this. He slowly directs his manhood into me. Just an inch at a time–inch after inch after inch after… There’s many inches. Everytime I think I’ve acclimated to how the head of his cock fills me, it’s pushed in a little further and it feels like I’m starting all over again. I moan, I groan, I make more noises that I don’t ever remember making before.
His cock is fully inside of me–or at least as inside of me as it's going to get–and I’m already gasping for air and wriggling in place. By the time he starts to actually fuck me, I’m practically speaking in tongues.
I turn my head, and I see Luna again. She’s just kneeling, her diaper sagging between her legs. Judging by the way her shoulders seem to quickly rise and fall, I’m guessing that she’s breathing heavily. I’m pretty sure she likes what she sees.
“Fuck me,” I moan to Philip while I maintain eye contact with her.
“Heh.” He laughs as his hips pick up steam. He watches me watching Luna. “You like that, huh? Having an audience?”
Is that true? It doesn’t feel right to just say that I like an audience. I think I want a very specific kind of audience. I want someone I don’t feel threatened by. Someone I feel superior over. Basically, I’m thinking that I’d only like an audience if it’s Luna.
“I like when she watches,” I say.
“Mm,” he moans. “Me too. She wishes she could be you, you know? She wishes she could be fucked like this.”
“Do you–mmf–fuck her?” I ask, my question getting split in half by a powerful thrust.
“No,” he says. “I’ve never fucked her. And I won’t ever.”
Oh, I like that. This poor pathetic little girl–pissing herself while watching an actual woman get her cunt filled with Philip’s cock. Poor, poor girl.
“Never?” I ask.
“Not once.” He whispers into my ear as he thrusts deep into me again.
It almost makes me cum again. Not yet. Instead, it sends a thrill up my spine, while my pussy grows even hungrier for more of his shaft.
“She pissed herself,” I say to him. I know he knows this, but I just want to say it.
“As she should.”
I feel like the next question comes quite naturally: “But does she also…”
“Yes,” he says, anticipating my question. “She makes plenty of stinky diapers.”
I’m relatively sure that shit–literal poop–is not sexy. A grown woman shitting her pants is not sexy. But a grown woman pooping herself in a diaper? While she’s made to just crawl around?
Yeah, I think there’s something hot about that. I can’t be bothered to dig into that too much right now–clearly I’m busy–but I can at least admit that I like the idea of this pathetic little thing pooping herself.
“Fuck,” I say. It’s a response to what he told me. It’s a response to his cock being thrust into me again. It’s a response to being turned on by the idea of Luna shitting her diaper.
“Stay awhile longer,” he says. “It’s bound to happen sooner or later.”
“Fffuck…” I can’t even handle it. I sigh and try to shake the thought from my head. “Fuck me,” I say to him. “As hard as you can.”
Without a word, he seems to turn the dial up and his long shaft obliterates me. I keep my head turned, staring at Luna as he does. I wonder about what she’s thinking. I wonder if she wishes that she was me. Goddamn, it works for me. My body is shaking and twisting as I cum again.
“I, uh… Me too,” he says. “Soon. Gonna blow.”
“No, not in me,” I tell him.
“No?”
“There,” I point to Luna.
“I’m not going to…”
“No,” I say. “Cum in her diaper.”
I see his eyes open wide and his whole face seems to light up. He nods.
“Luna. Come here.”
She knows what’s going to happen–she certainly heard me. And yet she still crawls forward obediently and with little hesitation.
Philip eases himself from me and crawls off my body, leaving me to curl up with his infinitely-soft bed sheets. He meets Luna at the end of the bed, where he pulls open the waistband of her diaper and guides her hand to it–signaling that she needs to be the one to hold it open. He has one hand on her shoulder to steady himself, and the other on his cock. He strokes it once. Twice. And on the third time, he unleashes a deluge of creamy white spunk that hits her belly and oozes into the diaper.
There’s a part of me that’s jealous, and that wants his cum to fill me up. But there’ll be plenty of opportunities for that in the future, I think. This. This is good too. The stupid little pet gets to wear a diaper full of the cum I helped generate. Let her wear that around for a while.
===
“What is this?” Trini asks, her finger wagging at my face.
“What is what?”
“Your face,” she says. “Specifically, that smile on your face.”
“Can’t a girl be happy?” I ask, offering a playful shrug. Thing is–I’m well aware of the big smile on my face. It’s been there all day. It’s been there since I left Philip’s house the morning before this one.
“I think I know you well enough to know when a smile is something more than just a regular smile, Nora.”
“Fine, fine,” I say, sighing. “If you must know…I’m just kind of feeling smitten right now.”
“Yeah? With that guy you’re seeing?”
“Mmhmm,” I nod. “The one you called boring.”
She laughs and shrugs. “So…he’s not boring?”
“Not at all. Not even a little bit.”
“What makes him so exciting?” she asks.
It’s a good question, and I can totally understand why she’s asking it. She had been unconvinced that Philip–or the concept of Philip that I had laid out for her when we last met–was a good match for me. She’s looking out for my best interests.
The answer to her question seems simple to me, but it isn’t something I can easily explain to her. Or anyone else, really. Philip is a nice guy–this much is true. He’d probably make a good partner too. He listens when I speak. He’s nice to look at. Impressive cock. He seems very mature. Financially sound–that can’t be overlooked. Yes, he’s not as savvy when it comes to contemporary pop culture–he couldn’t name a Taylor Swift song, not that I’d hold that against anyone. Sure, he’s at a level of maturity where someone a little younger–and a little less ‘together’–might write it off as being boring.
But he keeps a young woman as a pet. She just crawls around in a diaper, and he changes those diapers. When he addresses her, or he talks about her, he’s as casual about it as he might be were it an actual dog or cat. It’s crazy. It’s surreal. It’s the sort of thing someone might look at and wonder if he’s a sociopath.
I don’t think he is. I think he wanted something very specific, and he found someone who also wanted to be that very specific thing. I don’t fully understand the dynamic myself yet, but I trust that it works for both of them. They seem so confident about it that I find myself accepting it all very easily.
It doesn’t hurt that I like the idea of it. I find myself thinking about Luna and her diapers constantly. In fact, I’d say that I think about her more than I think about Philip. Hell, I wonder if I’d be as interested in Philip if there wasn’t a Luna.
The answer to her question is simple: Luna. That’s what makes him so exciting. But that’s not the answer I can give Trini.
“He’s unpredictable,” I finally say. “You think you know exactly who he is, and then he surprises you. But in a good way. It’s refreshing.”
Trini shrugs, seemingly satisfied with that answer for now. “Okay, sure. But how’s the sex?”
“Fucking fantastic,” I say, using my hands to signal the size of his cock.
Trini’s eyes widen and she laughs. “Get out. That big?”
“Uh huh.”
“Jesus. Alright, alright. I think I get it now.”
She doesn’t know it, but she doesn’t actually get anything yet. Someday, I’d love to be able to tell her more.
===
Philip texts me: “What time are you coming over tonight?”
I reply: “I’m available anytime. You tell me when.”
“What if I want to see you as soon as possible?”
I laugh as I read his message. I’m reading it as I stroll up an aisle at the pet supply store. I’m looking at collars–I noticed that Luna didn’t have one, and I’ve been thinking that she’d look cute in one. I settle on a thin purple band with a little purple bell that dangles from the front of it.
“I was just doing a little shopping,” I text. “But I could head over to your place when I’m done.”
“Perfect,” he responds.
Words cannot express how excited I am to see that little cat again.
Comments
Paul Bennett
That was incredible! I can't wait to see where this goes. Thanks QH!
