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Flash Fiction: Company Time
🕑 Added 2023-10-18 19:45:28 +0000 UTCCompany Time
You love shitting on company time. That’s what you call it most every morning when you go to use the office toilet. Calling it that started out as a way to get over your own public restroom neuroses. The cramped little room with just a sink, a mirror, and a toilet all surrounded by walls thin enough to make you feel like you were going in front of the whole office would make anybody a little gun shy. Over the years, the thought has mutated into your own quiet act of rebellion.
With the way the economy is you might never own a house or go on vacation or ever have enough money to retire. Like everybody else you’re still living paycheck to paycheck since moving out of your parents’ place. But the thought that the office technically pays for you to sit and zone out on the toilet for five to ten minutes everyday makes you giggle like a toddler. As soon as you thought of it like that your bladder and bowels became a little less nervous; talk about a different sort of potty training.
The roar of the toilet flushes announces your departure from the bathroom and you do a wide right turn into the office kitchen past Susan by the copy machine. Barry is leaning against the counter, nursing from a mug. “Coffee?” he moves out of the way so that you can get to the boiling pot beside him.
“No thanks,” you say. Normally you can’t function without your morning cup of joe. It’s another one of those tiny conveniences that you like to avail yourself of if only to feel like you’re taking advantage of the company. For whatever reason, you’re just not feeling it today. Perhaps it’s because you’ve already taken your morning dump, thus the coffee would only serve the purpose of making you more alert.
Dang, you’ve been here too long. You can’t even remember when you started working here. All the days and faces have just sort of blurred together through the years. You really need to get out of this place. Quit this job and find someplace else to work. But then what would you do? Shit on your own time? No thank you.
Nothing in the morning box of donuts looks particularly appetizing, so you grab a bagel and start waddling over to your desk.
Waddling?
You blink, but your eyes stay wide open. The air itself goes static like the space between channels on a beat up old television. What’s going on?!
On your last exhale you were at your job. On your next inhale you are somewhere very, very different.
You’re in a place for kids: A daycare. Maybe a preschool. A giant one. The ceiling is as high as a ballroom. Toys litter the floor and colorful posters with cartoon characters on them encourage you to ‘be a good baby’, ‘forget your troubles’, and ‘obey’. In your hand where the bagel was is the biggest teething ring you’ve ever laid eyes on.
As for yourself, you’re standing barefoot while wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a soft poofy diaper. What’s more, you feel a distinct lump resting in the back of it. You smell it too.
Two giant arms grab you and launch you skyward. You let out a shriek as an incredibly loud voice proclaims. “Upsy daisy!” If you had anything in your bladder before, you certainly don’t now.
You’re pivoted around and draped over the giant’s shoulder. You feel the impossibly large hand pat your padded bottom and squish the diaper’s contents up against you. “Somebody needs a changey!”
You almost call out for help, but when you look out into the pastel colored coliseum all you see are other giants, compared to whom you are a toddler at best, and your coworkers; also dressed in babyish garments and thickly diapered. The only difference between you and them is they all seem to be having a blast while they babble and drool on the floor. Sharon is chewing on a cardboard book and Barry is nursing from a baby bottle!
A few strides later, you’re staring up at the ceiling while the giant is rummaging around for powder and wipes with one hand and pinning you with the other. You must be on a changing table of some sort.
“Please! No!” You shout as her hands go for the tapes on your diaper.
She stops, her eyebrow arching in curiosity, but not fear. “Beg pardon?”.
“I’m not a baby!” It’s all you can think to say.
“Okay,” she chirps. “Do you still want out of this messy diaper, sweetie?”
Of course you do! You’re not even supposed to be wearing one of these…things! “Yes!”
SCRITCH-SCRITCH.
That’s enough for her to rip the velcro tabs off and start wiping your privates down. Your protests are drowned out by her cooing while she dusts your bum with sweet smelling powder and slips a fresh diaper beneath you.
“Denise!” the giantess calls while she tapes the infantile undergarment around your waist. “Can I get a fresh bottle? Someone hasn’t had their ‘morning coffee’ yet!”
A rubber nipple finds its way to your mouth and your lips begin to automatically suckle, as if by reflex. “That’s right,” the giant praises. “Good baby. Drink it all up!” She giggles to herself. “Drink it all up and go bye-bye. You’re not a baby. You’re an adult. It’s not baby time! It’s company time! That’s right! Yes it is! Yes it is! Now go do big important business stuff!”
A few involuntary swallows later and the world blinks again.
You’re sitting at your desk, sipping from a full mug of freshly made coffee. The scream of existential terror rattles out of your throat, but no one seems to mind it over much despite this being a place of business.
“Ooof,” you hear Barry say. “Somebody’s not a morning person. Sounds like the coffee hasn’t kicked all the way in.”
“I feel the same way,” Sharon agrees. “I really need to get out of here and find a new job.”
“Yup. Now if you excuse me, I got some business to attend to.”
“In the bathroom?”
“If you gotta go, go on company time.”
They both laugh. You drink more coffee, hoping it will help you forget and ignore the obvious bulk in your pants.
Comments
The adult world being the fantasy is a fantastic twist
Djangosolarboy
Damn that's a perfect horror scenario of mass hallucinations. The fact that he is basically pooping in front of others withought a care in the world as his mind confines him to a bathroom that doesn't exist. Just him standing in front of everyone else filling his pants lost in a dream.
