Bamford Bay

Sylvia looked up at Tristan, his oiled muscles gleaming in the moonlight. She’d wanted time alone with him, a romantic encounter in a secluded spot, a clear night she could share with him.

It was why she’d approached the team, asked if she could help, made herself part of the group. She wasn’t athletic enough to join the cheerleader squad but they’d invited her to be their mascot. The Bamford Baybes had based their squad name on the team’s name, shared by the school and their home town, and their mascot was a Baybe all right.

Tristan seemed to like it, noticed her immediately, started paying attention and talking to her. She wasn’t sure if it was the short cheerleader skirt, the onesie in the school colours or the intentionally oversized diaper that it held in place, but she could tell he liked what he saw.

She’d protested the diaper before even seeing it, then again when it was revealed to her. “But Sylvia, you’re our mascot”, they’d told her, “and people at both ends of the stadium need to see you’re dressed like a baby.”

She’d gone along with it, hoping it would get her closer to Tristan, and here she was, on the cliffs overlooking the Bay, alone with him at last.

“You look so cute like that,” he said, “just adorable.”

Sylvia smiled at him. Compliments were always welcome, especially from Tristan, her crush for the last year.

“You like a cute Baybe then?” she asked him teasingly, “Does a helpless girl make you all hot?”

Tristan grinned back at her. “Helpless? No. But cute, vulnerable, needing some care… which man wouldn’t respond?”

She shivered, realising he thought her vulnerable, liking that idea, wondered what sort of care he had in mind. Her body responded too, nipples pushing against her bra, visible to a man that knew what to look for.

Tristan knew what to look for, liked what he saw. “Of course,” he said, “a strong caring man wouldn’t be afraid to change a diaper. Does Baby Sylvia’s diaper need a change?”

Sylvia cocked her head in surprise. “No,” she said, then realised she was rejecting his offer of intimacy, “I mean…”

“That’s a shame,” said Tristan, “I was hoping you’d be all wet and in need of attention.”

Sylvia flirted back. “Oh, I’m sure you can help make me wet,” she offered, but Tristan seemed to withdraw. “What?” she asked in confusion.

Tristan sighed. stood before her. She was sat on the back of his truck, the thick diaper keeping her legs apart, clearly visible below the short skirt and drawing his gaze even as he spoke.

“Look, you chose to become the mascot, to dress like that, to wear a big diaper,” he said, “and you really are cute like that. I think changing your diaper would be a lot of fun.”

Sylvia nodded in agreement.

“But,” said Tristan, “if I just rip your diaper off while it’s clean that feels… wrong. Selfish. If it’s soaking wet, you need a change… well, I’d have to help you out, wipe you clean, be gentle.” He paused, put his hands on her waist, made eye contact. “Make sure you enjoyed it.”

That did the trick, made Sylvia wet immediately. It also made her want to wet her diaper, give Tristan the excuse he seemed to be seeking.

“You want me to wet myself?” she asked tentatively.

Tristan smiled and nodded. “You’re a cute Bamford Baybe, wearing a thick diaper. What else would you do?” he asked, “and the game finished three hours ago, you must be bursting by now.”

He was right, she’d been holding it for a while already, not wanting to risk going to find a toilet, coming back and finding him gone. She still hesitated, asked him outright, “You want me to do that? It wouldn’t gross you out?”

Tristan laughed and shook his head. “No, of course not. Why do you think I brought you up here dressed like that? I don’t want you in normal clothes, looking like any other girl.” He leaned towards her, whispered softly in her ear. “Relax for me. Use that diaper. Make it nice and wet.”

Sylvia blushed and pushed at him. “Ok,” she said, “but not while you’re watching.”

Tristan held up both hands in supplication and agreed immediately. “Ok, that’s fine. I need to fetch something from the cab anyway.”

He walked towards the front of the truck, leaving Sylvia sat alone. She had another thought and called out to him, “You won’t tell anyone will you? Not your team, not the cheerleaders, nobody at all?”

“I promise not to tell anybody,” Tristan replied, “Anyway, it’s always you girls that kiss and tell. Us guys just deny anything happened anyway.”

Sylvia felt affronted by that, even if it was true, but let it slide. Instead she thought about wetting herself, using that thick diaper between her thighs for its intended purpose. Could she do that? Well, she did need badly to go.

Sylvia forced herself to relax. Shoulders, chest, stomach, hips, consciously relaxing the muscles in each in turn. She kept going, let muscles lower down relax, felt the pressure in her bladder taking advantage and making a spurt of moisture hit her diaper.

In shock she tensed up again, but now it hurt, her body recognising its chance for comfort and insisting she allowed it to finish its release. Sylvia focused once more on relaxing, felt the flow restart, strengthen, become a flood that filled the area with warmth. Looking down she couldn’t see anything happening, the thick diaper hiding the evidence, absorbing the liquid, getting wetter by the second.

“Oh!” she said, then repeated herself. “Oh!”

Tristan smiled as he heard this, gave her another few seconds, then walked back to where she was stood. He said nothing, just walked up to her, smiled at the surprise on her face and put a hand down between her legs, pressing it firmly against her diaper.

Sylvia tensed, felt the thick diaper crushed against her, ignored the liquid being squeezed out of the padding and onto her skin. Instead she wriggled towards his hand, enjoying the contact. anticipating his next action.

Tristan felt the warmth of the diaper, could tell it was no longer dry, felt surprised by just how wet it was. “Oh baby,” he said, “you must be feeling better after that.” As she pressed against him he kept his hand there, let her rub herself against it, hid his amusement at her lack of control.

“Is Daddy going to change his cute baby now?” asked Sylvia, wondering how Tristan would react to being called ‘Daddy’.

Tristan stifled a snorting laugh. He had no intention of being ‘Daddy’ but this wasn’t the moment to say that. Instead he turned and sat on the edge of the truck bed next to Sylvia, pulled her towards him, helped her lay on her back across his lap. Sylvia cooperated, swung her legs up, ended up across the rear of the truck with her knees in the air, feet on the sidewall of the truck, her face looking up at the man she was letting take control.

“I’ll change you in a moment,” said Tristan, “but you must be thirsty. Will you let me feed you?” He held a baby’s bottle above Sylvia’s head, white liquid sloshing inside it. “Look, some special happy milk for my cute baby girl.”

“Special happy milk?” asked Sylvia suspiciously, “It’s not drugged is it? You’re not spiking my drinks?”

Tristan looked down at her, used his spare hand to pat sodden padding and asked, “Do I look like I need to spike your drink? You’re already where I want you. Anyway, we’re all athletes, we get regular drug tests. You know I’m clean.”

Sylvia decided not to point out that Tristan being drug free didn’t mean that he couldn’t slip something into her drink, but he was right, he didn’t need to drug her tonight. She was already his, had wet herself for him, was about to let him feed her then change her diaper. Instead of answering him she just closed her eyes, opened her mouth, waited to be fed.

Instead she felt his hand on her diaper, a gentle motion moving it against her, a pleasant feeling that was improving by the second. She squirmed, then felt the rubber nipple of the bottle teasing her lips, adding sensation to a second part of her body.

Lifting her head just slightly Sylvia closed her mouth around the rubber teat, gave a big suck, felt her mouth fill with liquid. Immediately she reached up, pushed the bottle away, tried to sit up, swallowed. Tristan held her firmly in place, his athletic strength too much for her to fight, but he didn’t hurt her, didn’t say anything, just looked at her with a smile.

“That’s not milk!” Sylvia exclaimed, “What are you giving me?”

Tristan laughed, a cruel sound. “You just had a mouth full of man juice,” he said, “and you’ve the rest of the bottle still to go.”

“Man juice?” asked Sylvia in confusion, “Wait, you’ve…” She stopped in shock, unwilling to believe what she’d just heard.

“Oh, not just me,” said Tristan, “The whole team contributed.” He raised his voice and called clearly, “Hey guys, come and meet our new Bamford Baybe.”

Looking to the side Sylvia saw the whole team appear from the darkness, fifteen, maybe twenty young men, all smiling, holding their phones out in front of them. Flashes told her they were taking photographs, a couple seemed to be videoing; none of them were surprised by her infantile posture, the soaked padding between her legs, the bottle poised once more above her mouth.

“That’s right baby,” said Tristan, “You’re more than our mascot, you’re our team baby. Now, finish the bottle while I tell you what’s going to change - before I change you.”

“No!” said Sylvia, “You’ll let me go right now.”

Tristan let go of her and Sylvia tried to sit up, but the diaper had expanded, something absorbent inside swelling as it got wet, and she couldn’t get the leverage to overcome the new bulk. Even as she tried Tristan kept talking.

“You’re going to waddle home in that wet diaper?” he asked, “You want these photographs on Instatwitface? You want to explain to your parents and the teachers and everybody else in school why you wet yourself on purpose, with nobody in sight? We have that on video, and you’re just adorable sitting there, wetting like a baby.”

Sylvia looked up at him in horror. “No, please,” she begged, “What do you want? Don’t make me…”

Tristan put a finger across her lips.“Oh, we won’t make you do anything you haven’t done already. We just want our team mascot to be our baby. All the time. Nobody else needs to know you’re using that thick thirsty diaper, that you’re being fed from a bottle every night. No, that’ll be between us.”

Sylvia looked at him in confusion. “Then why…?” she started to ask, but this time was stopped by the nipple of the bottle filling her mouth once more.

“It’s a power thing,” said Tristan, “By treating you as a baby we reinforce our dominance, boost our testosterone; that makes us better on the field, means we’ll win more. And all you have to do is be our mascot. Our bottle drinking diaper wearing Bamford Baybe.”

Sylvia shivered, looked at the silent crowd of men watching her, looked back up at Tristan, reached and took his hand. She’d signed up for this, and with just one small adjustment she could cope. Drawing his hand down towards her diaper she made that adjustment, started his hand rubbing her between her legs, let him take over and started sucking her special happy milk.

Maybe her final year before college wasn’t going to go how she’d planned, but here she was, looking out onto the bay in the moonlight, Tristan slowly but certainly bringing her to orgasm. Sometimes you take what you can get, and she was getting cared for, by the man she wanted. She could handle that, all year long.

My thanks to Penguin for the term ‘special happy milk’ after I’d mentioned my intent to write a story containing the phrase ‘mouth full of man juice’.

Story inspirations can be so sordid :wink: