Woody (Babyboy/MDLB/Sexual)

*All characters are over 18*

*(Babyboy/MDLB/Sexual)*

**Woody**

“If you don’t get up, Coach Barry is gonna make you and that pissy booty of yours run laps again,” Holly said. When she didn’t get a response, she smacked her boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Errurerruuuu.” 

Not *exactly* what she was looking for.

On cue, her boyfriend’s phone, perched precariously on the corner of the mattress, lit up as if tag teaming together with Holly on behalf of the slumbering man. It twinkled through some caustic, bone-chilling preset alarm. It had all the gentleness of a car-insurance commercial during a sports broadcast. 

*Ding-a-ding-a-ding-ding!*

Holly watched as her boyfriend, Ryan, raised a fist and brought it down on the phone screen to smash it. The ringing stopped.

“Ryannnnn…”

He snorted.

Again she smacked his crinkly, sodden butt. 

Sometimes, Holly noticed how close to being a mommy she really was. After their third hookup she had demanded that he stay overnight in her dorm, *this time,* because his routine, post-coital departures made her feel like she smelled, or perpetually had something in her teeth. He’d responded with a coming out, of sorts, that made her feel guilty she’d ever sulked alone in her bed after he’d left. She soon discovered that Ryan, a 6’4”, NCAA Division 1 Lacrosse player, who weighed 223 lbs naked, also weighed down adult diapers every morning. 

She chuckled about it now. Ryan’s admission of nocturnal emission had only been one part of a much bigger story, which had unfolded over the last year of their relationship. He had turned out to be so much more, or much less, than a bedwetter. 

She reached over and placed her hand on the pocketed warmth of the raincatcher that was his nightly underwear. She felt it ooze beneath him. Some parts, up the butt and on the wings, were almost cooling. Old, stale pee. She slid down towards the seat where things were much different. Not a raincatcher, maybe. A dreamcatcher. A plastic swaddle to absorb all his muscular anxieties. 

Mmm. He was so much less than a bedwetter, and she was so much more than a girlfriend.

He would be doing laps, though, if he wasn’t careful.

“Get uppppp!”

“Grabbuo.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s not practice.”

“That’s not English, Ryan.”

“Books are dumb.”

She smacked him. “You’re in college, bozo.”

*Ding-a-ding…*She watched him punch his phone again, like his fist was a mallet and he had paid $4.50 for whack-a-mole at the county fair.

“Don’t hit your phone like that.”

“No practice!”

She yawned. She second guessed herself. Was this her job, really? No. She sure as hell wasn’t Ryan’s assistant coach. She wasn’t an athlete-girly, not one bit. She didn’t know SPORTSBALL from a game show like Jeopardy. She was a cardigan-wearing, hairclip and cigarettes, lit-major girly. 

Holly, fully awake now, yawned and shook her head like a puppy. She smacked him on his PINK diaper. She threw the comforter off of herself and stretched. The clock read 5:51 am, which meant that Ryan wasn’t yet at risk of running laps on the campus’ fields. But time dwindled. Ten more minutes of wallowing in that soggy thing and he’d have to run across campus in the frigid early spring air.

She wore only a t-shirt and underwear as she found her slippers. She yawned again and looked down at Ryan. He slept shirtless. His own knee lay jacked upwards, as if in a dream he climbed over a fence and got stuck in that position. She admired the definition on his back. The incline of hair that descended into musculature and ligaments. He wore nothing down to the diaper.

The big wet *pink* diaper.

She left the room and padded slowly into the dorm’s common area. Nobody else stirred. She shut the door gently just as Ryan’s alarm twinkled again. He pounded on his phone, sighed, and farted. Holly made her way to the bathroom and sat down on the toilet to pee. Then she brushed her teeth before heading to the dorm’s small kitchenette. She found a clean cup (clean, as in she’d used it for water all of yesterday). She drew a half-pint from the faucet and drank it unchilled and unfiltered. It felt heavy and dull, but her body needed it.

You know who else needed it? Ryan. That boy had a soaked diaper in there.

She took a long gulp. A quarter of the pint glass disappeared down her throat. She burped and covered her mouth. She needed to brush her hair, wash her face…she was also kind of hungry…

It was 6:02 am. Coach Barry would beat ass.

The funny thing was that Ryan told her, eventually, that he wasn’t just a bedwetter, that he wanted a mommy, *but not like that.* He made it clear he didn’t need a secretary and a nagger-in-chief. Just a boss. A diaper changer. Someone to make the milk flow and slap ass when Coach Barry couldn’t. Someone to find his weaknesses (which obviously weren’t physical, save the bedwetting), and stick her knuckles into them a bit. But that turned out to be the kicker. Because his weaknesses were all little boy uh0ohs. 223 lbs ‘little boy’ problems.

Leaving dishes in the sink.

Going potty when there was no toilet paper left.

Leaving crumbs on the toilet seat when there *was* TP left.

Peeing on the toilet seat. 

Peeing on the floor, sometimes (he said he spilled a beer, while pissing, apparently).

6+ feet tall, 223 lbs, might go pro, might basically have a 4.0 GPA, and sometimes he didn’t remember to put his underwear on the right way.

Holly smiled. She set the glass on the table behind her. Holly noticed a few plates covered with the detritus of PBJs which Ryan hadn’t washed. 

Inside the bedroom, Ryan’s phone twinkled again. When it stopped, after just a few seconds, Holly pushed herself away from the kitchenette and returned to the bedroom.

“Up, little boy!”

This time, the babyboy didn’t reply.

That’s OK. The babyboy doesn’t need covers, then. Naked down to his diaper, all of his definition tensed as if he was shocked. Holly remembered that she was in the presence of a man who could break her in half without a thought.

But she was mommy, and that made it even hotter.

“Up!” She smacked the mattress. “Laps. Coach Barry. Stupid head.”

He didn’t move.

She knew, of course, that mommies could also let their boys fail on their own. It was certainly a parenting tactic that every caregiver tried, at some point. She ought to let him fuck around and let Coach Barry take care of the finding out. 

But maybe she could do the fucking around too.

Holly brushed the front of her underwear. It happened ‘accidentally.’ Maybe her hand knew where it needed to go. Maybe the sight of his v-shaped torso descending into a bundle of puffy plastic called her home. Or maybe it was the fact that though she was his mommy, she was something apart from being a parent.

Much less than a bedwetter. Much more than a mommy.

Holly looped her thumbs in her panties. She bent down and lifted her knees up to step out of the leg openings. She slung the panties with the same care her boyfriend seemed to have for those laps Coach Barry promised to every player (boy) who didn’t make the fields at 6:30 am. She kept her t-shirt on. Bottomless, she sank her knees down upon the mattress. She crawled up his hairy legs. She knocked his calves and thighs with her knees. 

Clearly that twinkling alarm wasn’t working, so this would be his final warning.

She approached his hips and the soggy diaper there. The tapes strained against the outer core from a night of tossing and turning. He was damn near popping out of it. She ran her finger down his lats. Honestly? Only the scales told her that she was, in fact, *mathematically* more than half his size. And height. She was 5’2”. He had a foot…and a little more…on her. After tracing his tiger-like lateral muscle, she wrapped her palm around his hip. She pushed gently and opened his groin like a book. He fought her a little, and he would have fought her much more if he really knew what was coming.

Without wet wipes in hand, Holly began to untape his diaper. He obeyed her and laid still. His knees flopped open like a frog’s. She adjusted her position so that she knelt in between his legs and not outside of his knees. The diaper complied with her effort and almost exploded open. 

Much, much less than a bedwetter.

“Oh hello,” Holly said, licking her lips. 

“Rerereuuppp.”

The phone twinkled. From his new posture, Ryan had to work a little harder to turn it off. His eyes were not open yet, and he smacked around until he found his phone.

“Be gentle, little boy.”

But there was nothing gentle or little at what stared back at her.

Much, much more than a mommy.

She straightened up. She brought one foot flat on the mattress, and then the other, until she was squatting. The diaper was still on the bedding, the rumpled and yellow core hot and soaked beneath his chiseled cheeks. She pushed her hips forward and with the skill of an expert horseshoe player, only needed a little flick of her wrist to stave herself on the pin that stood there.

Holly swallowed him to the hilt in one swift movement. 

Ryan’s eyes shot wide open. “Holly?” he said. 

Taking dick that quickly had been a little reckless. He thudded inside of her. She made circles with her hips and shifted him like a car’s transmission. He replied inside her with a startled stiffening. He gave her that little tail-wag, or male kegel, that Holly always found so funny when she saw it happen instead of felt it happen. Despite the fact that she’d just peed, the presence of his cock inside of her made her feel like she had to go again. Probably because it knifed into her bladder, or something. Just thinking about that made her squeeze him back. 

“Holly….”

“Hm?”

“Holly I have practice!”

Holly leaned forward. She slid upwards and then dropped herself back down upon him. He moaned. His Adam's apple bounced in his silent throat as he threw his head back against the pillow. She made handles of his ample chest hair.

“Shoulda thought of that, little boy.”

Apparently, Ryan hadn’t been at full hardness yet. But that did it. 

Much, much less than a bedwetter!

“Holly please! It’s sooo many laps.” His enormous hands found her comparatively bony hips. He didn’t push her off, though, because she was so much more than a mommy.

Holly brought her nose down to his. She kissed his unbrushed teeth. She thought of all his silly little boy things. She thought of the twinkling alarm and the big pick diaper, which wafted stanky and stale up from the bed. She thought of the unwashed plates of PBJ.  “Oh, Ryan,” she said. “You’re in trouble either way. Maybe you can get to the fields for Coach Barry if you cum right now.”

He began to pump her back. She moaned and then drew her lips close to his ears. She made sure her lips sounded as wet as that diaper she knew he sorely missed.

“But you’ll regret cumming before me even more!”