Thugs In Hugz: Part VIII

My second encounter with Chris happened weeks after the first. In between there had been a number of MySpace requests; Chris had made some cash the first time and was hungry for a second chance.

Unfortunately for Chris, he had introduced me to a friend, Len, who simply wanted to get out of the city and, having heard about my pampz for pay deal, was willing to wear for free. Len and I hung out a few times and he modeled Attends and Abenas, etc.; after a while, though, Chris's continued pleas began to get to me. (It didn't help that he offered up several things he felt he needed to be spanked for... lol).

I'd made arrangements to pick Chris up at his house on a Saturday night. My plan was to leave work and drive the 30+ minutes to his house, then drive him to mine. This would mean more than two hours of driving, since his house was out of the way, and the drive back to mine was over an hour. Work crawled along ever so slowly, and, around 5 p.m., a few hours before I was due to leave, the snow began to fall. By the time I was scheduled to leave it was six inches deep. If you know me you know I hate snow - and despise driving in it. I considered cancelling. And, in an example of how powerful a drug diapers can be, decided to make the drive. In a snowstorm. To pick up Chris.

Chris was waiting on his front porch. I pulled in to the driveway and he shouted something to someone in the house and bounded down the steps, sliding all the way to, and into, the car. BAM!! Chris peered into the window, grinning, and shook his head. He mouthed the words my bad and opened the door, sliding around it and plopping his ass down in the front seat.

"Go go go go goooooo!" he urged. I turned to him and gave him a quizzical look, and he put his hand on the ignition, as if to turn on the car. "It's snowing hard, yo! Let's get there before it gets too bad to drive!"

Chris was right; there was another inch or two of snow, and it didn't show any signs of stopping. The sky was lit up bright, the kind of sky that only city lights and a snowfall can produce. I backed down the driveway and into the road, the car sliding precariously. First gear... slow to second gear... third gear... and we were going.

"You all right, sir?" Chris could sense my nervousness - again, I fucking hate driving in snow - and looked worried.

"I'll be alright," I replied. I looked over at him. He was wearing grey sweat pants and a faux fur-lined hoodie coat, looking very Channing Tatum. He had a fresh fade - "Got a haircut for the occasion!", he joked - and a thin, gangsta beard. I was looking at his freshly-shaved face when I saw it - the pacifier. I burst out laughing. "You suck on pacifiers now?"

"Yes, sir! Religiously!" Chris told me. "Nah, sir... actually my cousin was here with her new baby. They had a whole diaper bag and I was looking through it, trying to get some ideas, when I realized the kid has way too many pacifiers. So I scooped the biggest one."

The idea of Chris going out of his way to explore in a diaper bag was kind of cute, and I had to ask him what ideas he'd come up with.

"Actually, none while I was looking at the diaper bag, sir," he confessed. "But I have some ideas that I came up with on my own. We can try out some new stuff if you want."

Chris had a new Sprint PCS phone and we were only ten minutes into the ride when he whipped it out, ready to show it off.

"My first cell phone that's not prepaid, sir," he told me, holding it out. "Yea, it's Sprint, but... only a $250 deposit! My girl paid that, and I'm going to pay her back slowly, out of my earnings."

"I guess I understand why you were so desperate to diaper up," I told him. He laughed and nodded, handing me the phone. I looked it over - pretty tight - and handed it back. We continued driving.

About thirty minutes from my house his phone beeped, and Chris looked surprised. He held out his little phone, looking at it for a few seconds, and then looked at me.

"Sir, should my phone be working here?"

I nodded.

"Wow, sir. I've never had a phone that worked outside of the city. So how far will this go?"

I explained cell phones, coverage areas, and the concept of roaming. Those of you who live in the U.S. know that roaming today is pretty much free everywhere; just a few years ago, however, there were "roaming charges", and travelling outside of your "home zone" could result in extra charges on your bill. I explained this to Chris, and told him about my largest phone bill - $1,200 at the time - and he dropped his phone into my lap like a hot potato.

"Turn it off, sir!" he said frantically. "I can't pay that!"

I explained that Sprint had a system that would allow calls to go to voicemail without counting the call as minutes, and told him about the 'roaming ringer' - the ability to select a certain ringtone for roaming calls. Chris looked relieved.

"That would have been dozens of diapers I might have had to wear, sir" he joked. "Some serious diaper rash for me... not cool, no sir, not cool at all!" He began playing with his phone and soon had discovered that he could record his own ringtones. He put the phone to his mouth and told me to shhhhhhhh...

"DO... NOT... ANSWER... THIS... CALL... THIS... IS... A... ROAMING... CALL!"

I asked him what he was doing, and he explained that he was recording a special ringer for the roaming ringer. "Not gonna get stuck with those charges!"

A few minutes later Chris was at it again.

"DIAPERS... KEEP... ME... WARM... AND... DRY!"

Wtf?

"That's your ringer, sir. I can record a different one for everyone in my phone book. Now when you call..."

I laughed and shook my head.

"So that's the ringer your friends and family are going to hear if you're with them when I call? Really, you think that's a good idea?" Chris looked thoughtful for a minute and then told me I had a good point. He played with his phone some more, apparently switching me back to the default ringtone, and then set his phone down on the armrest.

"I'm at least going to put the theme from Sesame Street or something," he said slyly.

That I could agree to.

The last thirty miles to the house are always an icy mess in a snowstorm, and today was no exception. My little car slid around like a fat chick on an ice rink and, if the road had been clear enough to see the center line, no doubt we would have discovered we were on the wrong side of it several times. Fortunately, save snowplows barreling towards us several times, we were just about alone out there.

I turned into my driveway and gunned it, clicking the garage door opener at the same time. The car barely made it into the garage, but made it we did. Chris looked surprised, and relieved.

"See, sir, I knew we'd make it!" he told me. "So... I don't have to carry stuff into the house this time?" Chris had probably been remembering his last visit, picturing having to lug a load through more than a foot of snow. I laughed, imagining it.

"It's all here."

"Whew!"

The garage door was closed now, but the snow had blown in across the floor and the temperature inside was now about as cold as it had been outside. I opened my door and stepped out, walking around the back of the car and up to the passenger side. I opened Chris's door.

"You ready?"

"Yes, sir!" Chris replied. I could see that he was at ease, now; the nervousness he'd shown the last visit was gone. I was glad and, now that we were back safely inside, I was relaxed, too. I snapped my fingers and pointed to the rocking chair, and Chris obediently got out and walked over to it, sitting.

"No clothes," I ordered, and Christopher quickly complied. Within thirty seconds he was completely nude, holding his clothes in a pile on his lap, his phone safely in his hand. I walked over and reached for it, and Chris's grip tightened. He winced.

"It's brannnnd newwww, sir," he pleaded, trying to keep possession of the phone. I gave him a look as if to say are you serious? and he surrendered the device, looking sullen for a minute.

"If you behave I'll let you earn a bedtime phone call," I told him. He smiled and nodded. I turned the phone off - more downcast looks from Chris - and put it in my pocket. I reached down and grabbed the pile off of his lap, picking everything up and setting it down on the top of the washing machine. He was completely naked and uncovered now, and as I turned around I saw that he was shivering. I snapped my fingers and pointed to the stairs and Chris dropped to the floor and crawled across - it must have been freezing, and I was going to let him walk if he'd wanted to. He put his knee on the first step and began the precarious climb up, nearly falling twice. It took nearly a minute, but he finally crossed the top step and crawled into the kitchen.

"Most people slide up on their bottoms," I told him, and he made a "grrrr" sound.

"Didn't know I was allowed, sir," he explained. I opened the door into the living room and pointed to the next set of steps. These Chris slid up ass-first and, after topping them in half the time, turned to wait expectantly. I pointed to the end of the hall and he fell to his stomach and began combat-crawling to the end. I stepped over him, putting my feet on both sides of his torso and pushing them close together. Frozen now Chris waited, and I pushed the door open. I'd already laid out the contents of my diaper bag, set out across the floor next to a small mattress covered with Finding Nemo sheets and a waterproof mattress cover. Chris laughed and inched himself out of my grip, crawling to it. He lay up on the mattress, turned over onto his stomach, and stretched out, waiting.

I grabbed a diaper and went to work. Chris's feet were in the air, his bottom facing up, and an Attend was sliding up underneath it within seconds. I reached over and grabbed a pacifier off the dresser, popping it into Chris's mouth, wondering where his had wound up. He sucked on it dutifully and I grabbed the box of wipes, pulling one out and running it across his rear. Chris shivered - I'd turned the heat on when we returned home and it was only beginning to warm the air; the wipes were probably freezing. I didn't let that stop me, hitting up every square centimeter of his behind and working my way around the the front. His penis was soft but, when I made contact with the wipe, he began to harden. I stood up and pulled his legs apart several feet; Chris was now laying on the floor, spread-eagled with his feet in the air.

I picked up a bottle of powder and screwed open the top. Turning it topside-down I gave the bottle a squeeze, and powder exited, cascading down and leaving a snow-like coating of powder across Chris's abdomen and penis. Once his diaper area was covered I pulled the diaper under his ass towards my feet, positioned the bottle in the crack of his ass, and gave it one terrific squeeze. Powder squirted out and shot up his bum, and Chris began laughing.

"Enough powder, sir?" he mumbled, his words garbled by the paci. I shrugged and gave him a second shot, just for good measure. Then I carefully taped the diaper up tight, hoping that the powder hadn't ruined the diaper's taping ability. It hadn't. Chris was now wearing a very, very tight Attend. I made a 'turn over' motion with my fingers and he did, exposing a diaper which was literally being sucked into his backside.

"Not very comfortable, sir," he warned me. I explained that diapers weren't meant for comfort - I was lying, of course - and pointed to the pillow. He inched up the bed and put his face down on some Nemo characters, and instantly closed his eyes. I undressed and diapered myself, then donned a pair of pajamas. The room was warming, now, but not quickly, and Chris continued to shiver. "I'm f-f-f-freezing, sir," he finally blurted out. "Any pajamas for me?" I shook my head.

"But, don't fret, Baby Chris," I teased. "I have something that'll warm you up..."

"A spanking?" he asked, groaning. I shook my head and pointed toward the living room, and Chris turned around and began crawling. I laughed as I saw how much powder I had used; powder was coming out of the leg gathers of his diaper when as Chris crawled, and he'd left a small pile on the mattress. Eek!

Christopher navigated the stairs quickly, crawling down them crab-style. Within seconds he was laying on the living room carpet, looking up, awaiting instructions. I pointed to the couch and Chris crawled to it. He was almost across the room when he came into view of the dining room. He stopped crawling and sat up, on his bottom, in awe: the dining room had two large cabinets, and both were full of liquor. In New York I did quite a bit of entertaining; I threw several big parties and, every time, people would bring a bottle. A dozen or two bottles means at least a few left over, and my collection grew to more than fifty different kinds of liquor - and a pretty impressive display. To a thug like Chris, it probably looked like Heaven. I laughed and passed him, sitting down on the couch and snapping my fingers. He obediently continued toward me, still gazing across the dining room, finally sitting in front of me. He looked up hopefully.

"Please may we do a 'challenge', sir?" he asked. I nodded.

"But what would you like to earn if you achieve it?" I asked coyly. Chris eyeballed me quizzically.

"Seriously, sir?"

I feigned seriousness and nodded. He began ticking off bottles he'd seen, and apparently memorized, on his fingers. I was impressed by both his memory and his ability to skip over bottles of little value and name only the premium, expensive ones. I laughed.

"If you're going for any of those, you'd better be prepared to work your fanny off," I warned. He nodded happily.

"Corner."

Christopher quickly crawled to the closest corner and stuck his nose into it. His arms were at his sides and he was ramrod-straight, seemingly trying to impress me with his posture - probably hoping for a better bottle. I walked over the the bar, opening each cabinet. I selected six bottles, balancing them carefully in my fingers and my teeth, and walked around the room, placing them in various hiding spots. I turned to go back to the bar and waited, quietly, watching Chris to see if he'd try to peek. He didn't dare, and I went to the cabinet, selected six more, and hid them just as well. There were now bottles under the couch, on window sills, and even one in the fireplace. I sat down on the couch and snapped, and Chris quickly crawled to me, then waited on all fours, head down, submissively.

"You remember how it works?" I asked. Yes, sir. "You have two minutes to find and return twelve, one at a time. The last one you bring me is yours - if you get all twelve. If you don't, you'll get a punishment. Spanking or strong sitting?" I asked. Chris sat silently, so I prodded him. "That was a question. Spanking? Or strong sitting?"

"What's strong sitting, sir?" he asked. I explained: being forced to sit in one place, in position, for an extended period of time. Chris laughed and rolled his eyes. "I'll pick that one, sir. That's easy." I knew he was wrong but decided to let him find out on his own.

"Ready... set... crawl, Baby Chris, crawl!" Chris was off, but first he had to complain about the disadvantage of me making him laugh at the beginning. I told him to hurry up and he began nosing around the room, picking up the first bottle he found in his teeth, and carefully crawling it to me. He found the bottle of Bombay Sapphire under the coffee table, and the bottle of Kahlua next to the front door. He reached into the umbrella stand and found a bottle of Aftershock, picking it up and putting it in his teeth. Crawling to me he spotted the glimmer of glass in the fireplace and, quickly depositing the Aftershock, darted toward it.

"Noooooooo!" he groaned. It was a bottle of Hpnotiq - one of the more expensive bottles in my collection and Chris's personal favorite. "Gotta be last, sir!" he cried out and he continued to search for others.

"One minute."

Seconds later Chris's pace had slowed. He stopped for a moment and looked at his knees, then looked at me.

"Umm, sir?" I nodded. "Sir, I'm getting... rug burn." He said the words 'rug burn' like it was a sexually-transmitted disease, and I laughed. He scowled at me, but continued crawling. "No knee pads, sir?" he asked hopefully, and I shook my head. He soldiered on.

Chris had found ten bottles and had fifteen seconds to go. It wasn't looking good. He was looking around wildly, trying to spot a bottle, and I was enjoying the view: fresh-cut fade and muscles, in an extra-tight diaper that showed off... everything. The room was silent save the scraping of Chris's skin on the rug and the crinkling of his diaper as it flexed against his efforts. Chris must have realized how ridiculous he looked because his face was red now. He spotted bottle #11 on a step to the upstairs and made a beeline for it, realizing too late that it was a bottle of Couvasier - even more-favored than Hpnotiq. He wildly turned around and crawled lightening-fast to the fireplace, grabbing the blue bottle and bringing it to me.

Ding!

Chris heard my watch timer go off and be became angry almost instantly.

"That's not fair, sir!" he blurted out. "I worked my assss off, but the carpet kept me from going as fast as I could have! And... plus... you made me leave the bottle I wanted for last..."

"You saw it last," I reminded him, and he shook his head, as if to argue, but then thought better of it. He sat on his bottom, defiantly, and glared at me, then hung his head down, panting.

"That's not fair, sir. I want a second chance."

"Did you swear?" I asked him. He stopped sulking and I could see his mind working OT, trying to think back. His memory reached his use of the A-word and Chris looked defeated.

"Yes, I did, sir. I'm sorry. I said... the bad word for bottom."

"Speaking off ass," I said sternly, "get off of yours." I stood up and stood in front of Chris, who looked confused. I grabbed his ear and lifted him up gently, and he compliantly began to stand. Just as he was halfway between standing and sitting I stopped him, pulling his arms out toward me.

"This is strong sitting," I told him. "Don't move a muscle." I let go of him and he crouched in position, still. I could tell by his facial expression he thought he was getting off easy. "Do ten minutes of this and I'll give you a second chance."

Chris lasted about one minute before his knees began to shake. I sat down on the couch, laying back and watching. Chris half-stood, half-sat, knees out in front of him and his arms outstretched. His diaper had loosened a little and was drooping, exposing about an inch of asscrack, but it had started off very tight and was still fairly form-fitting. He looked very uncomfortable now, and he was even redder. It occurred to me that he may have been red-faced out of anger, and I waited to see if another tantrum would follow. It didn't...

Three minutes into the exercise Chris was trembling. Thirty seconds later his knees were wobbling and his arms, at first outstretched, were flailing around, trying to help him keep his balance.

"Sir, I can't... do this." Chris looked ashamed, but finally blurted out his surrender about four minutes into his punishment.

"Six more minutes and you can earn a second chance," I reminded him. He looked humiliated and looked down, shaking his head.

"I want a second chance, but I can't, sir. I can't hold it."

The phrase hold it gave me an idea. I would make a 'counter-offer'.

"Soak your diaper now and I'll let you trade the rest of your time for the spanking," I advised him. Chris was deep in thought now, and after ten seconds he nodded.

"And I can still earn a second chance, sir?" I nodded back, and Chris put his hands together, balancing and holding himself very still. His face became very serious and, knees still shaking, he began to concentrate. After fifteen or twenty seconds it was clear that his diaper was still dry. His face was twice as red, now, and he looked up at me.

"May I get on my hands and knees, sir?" he asked. By his tone I could tell he expected to be told no, but I was eager to see him soaked, and nodded permission. Chris got on all fours and, within seconds, his diaper was yellowing with wetness. I watched, sort of from behind, as the liquid rose up Chris's behind and the diaper began to stick to it. When he was done I snapped my fingers and pointed to the floor, and Chris obediently lay on his stomach. I picked up the liquor bottles one by one and replaced them in their cabinets, taking my time with Chris's favorite. He watched it as I walked it past him. I returned to him and motioned for him to turn over. He did, and I reached down and grabbed his diaper, tearing it off of him. Chris looked surprised to be de-diapered in such an unconventional fashion, but lay silently, still, naked, as I untaped the last resistant tape. I pulled the diaper up into the air and hold it over him, letting a few drops of urine drip onto his stomach. Chris rolled his eyes and I grabbed the diaper and began to twist it like you might ring out a wet towel. Chris shrieked, "Please, sir, no!" and I laughed and rolled his diaper up, sticking its tapes to it and tossing it across the room.

"Get that and throw it out," I told him. Chris obediently crawled across the room, and I watched his awesome thuggy ass move as he crossed the floor. He leaned over the diaper, thinking, and then picked it up in his teeth. Looking disgusted he crawled into the kitchen; I heard the diaper drop into the trash and waited as Chris returned to me.

"Bring me the paddle," I told him, pointing up toward the bedroom. Chris crawled across the floor again, and I watched his penis flop around as he made his way up the stairs and down the hall. Thirty seconds later he had the paddle in his mouth, and he was sliding down the stairs toward me. He came across the room and waited, head bowed submissively, until I took the paddle from him.

I lifted my leg over Chris, still on his hands and knees, and straddled him. He was facing the fireplace, and I was facing the stairs, looking down at his rear. It was beautiful, and I almost felt guilty that I was about to mar it with the redness of a spanking.

"What's worse, Chris," I asked. "The rug burn, the tiredness of strong sitting for five minutes - or knowing you could have skipped that and just went straight to this?" Before he could answer I brought the paddle up and slammed it down on his asscheeks. Chris shrieked and squirmed, writhing, and his bottom was immediately reddened. I stepped around him, realizing I had to go easy on him, and waited.

"I... thought I could... do it, sir," Chris answered, thoughtfully. "I thought I was strong enough."

I laughed. Nobody had ever made it through five minutes of that, I thought; still, I kept that to myself. I brought the paddle down across his bottom a second time, and then a third. Chris was red all over now: face, knees, and fanny. After five swats I decided that Chris had probably had enough. I sat down and directed him to do the same, and he complied. I walked upstairs and grabbed a fresh diaper - Abena X-Plus, Chris's bedtime diaper - and wipes and powder. Within minutes Christopher was lying on his tummy, cardboard-thick Abena wrapped around his rear, looking less embarassed and more comfortable.

"Second chance... tonight or the morning?" I asked, and Chris immediately replied morning. "Okay, Chris... I'll give you time for the rug burn to cool down."

He laughed and thanked me. And I had to ask...

"Who told you that you had to carry all of the liquor bottles in your teeth, Chris?"

HUH?

"I never said that. And you chomping on a pee-soaked diaper... wow, that's going all out," I said, laughing. "I figured you'd pick all that shit up with your hands. Oh well."

Chris groaned.

"Ohhhhhh... my... Godddddd... sirrrrrrr..."

"Bedtime. Move."

He did - shaking his head incredulously the whole way.

The consolation prize was permission to make a phone call. I retrieved Chris's phone from my pocket and handed it to him.

"You have five minutes," I told him. He nodded. I walked down the hall and into the bathroom, pulling my diaper down just enough to take a piss. I finished and washed my hands, then grabbed my toothbrush and began to paste up. Chris's voice carried down the hall and I grew quiet, listening...

Nah... I hang out with this dude in a whole 'nother city. Nah, he picks me up. We just roll around and junk. It's tight. He has me out to his boat and stuff. Or we just hang out and drink. Yea.. he's got a whole bar, yo. Everything. Sometimes we hang out on the lake...

It occurred to me, as I listened, that Chris probably didn't make it out of the city very often. He was bragging about a diaper excursion. And, while he was obviously leaving out the part about having to wear diapers - and, of course, the part about chillin' in his own urine... and the part about being slapped on the ass - Chris seemed to relish his trips to my place. I continued to listen as I brushed, then rinsed and made my way down the hallway and back into the room.

Gotta go... we're 'bouts to jet.

Chris hung up and looked up at me, grinning sheepishly.

"How much did you hear, sir?" I looked at him quizzically, feigning ignorance, and he looked relieved. "I was just telling my boy where I am for the night. In case anyone gets worried." I nodded and lay down on the bed, then flipped off the light. The cell phone lit up the room as Chris played with it. I thought about taking it, but decided to let him have some time with it. It was his new toy, and the idea of him playing with it was cute.

Beep boop beep.

"No calls, Chris," I warned him.

"Yes, sir. Playing a game, sir."

Beep beep boop.

I listened to the beeping of Chris's phone for about ten minutes. I thought about my own life, growing up; I too had relished the opportunity to get away from home, away from my friends and family, and out to the lake. I, of course, used some of my trips as toddlerization opportunities, padding up and becoming Baby Chris for a while. I thought about the contrast; I'd carted my diapers to the cottage, diapering myself, regressing myself, even preparing my own baby bottles in an attempt to feel little; the new Baby Chris was lucky in that he had someone to diaper him, feed him, bathe him. I was actually jealous of him a little; I'd always wanted to have someone do that for me. It occurred to me that it was sad on two levels: Chris wasn't ABDL and, thus, wasn't likely to get nearly as much enjoyment out of it as I might have; and, there were plenty of ABDLs who might have benefited from some Abysitter time but who were too bitch-ass to drive in from Rochester, Syracuse, and surrounding.

Beep beep beep beeeeeeeep.

Chris's phone began to annoy me, but I was still thinking. Chris had been bragging about the boat... the lake... just beig away from the city. I remembered how, on his last visit, Chris had suggested he'd like to be invited out to the boat. I leaned over the bed and looked down at him.

"So this summer... do you want to come out and go sailing?"

Chris's face lit up and he nodded.

"Hell yea, I was wondering if you were gonna be down for that!" he sounded excited. I looked at him sternly, and he caught himself. "Sorry, sir. I mean, YESSIR! I was hoping you'd ask me that." He was still smiling and, before I could say anything, continued. "Sir, all summer we sit around and do nothing. Nothing. We live twenty minutes from the lake and you know how many times I've been there? Zero. My Dad brought me no times. Nooooo times, sir. My first time was last month, with you." I looked surprised, and he nodded, continuing. "We sit around and smoke weed and get into trouble. That's it. I'm tired of that, sir. So as often as you want to have me out here, I'm down. I'll wear diapers all summer if I got to."

"It would be fun to have you sail with me in a diaper," I told him. "But you don't have to wear diapers all summer to come out here. We can hang out without diapers, too, I guess."

"Sir, I don't mind diapers. But it would be nice not to have to worry about annoying diaper rash," Chris joked. "If it helps, I can leave the weed at home, too. You notice I didn't bring any tonight, right? Lenny told me you don't like it, and I was thinking maybe that's why you didn't want me out here for a while." I was embarassed now; I'd kind of blown Chris off for Len, and he'd noticed. "So I'll wear diapers when you make me, and I'll only bring weed when you let me. Sound fair, sir?" I nodded. Chris continued. "Just don't tell Len, sir. He's kind of a hater, and he'll try to keep me from being able to come out." I wondered what he was talking about - I'd find out later that some 'diaper drama' had begun to develop between the two of them. "Plus, he's sort of a fag, sir. No offense!"

None taken.

Beep boop beep.

Chris was back to his game, and I couldn't take it any more.

"Put the phone up on the table, it's bedtime," I told him. Chris groaned.

"Sir, please... it's new! Plus I won't be able to sleep, I was hoping to play this golf game for a while." I shook my head and pointed to the table, thinking of the irony of a little weed-puffing thug becoming addicted to golf. Chris sighed but complied, setting the phone on the table above his head and exaggeratedly flopping it onto his pillow.

Crinkle crinkle crinnnnnnnkle.

"Not this again, dude," I protested, and Chris began laughing, squeezing his asscheeks and rolling around to make his diaper as noisy as possible.

"Told ya I can't sleep, sir," he told me.

"I wonder which bottles I'll be putting out for tomorrow's challenge," I wondered aloud. "I wonder if I have any generic brands down there?" Chris's butt went silent. After a few minutes of nothing but the smacking of a pacifier Chris sat up and peered over the bed at me.

"Cold, sir!"

I snapped my fingers and Chris crawled up onto the bed, lifting the covers and crawling underneath.

"Thank you, sir!"

I reached over and pulled Chris's leg up over me, rubbing his diapered bottom for a few minutes. Chris didn't protest when I grabbed the back waistband of his diaper between my thumb and forefinger and pulled it away from his skin - or when I pushed my hand down the back of his diaper. My hand was soon resting against the crack of his ass, my finger sort of in it, and Chris seemed just relaxed as he had been. I was as relaxed as I'd been in a long time.

"Are you going to hump, sir?" Chris mumbled after a few minutes, clearly growing tired. I was laying on my back, with a straight thug laying on me, my hand in his diaper resting on his ass; not even ejaculating could improve the way I was feeling, and I murmured a NAHHHH.

"Okay, sir," Chris continued. "Me neither. Good night, sir."

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Christopher was snoring after a few minutes and, after a few minutes more, so was I.

Unlike last time, this time I would sleep soundly until morning. And, guessing from the fact that I had to shake Chris off of me to wake him up, so would he.

UP NEXT: Chris's last visit... a summer of diaper drama... and Chris robs me at knifepoint. And, I break my rule and put up Chris's real pic. Fuck him, he robbed me lol... coming soon.