Executive Disfunction

Chapter 3
Asset reallocation

Chapter Description: Authority slipped - inch by inch

He was trembling now. Arms slack, fingers curling into the bedding, the pacifier rising and falling with every broken breath through his nose. His eyes were shut, lashes wet, but even in the darkness behind his lids, he could feel her gaze on him—unblinking, adoring, inescapable.

His legs shifted with growing restlessness. The soaked diaper clung to him with every movement, and the soft squelch when he flexed his hips made his stomach twist.

“Poor baby,” she cooed, brushing her fingers along the elastic waistband at his hip. “Still leaking. Still needy.”

He whined, breath hitching.

The air in the room had grown thick with warmth and silence. He lay still, limp against the sheets, his breath coming in soft, uneven pulls through the pacifier. The diaper between his thighs clung to him—heavy, swollen, soaked through with shame and satisfaction both.

She hadn’t said anything in several long seconds. Only watched him.

And then—her hand reached for the drawer again.

He turned his head slowly, eyelids heavy.

His heart skipped.

Then he heard it—the quiet pop of a cap. A wet sound. Silicone sliding against skin.

His eyes opened. Just a crack.

She wielded it like second nature: smooth, sleek, silicone, unmistakable.

She was kneeling between his legs again, calm, methodical. Holding a dildo in one hand, working lube over it with the other. Slow, confident strokes that made it shine under the dim light. Her expression didn’t waver. It was affection, not cruelty—maternal, almost.

“No,” he whispered around the pacifier, breath shaky. “Please, don’t…”

He whimpered as she straddled behind him, the soaked diaper cradling him in heat and wetness. She hadn’t been untaped—only peeled aside, seat tugged down far enough to expose the curve of his flushed, twitching backside. The thick padding stayed tight around his hips, like a cradle. A cage.

He heard the sound before he saw it. The soft, slick noise of lube being pumped into her palm.

But his body betrayed him with a subtle arch—barely a shift of the hips, barely anything at all. Except that it was more than nothing. She saw it.

He squirmed. “No…” It was barely a whisper, muffled by the pacifier and the shame curling in his throat. “Please… don’t…”

But even as he pleaded, his hips shifted again—arching slightly, unconsciously, just enough to part his thighs.

Her gaze didn’t miss it.

“Aww,” she crooned, dragging the front of the diaper down just a little. Not removing it—just baring his cock, flushed and dripping, already betraying him.

She let him feel it—the cool lube, the tip of her finger resting against his entrance, not pressing yet, just waiting. As if asking him to admit something without speaking.

He shuddered.

“Please,” he begged again, barely a whisper now. “Please, I can’t—this isn’t me—”

She leaned down and kissed his temple.

“It’s not who you were,” she murmured. “But it is who you are now. And you’re doing so, so well.”

His entrance fluttered. She pressed forward.

And he let her in.

Her finger slid in smoothly—his body already softened, slick and pliant. He gasped, legs trembling as his back arched deeper without his permission.

“There we go,” she cooed, pushing deeper. “That’s it, sweetheart. Just let it in. Let me in.”

He shook his head weakly, tears clinging to his lashes. “Why does it feel—this good—?”

“Because it’s what you were made for,” she whispered, adding another finger. “Because you needed to be filled. You needed this.”

His breath hitched hard. “No—Ma’am, I—please—I don’t—”

The words came fast, stuttering. But his hips had already twitched. His thighs had already shifted, ever so slightly.

She didn’t argue. Didn’t hush him or scold. Just opened the bottle of clear lube and squeezed a long, slow stream over the toy. Her fingers worked it in with practiced care, the quiet sounds obscene in the charged silence of the room.

“I know,” she said softly. “You don’t think you want this.”

She lifted his legs just slightly—just enough to slide a small pillow beneath his hips, tilting him up. The diaper crinkled loudly with the shift, squishing against him.

“But your body’s telling me something different.”

“No,” he whimpered. “I can’t—I’m not like this—”

She pulled her fingers out. Not entirely, leaving a digit of one finger, as she shifted the seat of the diaper further. Just enough to bare him fully. The cool air hit the damp cleft of his skin, and he flinched.

“No,” he whimpered again, but there was no force behind it. His thighs had gone soft and open. His entrance twitched visibly around her digit, fluttering as if reaching for what was coming.

She kissed the corner of his jaw and swapped her finger for the head of the dildo, slowly pressing it against him. His breath caught violently. His entire body jerked—but it didn’t pull away.

“You’re not like this?” she repeated, voice honeyed. “Then why are you already open for me?”

He sobbed behind the pacifier, turning his face into the pillow. But she was right. His body was ready. His hole fluttered slightly with every shallow breath, ached with a tension he hadn’t realized was anticipation.

“You’re beautiful like this,” she whispered, kneeling beside him, one gloved hand pressing to his lower back as the toy hovered just by the entrance, teasing him further.

“And you did ask me to take control.”

“I didn’t know—” he moaned.

“No,” she agreed. “You didn’t. And that’s why I’m here.”

Her fingers were gentle, slow, as the tip of the toy kissed his entrance—slick, warm, terrifying.

He whined.

Then arched and moaned—long and shuddering. A helpless sound of surrender wrapped in denial.

A pathetic, involuntary motion—barely an inch. But unmistakable.

She pressed forward.

Just enough to slip inside.

His body accepted it with terrifying ease.

He mewled—small, broken, ashamed.

But he didn’t say stop.

Because he couldn’t.

Because he wanted.

And she knew.

She cooed again, petting his hair as the toy seated deeper.

“There’s my baby,” she whispered. “Crossing every line he thought he had.”

He cried softly.

She rocked it gently forward.

And then, she clicked the switch.

The vibrator buzzed to life.

It was gentle—at first. Just a hum. But it vibrated deep inside him, straight through to the shame-spiked nerves in his belly and spine. His jaw dropped around the pacifier. A moan escaped.

His cock jumped in the confines of the diaper, twitching pathetically as he writhed in her hands.

“No,” he moaned again. “No, no, no—”

But he was leaking.

Arching.

His body trembling and glowing with pleasure he hadn’t wanted to ask for—but had welcomed all the same.

He mewled again, a weak, breathy sound behind the pacifier. “N-no—” he whispered, barely a protest. It sounded less like defiance and more like a sob.

But his hips rolled forward instinctively, diaper crinkling, cock stiffening against the thick, sodden front.

She cooed low in her throat, brushing her fingers over the trembling curve of his hip. “Shhh, baby,” she soothed. “It’s okay. You’re not saying no because you don’t want it… You’re saying no because you do.”

He whimpered, eyes squeezed shut, body shuddering as the vibrator pressed again against the toy buried deep inside him.

The buzz wasn’t loud, but in his head it roared—filling every quiet corner of himself with a static, buzzing need. It drowned out thought. It blurred shame into something softer, warmer.

His legs trembled again, thighs parting wider, helplessly obedient.

“There we go,” she whispered, smile audible in her voice. “There’s my good boy.”

“No—” he whimpered again, tears brimming now. But his hips said otherwise. His cock throbbed visibly against the diaper, so thick and swollen with his arousal that it curved awkwardly to the side.

She reached down and gently palmed it through the crinkling front, not stroking—just letting him feel her attention there. A mother’s affection layered over devastating awareness.

“You’re all full, aren’t you?” she whispered. “So full inside… and soaked outside. Poor thing doesn’t even know what to do with himself.”

He let out a desperate, muffled moan, hips jerking toward the touch.

“That’s okay,” she said, breath warm at his cheek. “You don’t have to know anymore. That’s the gift you gave me. I make the choices now. You just feel.”

The words hit him harder than the vibration—some final confirmation. She was right.

He had given this away.

And now, his body would do what she wanted.

Even if it broke him.

Even if it made him love it.

“No,” he whispered around the pacifier, breath shaky. “Please, don’t…”

But his body betrayed him with a subtle arch—barely a shift of the hips, barely anything at all. Except that it was more than nothing, and she saw it.

“I know, sweetheart,” she said, her voice warm, soft. “I know you want to say no. But look at how sweetly you’re taking it for me.”

He groaned. The shame made his ears ring.

She reached beneath him, fingers expertly sliding along the diaper’s front. “Still hard,” she murmured, delighted. “Still needy.”

The vibrator hummed through his core like a secret he couldn’t keep anymore.

It throbbed inside him with a slow, insistent rhythm—never harsh, never rushed. Just steady, like it knew exactly how long he could last. Like it had all the time in the world to unravel him. His thighs were slick with sweat, trembling uncontrollably. The bulk of the soaked diaper cradled his cock—hot, sticky, confining—pressing up against him every time his hips moved.

And he couldn’t stop moving.

Couldn’t stop needing.

The toy was buried deep now, nestled perfectly where his nerves screamed. Every buzz rippled outward, through muscle and gut, and straight into the base of his spine. His back arched instinctively with every pulse. He moaned openly now, face flushed, lips parted around the pacifier as drool pooled against the pillow.

“Please—” he tried to say. Or maybe “no.” He couldn’t tell anymore.

She was crouched beside him, steadying his hips with one gloved hand, murmuring soft nothings into his ear like a lullaby.

“You’re doing so well, baby.”

“You’re so soft now.”

“So easy to shape.”

He shook his head weakly, even as his hips pressed harder into the damp warmth beneath him. The front of the diaper clung to him, soaked and heavy. His cock throbbed beneath it, trapped, aching.

He wasn’t like this.

He was in charge. Of meetings. Of money. Of people.

He wore thousand-dollar watches and talked in numbers no one else understood.

He wasn’t someone who cried when he came.

He wasn’t someone who came in a diaper.

And yet—

He was nearly there.

His body clenched down around the toy, the pressure unbearable now—every part of him trembling and slick with submission. His moans had turned into broken gasps, high and helpless. His eyes rolled back. It was coming, it was coming, he couldn’t stop it—

And then—

pop.

A faint wet sound.

And nothing.

The toy slid out in a single smooth motion, cool air rushing in behind it. His body spasmed—clenching on emptiness. He sobbed out loud.

The vibrator’s absence was deafening.

His hips twitched, still bucking forward for friction that was no longer enough. The diaper clung to him, useless now, damp against skin gone raw with denial. The pressure hadn’t gone—it had just frozen. Locked in place. Stalled at the edge of relief and left there.

He blinked, dazed.

Above him, she was kneeling calmly, spinning the glistening dildo between two fingers like a baton, watching it catch the light.

“Poor baby,” she whispered, smiling down at him. “Did you think Mama was going to let you finish?”

He moaned, shaking, face wet with sweat and something else. The pacifier slipped from his lips, but he didn’t speak.

Because he couldn’t.

Because he didn’t know what to ask for anymore.

He just lay there—aching, open, empty.

And she stroked his thigh gently.

“Not yet,” she said. “Not until you stop remembering who you were… and start accepting who you are.”