Saturday, 2 May 2015

11 - Debt Collection (Picture Story)

He didn't think of himself as a bad person. He was manipulative, but that was something very far removed from being outright 'bad.' There were people staging decapitations on TV - when it came to Bad™, Darren Green was little more than a tiny fish in a gigantic ocean of raw, unadulterated evil. He probably didn't even qualify as a fish. He was more like one of those leeches that clung to the side of actual fish for survival. 

No. He was just indulging himself...

...and besides, he was doing these women a favour.

Sandra had been the first of the three he had invited to today's little expedition. Darren had been supplying her with a certain illicit substance for quite a while now, and her payment had also been overdue for quite a while why not offer her alternative where she didn't have to pay him back, and he got to indulge in something he didn't get to indulge in as often as he should? He had interests besides money, and some of them weren't quite so easy to come by. He'd be stupid not to take advantage of the situation.

Guinea Pig #1 had been understandably reluctant at first, but she hadn't required much convincing in the end. Darren was a very, very big individual in certain circles, and not paying him back (which she still couldn't afford to do in the foreseeable future) would unquestionably be a very poor decision on her behalf. A knock on the door in the middle of the night, the street lamp's gleam on a pale sliver of metal...well, no one really wants to go that way, do they? A drug addict knocking on the pearly gates? No way.

"If I run around on the beach for you wearing a...a diaper," Sandra had answered his proposition slowly after a moment of stunned disbelief. They had been at the door of his apartment, him standing just inside the alcove and her on the doormat, relentlessly wringing her hands in a motion that was almost certainly unconscious. He noticed she was playing with her wedding ring and couldn't help but wonder if that was going to be what won this particular proposal. "You'll cancel my debt?"

"Almost," Darren had replied cheerfully. On the inside, he was already doubting whether or not she'd go with it - it sounded much more ridiculous out loud than it had in his head - but when you got down it, she was a drug addict. He knew her type. "If you come with me and a few others to the beach wearing a diaper and you play in the water and the sand and do whatever else I tell you to do...then I will cancel your debt."

She was still visibly uncertain. Sandra watched him quietly, the light from his apartment dancing a spastic ballet on her gyrating ring. 

"One time deal only," he upped the stakes. Her cheeks twitched hungrily, and the sight spurred him on. Yeah. Like she was going to turn him down. "I won't be doing this again, I can't afford to keep losing money on idiot crackheads such as yourself who can't manage to pay their fees. Think of it as me offering you a clean slate. You'll have paid off your debt, then you can come back for more when you're better off financially and there's no unpleasantries for anyone involved."

In an ideal world it would work like that. They both knew that Sandra would be back at his door begging for charity substances before long. It was just the way people like her were. 

He had her, though. The uncertainty was gone from her face, and in its place was that hunger. It gave a distinctly wolfish appearance to her gaunt features. A clean slate? It was every in-the-red addict's wet dream.

She said yes.

They had gone inside then, and he cheerfully loaded her up the clothes she would be wearing for the day. To her credit, she took it all without a word, and it wasn't until they were on the way out she finally asked the magic question. He had been waiting for it since from the moment he had sprung "I want you to dress and act like a toddler for me" on her. The real surprise was that it had taken as long to come out as it had, if anything.


He had turned to her then and laughed at the puzzlement on her face. She was watching him carefully, perfectly aware that she was in the company of someone truly depraved but too curious to avoid asking questions she knew she might potentially regret. "Sandy," he had began.

She looked on expectantly. It warmed the cold cockles of his heart.

He didn't let her down. "Because I said so," was the grand conclusion. He smiled toothily. "Now get out of my house."

She wasn't quite as interested in it as he was himself, though.

There was a school of tiny fish meandering about the shallows, and although Sandra was squatting in the water besides them and clutching at them with talon-like hands, her heart obviously wasn't in it. Smiles were in short supply from almost everyone today, and the diapered thirty-six year old was no exception. Her attempts to catch the fish were as half-hearted as her splashing. The few times she turned around to face him, her face was stony, too embarrassed to laugh or show even the slightest amount of genuine enjoyment. He had deliberately chosen a secluded beach for this outing (he just wanted to see them run around in their little outfits, after all, not humiliate them publicly), but apparently it still wasn't good enough. If you didn't know the intricacies, you'd almost think that Sandra hadn't been spared a midnight visitor for her efforts. 

"Sandy!" he called from where he sat further up on the sand. She'd learn soon enough. "Hey!" 

The expression of abject mortification on her face when she turned around was both frustrating and a huge, huge turn on. She was wearing only a bra and a diaper, and between her lips she suckled on an oversized pacifier rhythmically. Her embarrassment was just as enjoyable as her playing the role properly...but that wasn't what he had asked of her, was it? Sure, she had reason to be embarrassed, but she also had an equally good reason to make a convincing three year old. It didn't get much better than "you might die if you don't." 

"Your butt looks adorable down there," he said cheerfully. Her blush deepened from red to purple. "It'd be a shame if it we had made it as cute as we have for no reason, don't you think?"

Her subsequent splashing almost reached him where he sat.   

"Just pretend you're three-ish years old," he had said earlier that morning when they'd first arrived. His three charges had just changed into their respective outfits and were huddled around him awkwardly, their eyes downcast and unable to meet the others eye to eye. "Pretend you're on a family outing to the beach with your two sisters and your daddy. That's all you have to do. That's not so bad, surely." 

Their faces disagreed.

Not dissuaded in the least, he simply shrugged. "You might as well have some fun with it, you're here now. Be a toddler for the day, then you can go home, pretend it never happened, and enjoy your new debt-free life. Really, if I was in your shoes, I'd be kissing the ground I walk on."

That was really all there was to the brief he had given them. He'd known they'd be uncomfortable, and that meant a poorer performance, and that really defeated the purpose of bringing them out here in the first place. His pep talk hadn't worked so well on Sandra...but Monica, at least, had been much more receptive. 

"Look, daddy!" she exclaimed happily. "Shells!" 

He'd climbed to his feet to make his way down the strand and check up on Katherine further down the beach when Monica stopped him. She came bounding out of the water with her hands clasped firmly in front of her, a wide and genuine (well, believable, at least) grin plastered across her face like she'd just struck gold. Darren had to stifle a chuckle when she opened her hands and revealed that the gold she'd found was perhaps not quite as valuable as her excitement led him to believe. Her hands were practically overflowing with shells she'd taken straight off the seabed. 

"This one's all bumpy!" she said exuberantly, nodding towards at a particularly misshapen one in her palm. He had to make a conscious effort to tear his eyes away from the woman herself to see what she was so enthusiastic about. In just a diaper and a shirt made transparent by the water, she was nothing short of every fantasy he'd ever had. "It's ticklish!" 

"That's right!" he said from seventh heaven to the woman who had once thought paying rent wasn't something she should concern herself with.  He reached forward and tickled her ribs, eliciting a squealing giggle from the chubby woman as she squirmed away. Shells tumbled from her hand as she did so, cascading down to the sand around them. It brought a grin of his to his face and a meaningful throb from parts of him further south. "Just like that, right?" 

He decided then that he liked her, despite the circumstances. He'd never married, too scared of the prospect that his partner might get harmed as a result of his work...but if he ever did, Monica was exactly the type of babygirl he would fall in love with. Her reaction only furthered that notion. "It tickles my hand!" she giggled playfully, pushing him away. He obediently staggered back a step, laughing a little himself as he did so. Yes, she was good. "Not there, daddy!" 

"Silly me," he agreed amiably. 

She smiled in response before casting a glance around, analysing the damage. She had been holding a good nine or ten seashells when he tickled her, and when he had she'd jettisoned the majority. The beach looked like a minefield, and her face comically drooped at the sight. It made him smother a grin.  

"Look what you did!" she said indignantly.

"My apologies." 

Without further comment, Monica quite literally bent in two and shoved her diapered butt into the air, putting her face right down into the sand as she began to gather them up all over again.  Her behind wiggled and crinkled dramatically behind and above her as she did so, a gesture so blatantly deliberate that he had to raise an eyebrow. His body didn't care in the slightest about her authenticity, though. All blood instantly left his head in search of a warmer climate. 

When she straightened up, she winked at him. 

He blushed and went on his way, her giggles ringing in his ears with every step he put between them.

Katherine was drinking from her bottle when he arrived.

Darren had been relatively lenient with his other two 'babies' - both women had ended up diapered, sure, but that was really the only thing that marked them as being particularly infantile. Monica had kept her shirt, and Sandra had even been allowed a bra; how many babies wore bras? They're offences hadn't irritated him nearly as much as Katherine's had, though. She'd ended up with a bottle and pigtails for her efforts, and all she wore over her diaper was a frilly purple 'dress' that barely came to top of her plastic underwear. She'd pissed him more than the others, and for that she'd ended up looking the part more than them.

Katherine's husband had not only been up to his neck in debt, but he had tried to run. He was overdue just as many payments as Sandra and Monica had been, and when he realised that he wasn't going to be able to pay them, he had uprooted his family and fled. That, as far as Darren was concerned, was sacrilege in the handbook of underground crime. That was a good way to get yourself killed; in fact, it was such a good way to go about that Darren had already stuck a sticky note above his desk to remind him to hire someone to off the man later that night when Katherine rang. She was going behind her husbands back, and had she not both her and him would likely be dead. Her "I'll do anything for you if you leave us alone, anything!" comment had saved her family's life.

"Anything?" he'd probed.

Anything, she confirmed.

And here she was, doing 'anything'.

She spat out the bottle and glared daggers as Darren approached. "Anything, I said." she growled. "Anything. I can't say I imagined I'd be sitting on a beach, wearing a diaper and sucking on a bottle."

He stopped beside her and patted the top of her head. The surf lapped at his ankles as she squirmed away, her pigtails flapping wildly about her head as she did so. Apparently his touch irritated her more than the water greedily sucking at her bare legs and diapered butt. "That's a funny way to talk to the man not arranging to have you and your husband killed," he said flatly.

She glowered, but held her tongue.

"Maybe you need a change," he said to himself as he crouched down to pry open the back of her diaper and inspect its contents. It took a moment for Katherine to realise what he was doing, but when she did her face darkened like an oncoming storm, and she furiously crammed the bottle back between her lips to distract herself. He couldn't see or smell anything offensive, but he wasn't about to let that stop him. Let her stew. By the end of the day, she'd be a model toddler, and if he had to help her get her there, so be it. It was for her benefit, anyway. "That has to be it, doesn't it? You're just a cranky baby who needs a fresh diaper. Has to be uncomfortable sitting in your own shit, doesn't it?"

She looked out across the ocean and sucked dramatically on her bottle.

"No?" he mused, letting her diaper snap shut again. He stared pointedly at the back of head. "Well, you don't need a change. Maybe you need a nap. Is that it, Katherine? Kat? Can I call you Kat? I'm gonna call you Kat."

Still, she refused to even acknowledge him.

He sighed. "Look," he began. "I'm doing you a favour. I know you had nothing to do with your husband being deadhead, you've really just been caught in the crossfire.'re here for a reason, Kat. If you don't do a good job of this, I don't have a reason not to have you and your husband meet an unfortunate, grisly end. If I was you, I'd be getting into this a bit more than you are."

He got to his feet. "You still have a few hours," he added. "Get to it."

He was well on his way walking back towards Sandra (who looked to be having the time of her life building a sandcastle with Monica), when Kat called out, "Wait!"

Got her. 

His first impulse was to grin, but he smothered it as quickly as it rose. Maybe she was just desperate to tell him to go to hell. He'd understand crystal clear if she was. There was no point getting excited just yet. 

He turned around.

Katherine was awkwardly waddling along the sand as fast as she could, her bottle dangling from one hand and the other pressed against her plastic-choked crotch. Her face was bright with shame, and the moment he attempted to make eye contact she broke it, instead turning her attention to the ground she was crossing. The grin he was hiding broke free. Maybe she'd got the hint after all. It took her long enough. 

"Darren - Daddy, I mean. Daddy," she began. He would have bet good money the tears in her eyes were genuine. "I...I need a change." 

On the inside, Darren was crowing, but he wasn't about to let her know that. "You need a change?" he asked, forcing an uncertain frown onto his face. "Is that how a baby asks, Kat?" 

"You said a toddler, not a - " 

He turned to leave. 

"No - wait, I'm sorry!" 

He was walking away. 

She got it. "Daddy, I went pee and my diapie all icky!

He turned back to face her, and yes, those were genuine tears. They were streaming down her face now, trailing across her burning cheeks like long, dripping caterpillars before splattering on the sand at her feet. For a moment, he felt a stab of pity...and then he was all business. 

"It's okay, baby," he cooed reassuringly. "It's okay."

Her trembling face was uncertain as he crossed the distance between them and enveloped her in his arms. A moment later, though, she was outright sobbing, unable to stop herself any longer. Her body shuddered against him, and it was all he could do to calm her by patting her gently on the back and rocking her in his embrace. They stood like that for a good minute, and when she had calmed herself he pulled away and smiled at her. The tear-streaked face that greeted him did no such thing. "Let's get you changed, hmmm?" he said. "None of this icky diapie business." 

"Yes...daddy," Kat answered quietly. 

He gently pried her hand away from her crotch, and taking it in his own he led her back towards the main camp beside Monica and Sandra. Both women gave the pair a curious glance, but neither made to ask questions or leave their play. The sandcastle they were building was turning out to be quite an epic affair, and after one more moment of hesitation they returned to building it even higher, uncertain as to whether or not questions would be approved by their tormentor or not. 

"Lay down," he said gently to Kat when they were in position, and she did so without a word of protest. She was all out of protest, he saw; her face was tired but willing enough as she got into place, lying flat on her back and spreading her legs wide so he could do his thing. She'd been furious and unbudging up till their conversation before, but clearly she'd reached her limit. The tears had taken their toll. 

He didn't think she was going to give him any trouble, and he was correct. She didn't say a word as he untaped her diaper - all she did was raise the bottle to her lips and suckle greedily, looking off into nothingness and pretending she was anywhere else but there. Really, when you got down to it, the fact that had actually forced herself to wet her diaper following his admonishment said volumes. She was done. She wasn't going to be any more a problem than Monica was. 

Darren wiped her down and powdered her up, and before long she was as diapered as she had been before. He helped her to her feet, and after a playful spank on the butt and a "Go play with your sisters!" comment, she was bounding across the sand to join Monica and Sandra at their castle. He watched as she awkwardly said hello, and before he knew it the three were at it like they'd been sisters all their lives. Sure, there was the odd glance in his direction to see if they were going about it the right way, but...well, they were. All three of them were the picture of innocence. Picture of innocence was all he was after.

He didn't understand why he found such a bizarre sight as attractive and arousing as he did. Three grown women wearing baby clothes and acting the part wasn't something the normal person was interested in, and yet here he was with a throbbing erection and wondering why he'd never thought to find his own babygirl for real. Maybe it was time to get out of the crime business and settle down with a girl he loved. None of this "do it or I'll kill you" business; he'd find someone he genuinely cared for that he could share such a relationship with. God knew he was loving the sight now - what he'd give to come home to it every day. If he could find a girl who was actually interested in letting him baby her...
You're going soft, Mr Lord of Underground Crime Syndicate. 

The thought made him grin a little to himself. Yeah, he was soft. So soft he'd blackmailed three women into acting out his sexual fantasies because they feared for their lives.

Still. "What he'd give to come home to it every day"? That's something straight out of Twilight. 

It was true, though.

Darren Green, head of multiple underground crime syndicates, honorary member of the FBI's Top 10 most wanted list, self-confessed thief, self-confessed blackmailer, self-confessed torturer and self-confessed (mass) murderer, lay down in the sand to watch his customers prance around in their diapers like the babies they weren't and wondered when and how he'd next play with a woman the way he had today.

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