Toby's Holiday.
By Musuko

One week remained of the summer holiday. Seven short days. After that, Tobias would be returning to school. And there, perhaps, all my hard work would be ruined.
	Okay, it hasn't exactly been what you'd call “hard” work. I was being paid for it, handsomely, I might add, but was it work? No, it wasn't really work. More like a paid holiday. What do they call it? A work vacation? A workation? Beats stacking shelves any day.
	It was Monday morning, with seven days to go. I sipped tea with Leopold, sitting in the shade of a veranda that had more square footage than my old apartment. Hell, my new lodgings in the house, upstairs, was bigger than my old apartment. Out on the lawn, within shouting distance, in case he misbehaved, but out of range of talking volume, Toby sat amongst a collection of stuffed toys and action figures, playing some kind of elaborate make-believe game whose rules nobody would likely comprehend, including Toby. He'd probably tell me all about it later, with great childish enthusiasm. I waited for Leopold to speak first, as he had invited me here. I was a long time in waiting. He seemed in no hurry. He was not a man prone to haste.
	I had found myself distracted, wondering if Mr Cuddlebun the bear was the villain, or the hero, in Toby's game, and got caught off guard when Leopold finally spoke.
	“Mister Stephenson,” he said; I had yet to convince him to call me Kyle, and at this point I had largely given up. “On what date will you be receiving your examination results?”
	The answer came automatically to my lips. I had been counting the days almost as closely as I had the days until Toby returned to school. “In four days,” I said. “They'll post them online.”
	“Are you expecting a good result?”
	I smiled. “I'll be lucky if I get a Desmond.”
	He looked puzzled for a moment. Leopold didn't show his emotions with any amount of severity, but the signs were there, and you learned to look for them. A subtle frown as his mind worked. Then, he smiled, and laughed. “Ah yes,” he said. “Very good. I must remember that one. I would imagine that any class of degree will open up opportunities for you, even a third-class...what do they call that one?”
	“A Douglas.”
	He thought for a moment. “That one's meaning escapes me, I fear. Do you have ambition to use your potential Desmond or Douglas or...” he paused for another moment.
	“A Geoff or an Atilla,” I said, trying not to laugh.
	“...or either of those two gentlemen?” he finished.
	I shrugged. “Not really. I mean...English Literature doesn't really set you on a career path.”
	“I see,” he said. “Which rather makes one wonder why you selected that particular degree?”
	Out on the lawn, Toby let out a happy cry and tossed Captain Crinklepants up into the air. Something climactic must have happened in his game's narrative. I felt a guilty wish to be out there playing with him, instead of having this conversation. I turned back to look at Leopold.
	“I once had a teacher,” I said, “who said something that stuck with me.” I cleared my throat, sat up straight, and affected the grandiose, oratorical voice of my old English teacher. “Education is inherently useless,” I said, holding a finger up in the air. “Education that has a practical use is called training.”
	Leopold smiled a smile that was wider and warmer than any I had seen before on the old lion's face. “So you endeavoured to obtain the enrichment of an education rather than the practical advantages of training.”
	I nodded. “I figured I could always train for a job later. I wouldn't get another shot at getting an education.”
	“A novel approach,” he said. “And an admirable one. However, it does rather leave you up the proverbial without a paddle in a week's time, when your contract here comes to an end.”
	Ah, I thought. Now we had worked our way to the true topic of this little chat. My employment...or rather, the termination of it. I thought mournfully of my lodgings upstairs, of the house and gardens around me, of Toby out there on the lawn, and of the ratty little apartment I would no doubt have to rent again, and of the miserable job hunt that lay ahead, probably leading to some tedious life as an office drone or till jockey. I gave Leopold my best carefree shrug and winsome smile, while feeling precisely the opposite of those gestures. “I'll manage, I'm sure.”
	“I'm sure you would,” said Leopold. “However, if you so wished, it is not something you would have to find out.” He set down his cup and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and slid out an envelop, which he placed on the table between us.
	“Is that...” I said.
	“An offer,” he said. “Of continued employment for a further five years, to complete Master Tobias' education, pre-approved by his parents and by myself as his guardian.” He smiled that smile again. “Please read it carefully, Mister Stephenson. You will find it interesting.”

I sat behind my teacher's desk, lost in thought, my head full of legalese and the implications laying behind them, while Toby sat in his little student's chair, head bent over his scribbling crayon as he worked on his times-tables worksheet. Five years. It was a long time. Sure, I had enjoyed this summer, and I would cherish it forever if I decided to leave. But if I stayed, would I still enjoy this in six months, or a year's time?
	I watched Toby. The tip of his tongue poked out as he concentrated. When he shifted, an ear would flop forward and he'd flick it back out of the way. Every time he moved, his diaper crinkled. His uniform, consisting of a crisp white shirt and an authentic school tie, should have been rounded off with a pair of schoolboy shorts, but there was no way to fit them over his diaper. His velcro pumps were already scuffed since their polishing the day before. He swung them back and forth under his seat. I found myself watching him more than thinking about my future. There were only three words to describe how he looked right now, and they were “cute”, “cute”, and “cute”. I forced my attention away, before he could notice me watching.
	It wasn't even just my decision alone, I thought. Shouldn't Toby get a say in it? Or was that against the spirit of the whole thing? I almost laughed, stopping myself just in time; I could see now why it was so freeing to have your decisions made for you. Deciding for yourself was stressful.
	“Finished!” exclaimed Toby, thrusting his hand up. I stood up from my chair and slipped into teacher mode.
	“We've talked about this, Toby,” I said. “What is the correct way to get teacher's attention?”
	He pouted, and mumbled, “I should raise my hand, quietly, and wait for permission to speak.”
	“That's right,” I said. I resisted the urge to pat him on the head, and took the worksheet instead. I scanned down the page, looking at his answers, and watching his eager, hopeful expression out of the corner of my eye. I counted up his score, and then waited an additional ten seconds to really build his squirmy anticipation. I flashed a proud smile.
	“Twenty out of twenty,” I said. “Well done! That's a gold star.”
	He nearly wriggled out of his seat, and I saw where his eyes were darting.
	“Alright, go ahead Toby!”
	He leaped out of his seat and scampered across the room, skidding around the bookshelf of the reading corner.
	“No running!”
	He slowed to a brisk walking pace, coming to a stop in front of the Good Boy Board. He picked up the sticker sheet, carefully peeled off a shiny gold star, and stood on his tiptoes to reach up and place it neatly into the little square up on the board's grid, joining ninety-nine identical stars to make a nice even hundred.
	I stood behind him and looked at the board with him. I could feel the pride radiating off him. I let him have a few moments to bask in it.
	He spun on his heels and smiled up at me. “That means a day out, right?” He bounced up and down. He was making it hard for me not to grab him into a big happy hug. I couldn't do that, at least not until later. This was teacher time, and teachers didn't act like that.
	“Yes Toby,” I said. “You've done so well, and you've been so well-behaved.”
	He made a happy little squealing noise. “Tomorrow?”
	I thought about it for a moment. “Wednesday,” I said. “So I have enough time to plan a suitably educational day out.”
	He visibly deflated. “Educational?” he said, in the same tone he used whenever I presented him with a meal that contained cabbage or carrots...the latter of which continually amused me; a bunny boy who didn't like carrots.
	“It will be fun too,” I said.
	A pout appeared, and intensified with each passing second. I knew the warning sign well enough, and had to act fast to avert a slip into the old Toby; the moody, sullen, acting-out Toby. I tilted my head and gave him a sly smile, one that I knew he recognised, one that never usually happened in the classroom.
	“As an extra reward,” I said, “how would you like some Goo Goo time?”
	That killed the pout. He blinked rapidly, then looked over at the clock, as if he needed to confirm what he already knew from the midday sunlight streaming through the windows. “But...it's not bed time yet!” he said.
	“That's right! It's an extra treat Goo Goo time!”
	His eyes grew wide, and his appearance retreated back in time by about five years; he looked like I had just proposed having an extra Christmas, with extra ice-cream, and a trip to the moon in a rocket ship.
	His voice dropped to a whisper, quivering with excitement that barely dared to hope. “A...special Goo Goo time?”
	I pretended to think about it for a moment, but I couldn't bring myself to be cruel enough to leave him in suspense for too long. “Yes, I think you've earned...”
	I wasn't able to finish. His gleeful squeal of “yaaaaay!” interrupted me, and he was out of the room, running at full speed, before I could stop him.
	“No running!” I called after him, failing to hold back my laughter this time. I glanced back at the Good Boy Board. One-hundred stars. An outing to plan. And not a single clue where to start. I filed it away for later, and set off to follow Toby. It was Goo Goo time.

If the veranda rivalled my old apartment for size, then the bathroom suite could easily have been a match for my whole apartment building. Okay, maybe I was exaggerating a little. But it was definitely huge. And ornate. And ridiculously extravagant, blending antique finery with modern luxury. I knew for a fact that the clawfoot tub standing in pride of place beneath the fifteen-foot-tall bay windows had ultra-modern jacuzzi jets and a voice-activated interface. And it wasn't even the master bathroom. I'd counted six so far, around the house, and there were probably many more I'd yet to even discover. This wasn't our destination, however. We were just passing through. I followed the trail of open doors to where I knew Toby would be waiting; inside the smaller room, just past the shower bay that could fit fifteen people. The special room. The Goo Goo room.
	It had been a sauna before Leopold's unlimited supply of funding, and his permission (“we have three saunas. I'm sure we can manage with one fewer.”) had allowed me to convert it. I closed the door behind me and gave Toby a disapproving look. He had stripped naked, scattering his uniform and his diaper on the floor all around. Only his little chastity device remained, protecting very little of his modesty. I found him midway through the act of climbing up into the chair. The Goo Goo chair.
	“Toby,” I said, in my warning voice, and glanced pointedly at the discarded clothes.
	“Sorry!” he said, too quickly and breezily for my liking. He was being naughty and he knew it, but he was too excited to care. Oh sure, he knew there'd probably be a spanking for it later, but that was later, and this was now. He dropped his butt into the pvc padded chair, and scrunched up his shoulders. “Cold cold cold!” he squealed.
	There are moments in life when inspiration strikes, completely unexpectedly. One had hit me in this moment, and I had to give a little thought into working out why. The back of my mind had been mulling over the question of where to take Toby for his day out. At the same time, Toby sat before me, almost completely naked, with the chastity device on his boyhood somehow acting to add to his nakedness rather than detract from it. He showed no shame, with his legs spread, his ankles dropping into the unbuckled padded cuffs on the ends of the stirrups, legs spread wide, showing me everything, and he reached his arms up above his head to put his wrists into the other restraint points, waiting for me. Not too long ago, when I first started using the Goo Goo room as part of his bedtime routine, he would hide from me as much as he could, and quiver in mortified humiliation as I strapped him in, protesting with childish squeals, and much less than childish cursing and accusations of me being a pervert.
	Now, he was eager. There was no humiliation any more. He had grown used to this. The threat of spanking...well, he'd grown used to that too. And we had an outing coming up. All these factors clicked into place into one wonderful, magnificent idea. I grinned a very wide grin as I walked over to him.
	“What's so funny?” he asked.
	“Nothing that you need to know about right now,” I said. I placed my hand on his chest and eased him back against the pvc padding. “Are you ready for Goo Goo time?”
	“Special Goo Goo time, right?” he said, cautiously. I could see his erection straining against the chastity device.
	“Mmmhmm,” I said. “And now, no more talking.”
	The cabinet behind the head of the chair, conveniently within arm's reach, contained all manner of delightful things. I slid open the top drawer and lingered in indecision for a few moments, caught in the abundance of choice between the array of different pacifiers available. I finally settled on his favourite, though he'd never admit it; the one that had, in place of the teat, a nine-inch-long rubber phallus. It had come as part of the collection of pacifiers when I'd ordered them, and I'd not planned to ever use it, and I'd even thought of throwing it out; its existence just added extra ammunition to Toby's occasional accusations of perversion. When I'd first used it, nearly a month ago, it had been an act of annoyance, during one of Toby's tantrums; “fine, if you're going to call me a pervert, how about I act like one?”
	His reaction to it, upon first seeing it, had not been what I'd expected. He'd gone very quiet, and the inside of his ears had flushed, and his chastity device had twitched upwards as his cock hardened inside it. And when I had lifted the tip of it to his mouth, he'd meekly opened it. That Goo Goo time had turned out to be the first “special” Goo Goo time.
	Now, he dazzled me with a happy smile upon sighting his favourite pacifier, though he still blushed, and because I hadn't buckled the straps yet, he wiggled all over the chair. I touched the tip to his lips, and he parted them, and in slid the phallus, all, the way to his throat, and then just a little further, after a pause for him to get his gag reflex in check and steady his breathing through his nose. I buckled the strap around his head, nice and tight; one notch tighter than comfort. He made a muffled moaning sound, and his chastity twitched, and he didn't move his hands from their waiting position at the cuffs. That told me that had been the right move.
	I started to buckle the straps in place, across his wrists, elbows, chest, waist, knees, and ankles, securing him into a position that would be familiar to any gynaecologist, which made sense, because the Goo Goo chair had started life as a gynaecologist's chair, before undergoing some modifications to properly match Toby's small size...and the restraint straps, of course. The end result was an immobile boy, with his legs spread and raised, and his rear fully exposed.
	I leaned over him and smiled, while stroking the top of his head. “Are you ready?” I asked.
	“Mmmhmm!” he said, eager and impatient. Of course he was ready. I was only asking to tease him.
	My next actions had become routine. I wheeled over the little trolley and made sure the pump was plugged in. I flicked the switch on and off to be sure and heard the soft whirring and watched the water surge in the tubing. I popped the lid of the water tank, checked the contents were fresh. Clean water. Good. Leopold's staff hadn't let me down yet. I resealed the tank, then unwound the tubing. The drawer at the top of the trolley contained the various nozzles and plugs. I cast my hand over them, wiggling my fingers. Without even looking over, I knew that Toby would be watching. I pretended to be indecisive for a few moments, even going so far as to hum thoughtfully. Of course, there was no real doubt in my decision; my hand was always going to settle on the largest, widest, and longest plug in the collection. We'd never used that one until now, but I was sure he could cope. We'd had no problems when we used the second-largest one. Well, no problems that couldn't be surmounted with lube and patience. I screwed the plug onto the end of the tubing, and flashed a smile over at Toby's nervous, but excited, face.
	 Applying the lube was a process that I had streamlined with practice. Early on, I had just squirted lube from a pump dispenser onto the nozzle or plug, then spread it with my fingers. This worked, but it got lube everywhere. The new method was far better; I had another small tank, filled with lube; I popped the lid, carefully dipped the plug inside, holding it by the base, then slowly withdrew it, letting the excess lube drip off. And that was the job done; one nice big plug, evenly lubed, without getting any on my fingers.
	“Are you sure you're ready?” I said, chuckling at Toby's moaned response. I was just being evil, now. I positioned myself between his legs and touched the tapered tip of the plug against his pucker. He flinched and squealed, as I expected he would. He always reacted like that to the coldness of the lube. It would soon warm up.
	I was gentle, and patient, as I always was. I eased the first inch or so into him, knowing that he would have no difficulty with that first part. After that came the first signs of discomfort. I slowed down, and watched and listened to his responses. When his breathing slowed and his squirming settled down, I pushed the plug slightly deeper into him. Bit by bit, I worked the plug into him, gripping the unlubed base tightly to control its movement, and to stop it from sliding back out from the squeezing pressure of his rear. I watched as his hole spread obscenely around the widest point of the plug, once again feeling like the pervert that he used to accuse me of being. I tightened my grip on the plug, ready for the moment when his pucker would slip down around the thinner neck of the plug. I didn't want to lose the grip and have the plug slam into him. I let it slowly settle inside, then let go.
	“How does that feel?” I asked, looking over at him. He had his eyes closed. His nostrils flared as he took deep, shaky breaths. One glance at his chastity device confirmed how he was feeling. It was straining upwards, tugging at his balls, and a clear strand of precum was slowly falling from its tip. That thick plug was doing a number on his prostate.
	I switched on the pump, set to its lowest setting. The water flowed through the tubing and through the hollow channel in the plug. He tensed against the restraints and made muffled noises past his pacifier. The water was room-temperature, but it would still feel pretty cold when it first entered him. I took my attention away from Toby and focussed on the markings on the side of the water tank. I watched as the water level slowly dropped, and readied my finger over the switch to turn the pump off at the precise moment where trial and error had told me his limit lay.
	I flicked the switch. The pump silenced. The visible swell in Toby's tummy told me he was full. His eyes were still closed, but now his brow was scrunched together, and he was trembling. Gently, I rubbed his tummy, and made soothing motherly noises.
	Normally, this would now be the time when I had nothing to do, while the enema did its job inside him. Normally, I would talk to him, perhaps tease him a little, or scold him for whatever misdeeds he had committed throughout the day, or praise him for his good behaviour. But this wasn't a normal bedtime Goo Goo time, so I had things to do. I got a chore out of the way early; shutting the valve on the nozzle connected to the plug, disconnecting the tubing from the clean water tank, and attaching it to the waste drain nozzle. Next came the part that was much less of a chore, and almost as fun for me as it was for him. I wheeled over a stool so I could sit and be comfortable, and then got out the vibrating wand.
	He opened his eyes to look at me when I turned it on, filling the room with its buzzing noise. He made incoherent, questioning noises through the pacifier. His eyes darted down towards his chastity. I smiled and shook my head.
	“Sorry, Toby,” I said. “It stays on this time. You've been good, but not extra special good.”
	He moaned, and if the pacifier weren't in the way I'm sure he would have pouted. But that stopped the moment I touched the vibrating wand against the chastity. He tensed up, and his eyes closed again. His breath huffed fast through his nose.
	I kept my finger on the vibrator's controls, carefully adjusting the power, while I watched Toby for the tell-tale signs of release. He was the very definition of “hair trigger” at this point. He could blow at any moment, and I didn't want to rush it. I could have kept him teetering on the edge for hours, if I wanted, if I were that evil. Luckily for Toby, I wasn't that evil. Not quite, anyway!
	Toby's eyes met mine. I saw the pleading expression that I expected. I smiled back at him, holding that eye contact. And then, time seemed to slow down.
	It's a cliché, but it was true. The moment dragged out, and the world around those eyes faded away. There were no words in the thoughts I had in that moment; everything inside my head was just sensations and wordless emotion. Later on, I could not properly explain what I was thinking. Maybe I wasn't. Maybe it was just instinct. Whatever it was, it guided my hand to lift the vibrating wand away from his chastity, and to reach out and flip the valve on the enema tube, allowing the contents of Toby's swollen rear to drain away.
	He groaned. He rolled his eyes back and closed his eyelids. He rocked upwards against the restraints and blindly tried to touch his chastity against a wand that was no-longer there. I watched him, feeling like a zombie, feeling my heart start to race and my skin's temperature rise. I had started, now. And no force in the world was going to stop me. My subconscious mind had decided for me, and future regret be damned.
	The murky water had only just stopped flowing when I gripped the plug and started to pull. Toby's eyes opened and locked with mine. I might have been projecting, but in those eyes I could see the same floating, thought-free mind state that I was experiencing. It was like we were sharing a telepathic link. It was as if we both knew what each-other was thinking, and were just waiting for the inevitable.
	He made a very quiet noise as the plug slipped free, one that I would barely have been able to hear even if he weren't gagged. Then, without even being aware of doing it, I stood between his spread legs, my jeans unzipped, my cock out and in my hand, and my eyes still locked on Toby's. I felt like I couldn't breathe. He knew about the instinct that had control over me. He knew what I was about to do. And he was just watching, waiting, holding his breath exactly as I was...and not showing any sign of protest. I touched the tip of my cock to his pucker, which felt warm and wet, already stretched and prepared by the plug. His cheeks puffed and his throat bobbed. He was suckling on the gag. And still he watched me, and I watched him, as I pushed slowly into him.
	For a brief moment, my senses returned to me, and I felt awful. I had crossed a line by doing this; a great big, fat, monstrous, unfathomably immoral line. This was selfish. My own desire had crept up on me and taken charge, superseding my duty of care. Then came panic, sharp and painful; what was going to happen tomorrow? Or an hour from now? Or in ten minutes? Would he still accept me as...whatever it was I was to him...a caregiver? Teacher? Surrogate parent? Would he still be able to look me in the eye? Would I be able to look into his?
	But, right at that moment, our eyes were locked together, our bodies frozen, my hands on his hips and my cock in his rear. I couldn't move. Lust wanted me to go forward; to thrust, to fuck, to cum. Fear held me back, demanding that I pull out, apologise, mend the broken “professional” relationship and try to return us to what we were two minutes ago. I was stuck, caught immobile between the two opposing forces.
	And then he broke the stalemate, with one tiny sound; a needy, muffled, whimper. The same whimper that I had heard so many times before; the one that told me that he wanted something. My fear grasped that sound and screamed in my head; he wanted me to stop, pull out! I felt myself moving, leaning my hips backwards, exposing my wet shaft to the cooler air, until only the head of my cock touched his pucker.
	The whimper came again, louder, more urgent, and now my lust took its turn. Fear still spoke, telling me that this was confirmation of my first impression; he wanted me to withdraw all the way, to run away, to let him forget this ever happened. But lust countered, saying; he wants you back inside.
	And there was only one way to find out; I thrust back into him. Not slowly, this time. Fast and hard, my hips bumping against his rear. I watched his face, caught in the grip of his stare, feeling the panic rise.
	He closed his eyes, and exhaled a long, shaky moan, through his nose. Fear cracked apart into shards. And, when I saw his cheeks push upwards, telling me that there was a smile hiding behind the pacifier gag, the shards of fear evaporated into dust. He wanted this! My heart felt like it was on the verge of a heart attack. I finally breathed. My head felt light. I could have floated away. He wanted this! Future regret be damned!
	After that, everything was just disjointed sensations. Lust took over. My body did its own thing, without commands from my brain; it knew what it was doing. I doubled over the top of Toby, moaning and panting, and hearing him make similar noises. I had no idea if five seconds, or five minutes, or five hours had passed. The pleasure washed away all thoughts, and when the fog finally cleared, I was laying on top of Toby, feeling sticky and warm. It took a while for me to discover that it wasn't just from my own orgasm; his quivering tummy was wet with his own cum, laid out in a trail that led back to his chastity-encased boyhood. I checked his face; eyes closed, lost in bliss, suckling on his gag.
	“Well,” I panted. His eyes opened. And, with synchronicity worthy of a movie, we both began to giggle.

Afterwards, he acted as if it hadn't happened.
	Well, not precisely. He didn't say or do anything that directly referenced my misdeed. But he was surprisingly well-behaved for the rest of the day, and the morning of the next day. I operated on autopilot, feeling dazed, as if my post-orgasm mind-fog was lasting far longer than it should. Only when he cheerfully mentioned his excitement about our day out, did I snap out of it. I smiled coyly at him, offering up no clues as to where we'd be going. Then, when I was out of his sight, I scrambled in a hasty panic to make phone calls and prepare.
	Then came the conversation with Leopold. I showed him the printed-out invoice. For the first time, in all the times I had presented him with the cost of something for confirmation that I wasn't pushing the limits of the ostensibly limitless funding at my disposal, he raised an eyebrow. I felt my stomach twist.
	And then, he smiled. “It seems you finally understand the potential of the means we have made available to you, Mister Stephenson.” He handed the sheet back to me. “You don't need my approval for this, as I keep reminding you. I look forward to hearing how your day out goes.”
	I returned to the phone, to finalise everything, feeling the fog lift and a giddy anticipation growing. I started to feel like I was looking forward to the day out almost as much as Toby was.

“Let's get you dressed!”
	There was no argument from Toby. He eagerly followed me, naked from his morning bath, still slightly damp after his towelling, his fur sticking up every which way. He flung his arms up ready for me to lift him up onto the changing table, and squirmed with barely-contained excited impatience as I went through the routine of putting him in his fresh diaper. He shot me a quick look of puzzlement, though, when he noticed the diaper wasn't the same as the ones he was used to. He lifted himself up onto his elbows and looked at it. The padding was about three times thicker than usual. I saw him trying to bring his knees together; there was no way he could make them touch.
	“Lay back down, Toby,” I said, with authoritarian warning in my voice. “No getting up until I'm finished.”
	I opened a drawer in the changing table, just out of Toby's line of sight. The sound of it opening got his attention, though; I hadn't ever used that drawer before, so this understandably got him curious. He didn't sit up again, though. He had heeded my warning. Instead, he squirmed nervously, trying to get a look without lifting his head. Truthfully, there had never been anything in that drawer until today. I lifted out the plastic pants, freshly delivered from a very specialised website that very morning. His eyes widened.
	“I have to wear that?” he asked.
	“Well, I'm not going to wear it, am I?” I teased.
	“But...it's pink!”
	“Why, yes it is! Legs up!”
	I threaded the plastic pants down his legs and under the enormous bulge of his diaper. Every movement produced a ridiculously loud crinkling, rustling noise from the plastic. It was perfect. Maybe, just maybe, you might be able to miss seeing the bulk of the diaper, or the distinctive diapery noise it makes when the wearer moves. But there was no way anyone could miss hearing the noise of the plastic pants. I was very satisfied with this particular purchase.
	What made it even better was the loops around the waistband, designed exactly like those you get for a belt on regular, grown-up clothing. Into these I threaded a leather strap; one of the ones I normally used for restraining Toby, one of the ones that had a fitting to take a padlock. Next, of course, came the padlock, clicking into place on the front of the waistband, keeping the strap nice and tight around Toby's waist.
	“Why did you put that on?” he asked.
	“To make sure your nice pretty pink plastic pants don't fall down,” I said, with a smile.
	And, to make sure he couldn't take them off. Not that he would, of course, and I'd be right there to catch him. But there's a distinct difference between being able to and not doing so, and being unable to do so at all. And I think he knew it; the warm reddish hue growing stronger in the pink of his ears told me that. Now that I noticed his ears, I decided I would rearrange my planned dressing order a little. I fetched the pink ribbons.
	“What are you doing now?” he asked. His excitement had given way to puzzlement, and then to pouting. Perhaps he thought I was deliberately delaying his day out.
	“Making you look pretty,” I said. “For your day out! Don't you think it looks pretty?”
	I manoeuvred a mirror into position, letting him see the pink bows tied to the base of each ear. He pouted at his reflection, and the redness in his ears deepened an extra shade.
	“No,” he said. “It makes me look like...a girl!”
	“So it does!” This was perfect. I had made the right decision, changing the order of things. Improvisation works! “And I have just the right thing for a pretty girl!”
	He stared in silent disbelief, his jaw hanging slack. The redness in his ears now matched the deep pink of the bows tied around them...and the pinkness of the frilly dress I held before him.
	“F...” He stammered, eyes darting between the dress and my smile. His face furrowed into a scowl. It happened slowly, in fits and starts, as if he had forgotten how to make that expression. Then it took over in full force. He threw his arms up and stomped a foot. The plastic pants crinkled. “Fuck no!” he shouted. “I'm not wearing tha-”
	I grabbed his wrist, and my blazing glare withered his scowl away to nothing. He dropped the arm that I wasn't holding. It was as if someone had pulled the plug from him. His floppy ears even seemed to droop lower.
	“Bathroom,” I said, in that calm, steady tone that could inspire far more dread than any shouting ever could. “Now.”

It was a sunny day. On the other side of the glass and metal of the car, the air sizzled. But inside the soundproofed and air-conditioned cocoon of rolling luxury, I felt perfectly comfortable. The same couldn't be said for Toby.
	“How are you doing back there?” I said, looking up at the rear-view mirror.
	“Mmmphmmmph!” said Toby. I heard an accompanying crinkle from his plastic pants as he wriggled on his booster seat. He had a look on his face that should have been accompanied by folded arms and hunched shoulders. He didn't actually have folded arms, because his wrists were buckled to the sides of the booster seat, alongside his thighs. Well, technically, the padlocked, fleecy, pink baby mittens he was wearing were buckled to the booster seat.
	“Ah, that's good,” I said. “Nearly there, now.”
	He mumbled something else. Bubbles popped around the edges of his pacifier. Drool dripped down his chin and onto his bib. Thankfully, none of it got onto his dress. He wriggled in the booster seat again. More crinkling noises, loud and clear over the almost silent humming of the cruising car.
	“And how does the soap taste?”
	He whined. More bubbles. His cheeks bulged outwards, pressing against the straps that held the pacifier gag in place. It was a shame to ruin the gag by cutting off the majority of the teat, but it was worth it, and I could always get another one. In the space that would have been filled by the soothing, squishy, rubberyness of the teat, was half a bar of soap, merrily foaming away on Toby's tongue, trapped in place by the pacifier.
	“Oh good,” I said. “Glad to hear it.”
	I was tempted to take the scenic route. Lucky for Toby, I wasn't that cruel. I watched him in the mirror again as I steered the car into smaller streets, where people could be seen walking around. He tried to hunch down out of sight, his ears glowing with his embarrassment. The bib was filling up with his soapy drool. I'm not sure if he saw the sign as we passed under it.
	Butterfield Mall, it said.
	I brought the car to a stop. In one of the family spaces, reserved for customers with children. Because, why not? I had a “child” with me, after all.
	“We're here,” I said.
	“Mmmph!”
	I climbed out of the car and around to the back. Toby looked at me with sad eyes when I opened his door. He tugged his mittened hands against their restraints.
	“Now,” I said, “we're not going to have any more bad words on your day out, are we?”
	He shook his head vigorously, spraying soapy drool onto the seat beside him, and onto me. I tried not to laugh.
	“Good,” I said.
	He didn't wait until I had fully removed the pacifier gag; the moment he had any slack, he spat the soap out, bumping it against the pacifier and sending it bouncing down into the footwell and under the driver's seat. I ignored it. It wasn't my car, after all, and Leopold had staff that would clean it.
	“Plegh,” he said, spitting out more soapy drool. It dribbled down into his bib. With a paper towel, I wiped his face. Then, when he looked reasonably presentable, I unbuckled him from the booster seat and took him into my arms.
	He didn't know about the pushchair in the back of the car. Just another one of my speedy-delivery purchases. He stared at it, but didn't speak. A few bubbles still blossomed on his lips. The pushchair was pink, a perfect match for his dress.
	“I can walk,” he mumbled. I ignored him. The pushchair didn't come with built-in restraints; my preparation time was too short for something so custom. But I had made my own modifications; attachment points matching the ones on his booster seat soon had his mittened hands nicely secured by his thighs, and a nice sturdy seatbelt held his diapered butt in place. Straps around his ankles kept his feet from kicking, and also kept them apart. This had the added bonus of causing the dress to hide practically nothing of the gigantic diaper underneath it. I could tell that Toby was aware of this; his ears showed a blush. Those ears were fantastic; such a precise and obvious indicator of his level of embarrassment. I glanced over towards the mall, at the various shoppers milling around. I smiled to myself, and wondered just how red those ears could get.
	I started to wheel the pushchair, and Toby inside it, towards the main entrance. Halfway there, I heard a timid little voice, so quiet I almost didn't catch it.
	“Where's my pacifier?” asked Toby.
	My pace stalled momentarily. Truthfully, I had forgotten to put one on him. It was inside the car. But I wasn't going to tell him that. I thought fast.
	“You don't need one,” I said. “You're not going to say anything naughty, are you?”
	“No sir,” he mumbled. That was a word I didn't hear often from him.
	As we entered the cool, brightness of the Mall's commercial paradise, I felt his weight shifting in the pushchair. I peered over the top to see Toby squirming in his seat, and I could hear the crinkling of his plastic pants.
	“People can see me!” he whined.
	“They sure can!” I made sure my voice was louder than strictly necessary, and saw a few heads turn, looking first at me, then at Toby, then smiling, or grinning, or even laughing. “I'm sure they envy me, getting to take such a pretty little girl out for a special day out!”
	“I'm not a girl!” he cried. Even more heads turned. I saw Toby try to hunch down in the pushchair. “I want to go home!”
	“But we just got here! Don't you want to see the rides?”
	He fell silent. We strolled past stores, at a leisurely pace that ensured everyone could get a good look at him. Shoppers milled around. Toby was drawing the attention of nearly all of them. Most smiled or laughed, whispering comments to their companions. I could sense the heat of Toby's blush, rising to a boil. His squirming turned into outright struggling, and he buried his face into his shoulder, trying to hide, letting out an anguished wail. Had he not been so caught up in his humiliation, he might have noticed that there was no music playing in this mall, and the shoppers were unusually quiet, other than those witnessing him in his pushchair. This meant that the ever-present crinkle-crunch rustle of his plastic pants was plain to hear for everyone nearby. More heads turned. We moved through crowds that stared right at Toby.
	A tiny voice, almost drowned out by the crinkling. “What rides?” he asked. It almost broke me, that timid, scared little voice. It took me right to the brink of deciding to turn about-face and wheel him right out of there, back home, to cuddle him and give him ice-cream.
	And...maybe to fuck him. That thought slammed into my mind, not daring to hide itself any more. I felt my own ears and cheeks heating up, and I used all my willpower to force the thought back down. I couldn't give in. I had a mission. It had taken lots of work to prepare.
	“Almost there,” I said. I reached down to pat the top of his head. I expected him to flinch away from my hand, but he surprised me by nuzzling against it instead. I was used to Toby turning to me for comfort when he was upset, in his increasingly frequent childish, vulnerable states. But it was unusual for him to seek my comfort when it was me who was inflicting that upset; after spankings, he would usually sulk for a while, before good behaviour  resumed control over him. I mused on this for a while, as we turned the last corner.
	I heard Toby take a sharp breath. The wide and open atrium in the heart of the mall wasn't quite as wide and open today as it usually was. In the middle of the large space were clustered a collection of fairground rides; adorable kid-sized roller coasters, with gentle slopes and turns, bobbing motorised horsey rides, a small bumper car arena with cars shaped like cartoon characters, and in the middle of it all stood a grand old-fashioned carousel, decked out with gilt and lights and lovingly-carved wooden horses.
	Around the carousel, a crowd had formed. And like parting waves, the crowd spread open for us as we approached. All eyes were on Toby, and he probably felt like there were hundreds upon hundreds of them. I knew the number to be about thirty. These were the same shoppers who had been milling about us this whole time, moving up and down past us as we strolled through the mall, moving like extras in a movie, inflating the appearance of their numbers. Toby won't have noticed the repeating faces. All he could see were the eyes and the grins.
	“Why are they all looking at me?” he cried.
	“Because you're a pretty little baby girl, of course! And they want to see you ride the horsey ride. Don't you want to ride the horsey ride, Toby?”
	“This is...this...” He wriggled in the pushchair, crinkle crinkle. I heard some of the crowd break their characters; exclamations of “aww” and “how cute!” I motioned to them, with my finger to my lips, and a wide grin. Some of them got the message and quietened. Others laughed. That was alright. Toby thought they were laughing at him; he wailed in anguish and buried himself deeper in the pushchair. The poor thing seemed on the verge of exploding with shame. He couldn't hide from the stares, couldn't cover his diaper, couldn't wish away his pretty pink dress. And, under the strain, he broke; I could hear his wet sniffles as we reached the ride.
	“There there,” I said, soothingly, as I unstrapped him from the pushchair. He lunged into my arms when I picked him up, squeezing his head against my chest and bawling like a little baby.
	Mission accomplished, I thought. Humiliation lived again in my little Toby. The strongest weapon I had to ensure his good behaviour, and his continued improved upbringing, was now polished and sharp once more. I could now count on months of effective discipline, knowing I could just mention this day whenever there was even the slightest hint of my adorable little boy reverting back to his sulky teenaged ways. There was just one thing left to do, to really make sure the lesson took hold, to perhaps turn months of effectiveness into years.
	I carried him to the carousel and stood next to one of the horses, and waited. The crowd waited too, falling silent, into that tense kind of silence that only an expectant crowd could make. We didn't have to wait too long; Toby lifted his head, sniffling, wiped his wet cheek against his arm, then looked around over his shoulder to find out why we had all suddenly gone so quiet.
	His soft, warbling, shame-laced wail, when he saw the tall, thick dildo mounted on the saddle, would be a sound that I would remember for a very long time.
	There was a small obstacle, and it reminded me just how hurried all this had been. I looked around at the clustered crowd, which had completely dropped the pretence of being ordinary shoppers. “Does anyone have a pair of scissors?”

I sipped my coffee.
	“Not bad,” I said. “I might have to come back here.”
	The lady sitting across from me, Deborah I think her name was, or Debbie, or perhaps Dianne, gave me a smile. “Because of the coffee, or the view?”
	“Both!”
	In unison, we turned to look at the carousel. Slowly, majestically, it turned, playing its delightful tinkling music. The horses rolled up and down in their graceful waves. As I watched, Toby swung around into view. As he went past, I could see the dildo slide up and down, through the hole cut into his diaper and plastic pants...that was alright, I could always buy more. His face was a picture-perfect display of pleasure; eyes closed, lips parted, probably with an inaudible moan coming from them. I couldn't tell at this distance, with the music playing.
	I wondered if he'd figured it out yet; the reason why we hadn't been thrown out of the mall by angry security, the reason why the “shoppers” around us met us with amused smiles and teasing laughter, and not scowls and shouts of disgust. I'd tell him later, I thought. About all the astonishingly huge amount of money needed to hire out an entire mall for a day, and the almost equally huge amount of money and organisational effort needed to gather so many like-minded people together. The rides were a bonus that I hadn't originally planned on; they came courtesy of a rather interesting feline, currently tinkering with one of the roller coasters and chatting to some others. I would have to see if Toby and I could visit him some day. We could compare notes about “naughtifying” innocent items. I had to admit, I was getting quite practised at doing it. I could probably teach him a thing or two.
	“So,” I said. “Do you have a Toby of your own?”
	Deborah/Debbie/Dianne nodded. “She's at home, with my partner, having a playdate with some friends.”
	Toby passed around the ride again. I looked over, smiling at the sight.
	“Playdate, eh? I like the sound of that. I think Toby would too.”
	“We'll have to arrange something!” She turned to look at the carousel, as Toby disappeared around to the other side. “I think your little sweetie might be getting tired soon.”
	“Ten more minutes,” I said, taking another sip of coffee. It'd cooled down to the perfect temperature. “Daddy needs a rest!”
	I laughed, and so did she. But then I got thoughtful. It was a joke, of course, but it felt strangely natural. Between then, and the moment I set my drained mug down, I realised something; I was Toby's “daddy”. Leopold wasn't. He was more of an uncle, and he had said himself that he wasn't capable of raising Toby properly. And Toby's actual father...well, I'd never met him. That said enough about exactly how much of a father he was to Toby.
	I fished the envelope from my pocket, wincing a little at how crumpled it had become. Oh well. Leopold wouldn't mind. I opened it on the table and smoothed out the contents.
	“What's that?” asked my companion.
	I read through the document again. Not that it was necessary. I could have probably recited it off by heart at this point. If I wasn't careful, my constant repeated reading of the thing was going to wear the letters off the paper. Lots of official-sounding words...and that hugely important implication behind them. It meant five years, of my life, and of Toby's. Before this moment, that had scared me, and I might have picked the uncertain unknowns of leaving this life, over the far more overwhelming uncertainty of staying.
	Now, though? I lifted my head and smiled at the lady.
	“My future,” I said. “Do you have a pen?”

I carried Toby back to the car, leaving the pushchair abandoned for someone else to take. Free pushchair for someone. I was sure someone would find a good use for it. As I left, I saw the vans pulling up; Leopold's staff, here to clean up after us. I stopped and looked back at the mall, while Toby dozed against my chest, dripping lube onto my thigh from his ruined diaper. Money can't buy you happiness, I thought, looking up at the giant building. But a fuckton of money can certainly get things done.
	He stirred into semi-wakefulness as I strapped him into his booster seat. I took note of the leaky hole in his diaper. Might see some accidents, I thought. Oh well. I'd make sure to tip the cleaners, if so.
	“Mwuh?” he mumbled.
	“Home time,” I said, “did you have a nice time?”
	He wriggled and tried to lift his hands, but I had already attached the mittens to the booster seat. “Yes sir,” he whispered. I wasn't certain if he meant it or not. I would have to find out later. I looked at his cute little face, all tuckered out, and thought about the envelope in my pocket.
	“Toby,” I said, slowly, cautiously, picking each word carefully. “Would you like to call me 'daddy' instead?”
	His eyes opened fully, and he looked at me. Then, they closed, and he rested his head back against the seat. “Mmm. Okay, daddy,” he murmured.
	My cheeks flushed hot, and I smiled like an idiot, so thankful that Toby couldn't see me doing it. That felt so good. So right. I felt like laughing as I climbed into the driver's seat. I never would have guessed that I would be a “daddy” one day. Let alone such a strange one.
	“Daddy?” came a small voice from behind me, as I pulled the car out onto the main road. “Can we do special Goo Goo again tonight?”
	I knew what he meant by “special”. That word had changed its meaning quite drastically, after the last Goo Goo time. And this was the first time he had directly mentioned it.
	“Are you sure, Toby?”
	A tired little murmur. “Mmmhmm. Yes please, Daddy.”
	“Alright,” I said, and perhaps my foot pressed a little more firmly onto the accelerator. “Since you asked so nicely.”