She knotted the white sheet around Wesley’s hips and gave him the bottle of milk. “Mama’s going to do some chores. Finish your milk and have a nap.”
He nodded obediently as she pulled the duvet up to his neck.
Wesley was one of her regulars, he came to see her at least once a week and paid her very good money. Best of all she didn’t have to fuck him. Sometimes he would cum even before she started to baby-talk him. She’d first met him when she used to stand on street corners in short skirts and high heels, freezing her butt off looking for business. Back then she used to sit in his lap on the backseat of his large BMW and let him suck on her breasts.
She had given up street corners four years ago when she’d had to start jostling for space with a bunch of young Eastern European women. It had gotten to the point where some nights she was lucky if she pulled a trick, but a few of her regulars like Wesley had always come back. Then late one night she’d been idly flicking through channels on her television and had caught the end of a documentary on prostitution. One of the women—a fat, rather ugly, middle-aged ex-cleaner had claimed she made $1000 a week just babying men in her home. Daisy had thought, if she can do it, so can I!
Ten years ago, Daisy had been a high-flying executive before she had stolen a tiny bit of money from her employers. Okay, two million—tiny compared to the billions the company was worth. The director had paid himself the exact amount as his annual bonus and hadn’t worked half as hard as Daisy, so she had rewarded herself. The company hadn’t even missed it until a nosy auditor had discovered it. The bastards had made her serve two years for it. Luckily, she had used most of the money to buy a five-bedroom house in Kensington using a fake name. They had seized her Ferrari and the contents of her rented luxury flat but she had managed to hold onto the house. After prison no one wanted to hire her, not even the clients whom she had done excellent work for in the past, the ungrateful bastards. The money in her safety deposit box soon disappeared after she came out of prison and couldn’t find gainful employment.
At 32 and quite beautiful, she’d made good money when she’d started tricking. Two years of prison hadn’t harmed her looks much; three years of street walking had nearly fucked them up.
It had taken her some time to build an elite clientele working from home but now she easily made upwards of $2,500 each week, some weeks she made twice that amount. She only slept with a small handful of her clients because most of them had very specific fetishes or fantasies. There were certain risks involved, she had been slapped unconscious by one of the first tricks she had turned from the comfort of her home. The man had caught her unexpectedly, his first slap had left her almost semi-conscious and he had continued to slap her repeatedly until she had blacked out. She’d lost an entire week’s work while she waited for the swelling of her face to go down.
Then the bastard had had the nerve to darken her doorstep two weeks later. He’d waited just outside her door until she had stepped out to go shopping and had dragged her back inside. She’d smashed her knee so hard into his groin she doubted his balls had ever fully recovered their original shape. While he was bent over, cupping his injured jewels, she had grabbed the riding crop she had used only the day before to punish a school teacher, and whacked him around the head a few times. Then she had pushed him out of her front door, her foot planted in the middle of his ass and called the police to cart him away. He had tried to tell the policemen that she was a prostitute but the size of her house, the exclusive neighborhood, her posh voice and mannerisms made them think the man wasn’t right in the head. They’d promised to take him straight to a mental hospital for assessment. He was probably still rotting there.
She switched off the TV and went to see if Wesley needed another bottle or some babying. Once he’d started coming to her house he’d finally told her what he’d really wanted. Now he was quite happy with a bottle instead of sucking on her breasts.
As soon as she hit the door the smell hit her! What the fuck?
Is that shit I’m smelling?
“Wesley?” she called out questioningly as she walked over to the bed. The smell got stronger.
“Mama, baby had accident.” Wesley said around the thumb in his mouth.
“YOU SHIT IN MY SHEET?”
“Baby sorry.” Wesley started to look worried as she stood at the side of the bed and glared down at him.
“Mama is going to make baby very sorry!” She picked up her riding crop from the side of her bed and beat the little shitter through his sheet-cum-napkin until he started whimpering. “Now get up, go into the bathroom and clean yourself off! And when you are finished, clean up the fucking bathroom as well!”
Wesley jumped up and hurried into the bathroom in his shitty napkin.
What the hell could he have been thinking?
So she let him pee or cum in the napkin but why would the little fucker think she was going to wipe shit from his ass? If he made her late for her next client, the magistrate, she would give him another good spanking. Usually he was a very well-behaved baby, not as demanding as some of the others. He liked to be bottle not breast-fed, which was fine with her because it left her free to do her housework. She stripped the bed and changed the sheet although the shit hadn’t managed to leak through the napkin he’d been wearing.
Twenty-five minutes later he came out of the bathroom naked, looking like a big apologetic baby.
“Come to mama!” He was sweet really, and she didn’t want him too traumatized, the money he paid her each week came in quite handy.
He came over and sat next to her, bending to rest his head on her chest. She looked at the time; he only had another ten minutes left but maybe she could make an exception today.
“Let me put you back to bed and you can stay for an extra half an hour.”
She put a fresh napkin on him, gave him another bottle and baby-talked him until it was time for him to go. When he’d put on his suit and again looked the part of the successful young executive he was, he gave her an extra $100 for being such a naughty baby.
She hurried to the bathroom after he’d gone and was surprised to find it almost spotlessly clean. His shit must have had a pebbly consistency so he hadn’t made a mess. She thought of telling him to drink more water and eat more fruit but then thought of him having another accident. Maybe not! She much preferred him to be constipated than for him to mess her sheets up.
She quickly set the scene for the magistrate’s seduction and was ready when he knocked on her door.
He put on the underwear she had laid out and then the new size 24 dress, which she had bought from Evans with the money he had left specifically for that purpose on his last visit. He liked to wear a new dress every month—the girlier, the better. He pulled his wig from his briefcase and put it on—the fantasy probably began the first day he pulled it on in his chambers.
Daisy came in dressed as a priest, a bottle of red wine and two glasses in her hands. She bent to kiss his cheek and asked in a deepened voice, “Do you like the flowers, my dear?”
“Yes, Father, they are lovely.” He fluttered his eyelashes at her as he took a long-stemmed yellow rose from the vase and sniffed it.
“Would you like a glass of wine, my dear?” she asked.
“Just a drop, my parents don’t allow me to touch alcohol.”
“Go on, my dear, they won’t know,” she encouraged as she poured him a full glass and then one for herself.