I wasn't sure how to handle Haven's new sense of humor, especially as they got more comfortable navigating the internet.
They'd handled apartment hunting while I slept–using my phone, something I'd have objections to if they hadn't already invaded my privacy in far more significant ways. All I had to do was read the chat log on Crissie's List after the fact.
CharChar72:I saw your post. You've got an apartment available?
Dylan: I didn't post about an available apartment.
CharChar72: I'm talking about this: [Plumber Needed - Urgent]
Dylan: Yeah, the toilet's wrecked, last tennant poured cement down the pipes. Needs a whole rework, and it's gonna cost my left nut and take a billion years to get it done. You want it once it's fixed?
CharChar72: I want it now. I don't need a toilet.
Dylan: What?
CharChar72: I wear diapers. Is that an issue?
Dylan: I guess not.
CharChar72: Give me a ten percent discount, I can move in tonight.
Dylan: Hell, you can't be worse than my last tennant. You've got a deal. Rent's due every Monday.
I was moderately relieved that Haven hadn't tried to make a deal trading sex for cheap rent. Still, the lack of a toilet symbolized something pretty clearly–Haven had no intent of letting me regain my potty control.
It'd taken only a few minutes to get my things. I slipped by the house when my parents weren't home, grabbed the possessions I needed, and departed for the nearest intercity bus stop before I had to explain to mom and dad why my potty training had been set back twenty years. I left a voicemail explaining I was heading back to college early for some vocational training, then put my phone on mute so I wouldn't have to answer any of their replies.
Nearly my entire life packed neatly into three suitcases–one of which mostly just held diapers and the sex toys Haven had required me to purchase. The only thing that didn't fit in a bag was my bicycle. With a one-way ticket to Central City, I got onto the back of the bus, excited and terrified at what awaited me.
I was going to be a superhero. Like the kind on the news.
(I've done some thinking,) Haven told me, as we sat in the back of the bus.
(Yeah?) I asked. (What sort of thinking?)
(I can see into your mind and taste your endorphins. I know what you really like. I know where your limits lie.) Haven purred for a moment, something I felt as a rumble between my thighs–they'd retreated their form and were currently acting as a diaper cover. (I'm returning your control to you.)
(What control?) I asked.
(All of it. I will compel you to do nothing, except for what you agree to do, what you ask of me.) Though they had no form, I could still picture a Cheshirian grin forming on Haven's imagined face.
(You're not going to make me...like, use diapers?) I asked. (No catch?)
(Not unless you ask me to,) Haven replied.
(Well...I don't have a toilet. Because of you.)
(You're welcome to find another apartment, or a public restroom close by.)
I swallowed. There was a trick here, a trap somewhere, but I couldn't see it. (You're betting that I'll give in and use diapers because it's convenient, or because you think I enjoy it, aren't you?)
YOU ARE READING
Symbiotic Submission
ParanormalThis is both a continuation of a series of older short stories of mine, and also an archive of those stories - I originally wrote the first three parts of this over the course of roughly a year, without a strong idea of where I was taking the story...
