Mommies and Daddies

Part 9 For perhaps obvious reasons, my wetting had only worsened over the past few days. I was feeling fretful about everything, especially now that the police were involved, and I couldn't stop wondering what they'd think about my role in reviewing teen/baby items. The new pharmacy manager informed Mum (and, presumably, the police) that Avril appeared unreachable and she didn’t know how or where to contact her. In the meantime, as the police conducted their investigation, Dreamtime paused all product placement and research projects, including mine and, I assume, anyone else’s who was participating. However, a couple of packages containing disposables—apparently ordered for me—had arrived. So evidently this had been organised before the shutdown of the project. There was a note attached which Mum read John Benedict Over 5 Million on line views To show our appreciation Please accept these in thanks for a job well done Dreamtime Management Ever practical and despite her worries, Mum recognised I needed nappies and told the apprehensive new pharmacist that she’d ordered them herself and were nothing to do with Dreamtime, so simply took them and brought the bundle home. A few days later and the police hadn't provided any major updates—though they made the point that it was still early in their investigation. They were still trying to track down Avril and though they’d taken a load of my Dreamtime clothing for testing, not much progress had been made in that direction either. I also received a visit from Terry, who seemed unusually quiet and uncertain about what had happened when he came last. Despite his confused demeanour, I was both surprised and genuinely pleased to see him. Once again, he found me in my bedroom wearing a t-shirt, plus the now obligatory newly applied thick nappy and plastic pants that I’d just changed into. I heard a very subtle sigh as he plonked himself down on my bed so asked how he’d been over the last few days. “OK I guess,” was his almost non-committal answer. Of course I was desperate to know what had gone on with his mum and why she’d been keen to keep us apart but thought it was best not to rush things as Terry didn’t look at all himself. Eventually though, he clarified that my mum had done a fairly good job of explaining to his mother that he was only trying to help me come to terms with my ‘anxiety incontinence’ and that - Terry was no way into being babied or that she was keen on babying others so I wouldn’t be alone wearing a nappy. It was simply him being a good friend. The clarification wasn’t solid but at least it was just about plausible. It was simply something two good friends did to support each other but could see that perhaps we’d taken it a little too far. However, he confided, it hadn’t helped that he’d pissed in his pyjamas whilst he slept the following night though mercifully had woken up early enough to secretly sort himself out. He had to admit that he had no idea why he’d felt the need to join me in my nappied state. Although on that particular night he was dreaming he was wearing a nappy so pissing wasn’t going to be a problem. Unfortunately, dreams are completely different to reality and, in fact, he wasn’t wearing any protection at all. He woke up before wetting everything but it was still a shock to the system. I had to enlighten him to the events that had so recently come to light, which he listened to in disbelief, especially about what had been found in the dummies, though seemed relieved there was at least some reason for his actions. “We’d been drugged?” He said in disbelief, “Bloody hell, well, that might explain... erm...” He clammed up not knowing what else to add to what had happened. I also told him that it was now a police matter, which made him shudder with anxiety until I calmed him with the news that we hadn’t mentioned his name. He was very grateful about that because he inferred his mother would never have trusted any of us ever again if the cops had come a knocking on their door. He wondered, like we had all been doing, just why Dreamtime had become involved in drugged dummies and, was it possible to have impregnated all the stuff I had been reviewing with something similar. However, we also thought if this was a national scandal, how come we hadn’t heard about it on the news or in the papers? Maybe it was a national scandal but the police had to keep it secret for some reason. We tossed around our wild ideas and speculation which led to the wildest conspiracy theories, which in turn we hoped to get answers for pretty soon. Meanwhile, I still wet my thick padding at night and it appeared more so when I least expected it. I just sighed because it was something I’d gotten used to. Thankfully, Mum had seen to it that I had a ready supply of some of the best disposables around. # Bruce had come to join us wagging his tail being his usual excited self, which reminded me I still had to take him out so suggested that Terry join us if he had nothing better to do. He didn’t seem too enthusiastic and again, as I pulled on a pair of shorts to cover my bulky padding, I heard that same whimper and sigh. I hadn’t been mistaken; it came from Terry. I knew something was bothering him and I also recognised the fact that he was not really his usual bullish self. Normally he’d have had some humorous comment about me looking like a big kid or how much I reminded him of his little cousin but he just looked glum and seemed deep in thought about our conspiracy theories. As Bruce ran free in the woods I tried to get Terry to chat about anything. He just didn’t seem bothered about engaging in any gossip, music, TV, our other friends, holidays, family. Whatever subject I brought up it was just one syllable answers and yet more shrugs or sighs. In the end, and after Bruce had done what he’d come out to do, I sat both of them down (Bruce being a bit more animated than my friend) and made Terry tell me what was going on. He was very reluctant to say but then I asked why he'd come around if he didn't want to chat. “OK, I’ll go then,” he murmured but didn’t move. “Don’t be daft,” I tried to be light-hearted as this was a normal response when I knew he really wanted to say something. I heard a light grumble going on, as if he was psyching himself up for a fight or argument. “Look,” I said, “It’s obvious you’ve got something on your mind so... why not just say it and then it’s done and we can deal with it... whatever it is?” His eyes searched mine and I don’t think I’ve ever been looked at like that by anyone. “Can I trust you?” He whispered intensely. “Of course.” I didn’t want to elaborate as we’ve been friends for years and if he didn’t trust me by now he never would. He paused. “I have a, um, a confession,” he looked away and suddenly got distracted by Bruce who was nuzzling his hand. “OK, what?” “Erm...” there was an even longer pause (and pats to Bruce) before he got up the guts to spill them. And then, it all came out in a rush. “I enjoyed wearing nappies...” there was another sigh but this time one of relief. “I don’t know why or how but when I got home after our session, I was admiring myself in the bedroom mirror at how strange it looked but how comfy the whole thing felt, then mum came in. I just didn’t know what to say and I blurted out that your mum had put me in them...” To say I was shocked would be an understatement because like mum, I’d never have thought Terry was the type of lad who well... you know... would go for such a thing. I mean I was glad when he had but when thinking about it later, I had been surprised... but then I thought... “Yes” I interrupted, “but you were under the influence of whatever was in the dummy... weren’t you?” “I wish I could put it down to the drug, but, well, erm... a couple of times since... erm... like after a shower...erm...um... I’ve fastened the towel around me like you know, like a nappy around my cock and balls and... it... urrmm... felt like I wanted the real thing.” He sounded like he didn’t quite understand what was going on but there was a question and an appeal in his voice, although at the time I didn’t take in just what he wanted. I hoped I didn’t look shocked and I didn’t say anything negative I just put my hand on his shoulder and that was it. I hoped it looked like I was being supportive but in my head was wondering just what had I inadvertently let loose? I’d appreciated what we’d done together but this...? How come, what had started as a little bit of bedwetting had escalated to all this?   So many questions but absolutely no answers. # The thing is, although I was blaming myself at no point had I insisted he wear a nappy. Then I had another thought, which really knocked me sideways, I hadn’t wanted to wear a nappy either but circumstances had led to it and now, well, I couldn’t see myself without protection. Is that what happens to lads when they get to a certain age, they want the comfort and protection of a well-padded crotch? My head was spinning at all the thoughts as Terry was staring at my crotch because a large part of the plastic padding was on view down my right short’s leg. “Well?” he queried. “Well what?” “What do you think. I mean, you wear them all the time so...” “Yes, but I’m no expert. I have no idea what’s going on in your head but I can’t deny when we were playing together and dressed... you know... like we were... it felt fantastic.” I can’t say that the scene hadn’t been replayed again and again in my head since we’d done it... it was pretty fan-bloody-tastic. For the first time Terry’s face lit up. “I thought so too... and fun, and now, with a bit of distance, I’m wondering if we could, erm, you know, urm, try and do it again?” There was a hopeful edge to his restrained enquiry. There was a moment of complete silence. I was trying to take in what he’d just said and I think he was waiting for some kind of explosion from me. Neither happened because once I’d had time to think about it (just a few seconds as it turned out) I thought I’d better just check I heard him correctly. “What, you want us to act like little kids?” I asked, my voice tinged with disbelief. He gave me a curious, hopeful smile and nodded. “Are you sure this isn't just the drugs talking?” I continued, although I sincerely hoped he hadn’t been on any other medication lately. I couldn’t help but question where all this was coming from—after all, Mum always said Terry wasn’t ‘that type of lad’. In all our years together, this was out of character for him. Maybe a bit of soft fleecy comfort had revealed a side of Terry that even he didn’t know existed. Terry’s a big guy—bigger and more athletic than me—a real lad’s lad, if you know what I mean. It just didn’t fit. “Perhaps the drugs just opened my eyes a bit, let me experience something...” he murmured but I could see he meant what he was saying. The fact that I’d told him it was now all a police matter appeared not to have put him off the idea. I suppose because he hadn’t been linked in any way, but there again, it still felt weird. I mean, since stopping sucking on those rather special dummies I hadn’t thought to go back and play with my toys but, now he’d mentioned it, I was wondering... maybe it would be fun. Thoughts were zooming in and out of my brain - one second I was keen on the childish aspect, the next, dreading explaining it to his mum. Would we still want to do it without the effects of our FruitiZucker?  Was there some residual drug in our system or, had the drug already changed us? “Look,” I had my thinking head on, “do you only want to wear a nappy or is it the rest that you want... you know... the escape... the silliness? Are you sure that... “Yes, I’m sure.” He interrupted and seemed adamant. “Even without the drug induced euphoria?” “It’s been playing on my mind for days. Although I now know it was because of those nobbled suckers, when I didn’t know, I still had it in my head just how much fun we both had.” He was touching my shoulder and searching my eyes again. “A few things make more sense now but the simple fact is, since that happened, and although I could claim it had all been down to a drug induced incident, it’s all still in here.” He tapped his head, “and I don’t know if it will be a one off or, like for you, more.” He paused again as if he needed to say something else but wasn’t sure. “I need to get it out of my system or I’ll explode.” He mimed his head exploding. That was followed by a huge thank heaven I’ve got that off my chest sigh. He seemed to imply that there would be an unhappy end if I didn’t agree. “OK then,” I had no option, “when do you want to do it?” “As soon as possible but, I think, I’d rather no one else knew about it...” “So you don’t want mum or dad around?” “Not if we can avoid it.” “Well, I get the house to myself regularly so why don’t I call you the next time and you can come over or... perhaps like we did as kids... we can have a sleep over?” “Hmmm, that will still involve your mum and dad wont it?” “Yes, I suppose it would.” I gave it some further thought. “Look, it will have to be done on the spur of the moment when no one else is around so you’ll just have to leave it with me... okay?” “Sure,” he seemed to have got his excitement and enthusiasm back as he gave Bruce a fairly hefty rub. “In the meantime, can you lend me one of your nappies?” He caught me off guard but of course it was something I couldn’t refuse, “Sure”. # Terry was in a lot better mood as we headed back to my place. Telling me about his mum’s worry and although at first it was a bit terrifying trying to explain everything, after a day or two it all calmed down. “Though I’m still not certain she believes all she was told.” He rambled on, “I see her out the corner of my eye looking at me suspiciously.” He sighed again, “Can’t say I blame her.” “But you still want to take a nappy home?” “I know, stupid huh? But I just want to try sleeping wearing one of those lovely disposables because I have to tell you, the last time, it felt incredible.” Not a revelation for me but to hear him say it, well, that’s something else entirely. Meanwhile, Bruce had emptied his bowel in one large, coiled dump and I bent down to retrieve it in the little plastic bag. Christ I thought, I hope Terry doesn’t expect me to do this if he shits in his nappy. I chuckled to myself but didn’t tell him my thoughts. # When we got home we went up to my room and I let him chose which disposable he wanted (the new batch meant I still had quite a lot despite losing some to the cops). Once he’d decided, and as mum was in the kitchen, he slipped it under his jacket and headed home. I promised to let him know once I knew the house was going to be empty for a couple of hours. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be that long to wait as my parents often left me to my own devices. I am sixteen after all and quite capable of looking after myself. Terry looked like I’d given him an award or something he seemed so grateful and thanked me many times before he left. The transformation between his mood on arrival and his leaving temperament was incredible, he was like a completely different person. I went into the kitchen and found mum and dad in deep conversation. They were obviously talking about all that had been happening. “You know,” this was dad, “I just don’t understand what Avril or the Dreamtime company were getting out of this.” Mum shrugged because she was in at the beginning and it all seemed so legit. “The spiked dummies? I mean? Surely they must have known that they would be discovered...” “Maybe, they weren’t from the clothes company... perhaps that was another opportunist company... maybe...” but mum’s argument faltered on her lips. She just wasn’t sure of any of it any more. For a confident and sure person like mum, this sort of betrayal had come as quite a shock. “Despite everything,” dad was adding as he watched me pull up to the table because I saw biscuits available, “Johnny here has not had a dry day or night for ages and, if anything, he’s using nappies even more.” I wasn’t sure if they were offering sympathy or accusing me of something but dad wanted my input into the conversation. “What do you think?” “I don’t know dad,” I paused but of course I had been thinking about this enterprise myself and since the cops got involved have wondered what it was all in aid of. “Were there other pharmacists in town or around the country involved? The doctor mention he’d seen other teens in nappies but didn’t say how many or even if there was any link”. “True,” mum contributed, “Although Avril did say there were others and that our reviews were being collated somewhere... but I never asked where... even after the thank you bundle had arrived.” She shrugged. “I assume the police will have a team on this,” Dad was merely speculating, “I just hope they can come up with some answers quickly.” He looked across at me. “Although, I’m not sure how it will help if they do.” It was true, my nappy saturation had increased and I had no idea why. I had no excuse; exams were over so I couldn’t blame school (although still a little anxious about waiting on results). To be honest I had no excuse except my bladder had a mind of its own and didn’t let on until it was too late. “Well the doctor did say we should book him in for a session with a psychiatrist... see if we can get to the bottom of this wetting business.” Mum looked determined, “Maybe we should have got one involved a lot earlier.” Hindsight is a wonderful thing but doesn’t help so, as far as dad was concerned, we look to the future. He nodded, “The sooner the better.” With a slight feeling of guilt I made my way into the garden. Bruce, always intuitive, sensed I needed a bit of comfort and dashed after the ball I threw with renewed enthusiasm, barking as he skidded across the dewy grass. The air outside was brisk, but the freedom of being away from the endless debate inside felt like a relief. As I watched Bruce chase and return the ball, tail wagging furiously, I wondered if maybe he was offering up a solution in his own way—distraction, uncomplicated joy, and loyalty. Back in the house, mum and dad would still be worrying, discussing what steps to take next. Doctor Answah’s recommendation about a psychiatrist weighed heavily, but, for now, under the open sky and with Bruce beside me, the confusion and scrutiny faded away, leaving only the simple pleasure of fresh air and uncomplicated companionship. The moment was a small reprieve before whatever came next, and I found myself quietly grateful for it. However, I could feel my nappy warming as I unconsciously let loose yet another stream of seemingly unstoppable pee. There were occasions during this time when I experienced feelings reminiscent of childhood.  It wasn’t something conscious and at times I hardly noticed but at that moment, with a very soaked nappy, I wasn’t unhappy. These days (and mornings) a wet nappy gave me no cause for alarm. The soft absorbent fabric was doing what it was designed to do and doing it well. # Monday morning and dad was at work whilst mum, who was putting on her coat, said she was going to see a friend from her university days who had become a psychiatrist. She inferred that after she’d shopped they would be doing lunch adding that there was plenty in the fridge if I got hungry. With a sloppy goodbye kiss she was out the door and on her way. I had no idea who it was she was going to meet. However, now she’d gone it was time to act; I called Terry and asked if he was available to come around. “Bloody hell John, I thought you’d never call (it had been less than two days) I’ve made such a mess of this one I need something a bit more substantial. I’m on my way.” The phone clicked off and I didn’t get to say anything else. “Made a mess of this one”. Well, that image set things off in my head and not in a good way. As it was, I’d only just got up so my wet night time nappy was still in place, plastic pants as usual doing a fantastic job of stopping any leaks but poor Bruce was waiting to be taken out for his morning walk. I should have attended to all these tasks before I’d called Terry but I thought we’d chat and arrange things before he hung up with some urgency. Within three minutes he was banging on the front door. Still with a sopping wet nappy I answered and invited him in. Terry barely gave me a chance to speak before Bruce, ever the opportunist, bounded over for a quick pat. Terry took one look at me and couldn’t resist commenting, “Christ John, that nappy looks fit to burst... mind you... this total look really suits you.” He let out a hearty chuckle, clearly amused by the sight of me still wearing a droopy nappy behind a rather sagging pair of plastic pants. The front door was still open so Bruce seized his moment, darting out into the garden without hesitation. He seemed content as he sniffed around, eventually finding his favourite bush. With a sense of satisfaction, he lifted his leg and relieved himself, perfectly at ease in his own familiar territory. Had I become my dog? “Thanks mate,” I snarled at Terry’s jokey observation, but in fact I didn’t really mind. I’d gotten used to a heavy soaked nappy at various times and he’d seen me now on several occasions wearing one so it was like water off a ducks back. Although I pretended it was some kind of insult. He rushed up and enthusiastically rubbed the sides of my plastic pants with both his hands, whilst telling me what a good boy I was. It was like an adult greeting a baby and expecting a smile. “Who’s a good boy then, yes he is, yes he is... such a sweet nappy-clad baby all waiting for daddy to change ums.” This was delivered with such a fun, jokey flourish that it set me off giggling and before I was really aware, more pee had warmed the front and I actually did need a change before I started to leak. However, I got in a remark which I hoped would make him think. “Daddy? That’ll be the day!” Although we’d joked about this at school since I’d made my padded confession, and he said that as I reminded him of his little cousin, he would change my soggy nappy, it had never got further than a gag. The fact that it was him now asking me for a nappy also put a new perspective on it all. Not only that but my memory of us playing together, dressed in nappies and nothing else, and remembering, just how sweet and childlike he was, didn’t add up to him being a DADDY. All those thoughts passed through my mind when I’d said those words. “Daddy? That’ll be the day!”. He was still laughing at his observation and I could see him desperate for us to move things along so I pointed upstairs and we made our way to my bedroom where everything I had left was stashed. Because the Police had so much stuff I was depleted of some of my favourite items though thankfully I did have plenty of fabric nappies and disposables for us to enjoy. Terry wasted no time on checking each pile out but I saw him settle on the mound of thick fabric nappies and looked guiltily over at me. “Do you think I could try one of these...?” I saw the hopeful look on his face and there seemed a touch of desperation in his voice. I nodded and there was that little sigh I’d heard on a couple of occasions now. # Susan was pleased to reconnect with her university colleagues, particularly Laura Mohammad (formerly Asquith), who had pursued a degree in psychology and now operated her own practice. Laura's husband, Dr. Mandip Mohammad, serves as a consultant psychiatrist at the city's primary hospital; whilst being ten years her senior, they have two children and appear settled and content. Susan learned these details within minutes of meeting her friend while waiting for their table at a local bistro. After catching up with a glass of excellent chilled Chablis and ordering lunch, Susan brought up the issue that was troubling her. She described her son’s anxiety-related incontinence and the intense pressure he placed on himself to achieve high marks in his recent exams. As they enjoyed their starter—smoked trout pâté served with chunks of roasted, virgin olive oil infused sourdough bread—Susan transitioned the conversation to the deal involving the pharmacist, explaining how matters had deteriorated, particularly concerning John’s ongoing struggles with his daily soggy routine. Laura was used to people picking her brains for an insight into a ‘friends’ troubled mind. However, Susan had the good grace to inform her beforehand that she was looking for someone to send John to and hoped by discussing it, she’d see how much her bedwetting son needed help. Laura listened and was quite shocked just how far the pharmacist and Susan had gone before actually calling in ‘proper’ help. She was also enthralled at just how much John had enjoyed his job as guinea pig and at how easily he’d immersed himself in every aspect of the ‘research’. They were telling actions that she was surprised her friend hadn’t picked up on. Unknown to Susan her friend had made an early judgement but, without meeting John in person it was purely built on what his mother revealed. Nonetheless, there may have been other areas that needed investigating so a face to face was required. To Susan’s great relief Laura agreed for John to become a client and set aside an early, after-hours session, as a first step. Once that was settled the couple enjoyed the shared duck, shallot and stilton pasta and ordered a second bottle of their favourite tipple. The ‘girls’ were relishing a bit of gossip as they had an awful lot more to catch up on. Meanwhile, back at home John had a sudden awareness. # tbc #

70. My Oversight Saturday was mostly a day of relaxation. I asked Ffrances what Tess had talked to her about the day before, but it wasn’t something she wanted to share. She took client confidentiality very seriously, and that was something she brought home into her personal life as well. I could respect that, but I really wanted to know what I could best do to help my little to be happy. One thing she did share was that she would be doing at least two hypnosis sessions this week; making sure that Tess was ready for the Christmas party, as well as reinforcing the trigger so that she could have accidents when she wanted to. Their first session was the same afternoon. I said that I would be up in my office, as I needed to catch up on some paperwork before work on Monday. I didn’t want to disturb them, but I made sure to turn on my old laptop first. I’d set it up so I could use it as a baby monitor, using the webcam to watch what was happening while I was out of the house. I was sure that Ffrances would notice if I left it set up and pointing into the room when she was home, so I left it closed and leaning against the side of the sofa, where it wasn’t uncommon to find it if I’d walked away from whatever email I was typing for a moment. I had a desktop computer in my own room, so they wouldn’t comment on the computer being there. And even with the screen closed, if I was on a call with myself the laptop would remain awake and the mic active. It was hard to listen to Ffrances’s words without dropping into trance myself. She really was that good; but this time she was focusing on the techniquest that would work best for Tess. I shook my head and muted my headphones for a few minutes. I really did have some work stuff I could have been focusing on, if I were more inclined to work at the weekend. Even if it was just Klimt’s expense claims, which frequently showed double the creativity of his actual designs. I gave it ten minutes, and gave one of his ludicrous demands an official tick to recommend the accountants authorise it. Then I turned back to the baby monitor. Tess and Ffrances were still doing an induction. I could hear how sleepy the little was when Ffrances asked her to respond. Almost all the answers she gave were about wordless grunts, a happy “Mmmhmm” or similar. Ffrances talked her down, and then set about repeating the suggestions she had given before. She asked Tess to imagine someone she trusted speaking to her, like me, or like Ffrances herself. Someone she trusted to give her those kinds of instructions. And she asked her to imagine being told that she would have an accident. Just the same suggestions she had given before, but with more repetition than I could keep track of. I quickly lost count of the number of times she went over the same points – about making sure only trustworthy people could say the words – before I finally tuned out and concentrated on some dumb online card game for a few minutes while I waited for her to get to whatever was going to change. It was all the same as before, so far as I could tell. If we told her she wasn’t going to have an accident, she would take all necessary precautions to make sure it happened that way, without even being aware of it. If she tried to drink too much, to take diuretics, or “forgetting” to use the bathroom, she would thwart her own plans without realising it. And when she didn’t have an accident, she would find herself feeling proud like a small child, or like she was helpless to overrule the choices of the adults. Whatever would feel more pleasant for her. That made sense – Ffrances still thought that those suggestions were most likely to come in useful if Tess was making herself wet too often, so she would want to make it feel less like a punishment. Maybe that was the difference. Tess wanted to draw a hard line between hypnosis for her bedwetting problem, which she saw as a practical necessity, and hypnosis to lead her into littlespace, which was something she really craved. Separating them would have made it harder for me to regress her without her realising, I knew. So it was good that if that was her request, Ffrances hadn’t quite understood the point. They had been talking from opposite perspectives, so mistakes could easily have crept in without either of them noticing. Ffrances was just adding a choice, so she could choose if she wanted to feel little or not. And I guessed pretty quickly that Tess had asked for more control over how it felt when she was triggered, maybe hoping she could prevent herself being so childish when she just wanted to avoid wetting the bed. I tried to focus and take in every detail, now that Ffrances was adding options to the trigger. We could tell Tess now that she would be surprised not to have an accident; or that she had to have an accident. Telling her “be surprised” would mean she didn’t remember being triggered, or any conversation that had led up to it; while saying she “must” or “has to” stay dry would allow her to feel that we were taking control for her, so she would know why she is protected. I was glad to know that, because I’d have to be extra careful when telling her to have accidents in future. There were more options as well, but these were only briefly touched on. Enough to reinforce my suspicions about what Tess had asked for. We could tell her not to have an accident like a baby, or not to have an accident because she’s an adult. So that we would be able to choose whether the trigger would have the side effect of helping her into littlespace. I’d been glad to see that happening originally, and I hoped it would be a part of the other trigger too. There was a big difference between an accidental dip into her headspace as a side-effect, and it being a carefully crafted thing that the trigger was intended to do, which Ffrances spent a few minutes teaching Tess to imagine. She talked about the feeling of dropping into that place in her mind hard and fast, feeling so natural to act and feel like a child. That was exactly what I had hoped for, and I knew that Tess would be so grateful. After that, I was paying a lot more attention. So far, she had only mentioned the triggers to prevent Tess wetting herself, and I wanted to see whether the positive suggestions would have the same changes. It would be a big setback if I came to trigger her next time and found that the words to make sure she didn’t remember were different. I needed to make sure that I understood all of the changes. For this one, I could wait until the next time she asked; she was sure to tell me if she wanted a specific form. But for the positive trigger, she wasn’t going to ask me, so I needed to pay attention. Ffrances started counting down, telling Tess to let the suggestions she had imagined sink deeper into her subconscious mind and be left behind as she sank back to consciousness. I didn’t understand; was she missing out the other trigger entirely? I panicked for a second, wondering if between them they had worked out how I persuaded Tess to ask for those suggestions. Was all she wanted now a dry night? But a small turn of phrase halfway through the count reassured me. They were going to continue tomorrow, or later in the week. I glanced at the clock in the corner of my screen, and realised that it had been well over an hour already. I’d been so focused on the words, trying to take note of everything they were doing, that I’d barely noticed. It felt like it had only been a couple of minutes. Still, I could get a little comfort from that. She was going to build on those suggestions later; which meant there was more to come. I just had to put off triggering her again until I knew exactly what she was asking for. It might even give me some new ideas. But that was pretty much in line with what I had intended in any case. Tess was still sleeping in the nursery, and didn’t object to me calling her ‘baby’ at dinner time, or giving her a kid’s plastic tumbler while we had regular glasses. I didn’t push it too far, and she didn’t object. So for now, to stick with the plan, I could allow her to stay dry. Once we’d had time to clear out the spare room and move those boxes back into the nursery, that would be the acid test. Tess would wake up wet after her first night sleeping there, unless she was being extra childlike in the evening. I needed to reduce how often I used the trigger until then if I wanted her to realise that her bedwetting was caused by the repressed stress of having to be an adult. So having to restrain myself for a few days was just an encouragement to do what I had already decided on. I didn’t ask Ffrances for any details later. I did ask Tess over dinner if she was willing to tell me what she’d wanted, or if I could help. She thought, and said no, so I didn’t push it. She would tell me sooner or later. I didn’t push my girlfriend for information, as much as I wanted to, because I needed her to trust me. I couldn’t give her any sign that I was doing more than I had told her. Sunday was a relaxed day; staying inside the house because it was icy outside, and watching terrible movies. We had finished almost the whole collection based on MK’s works now, but we had enjoyed poking fun at the quality so much that I’d dug up a whole new batch of stuff to watch with a similar budget and era. And the day ended happily, with not a single protest from Tess about being an adult. Sunday was harder. When I gave the baby a childish cup with her breakfast, she stared at it for a few minutes and told me she didn’t want to be a baby today. I glanced over at Ffrances, and muttered some age-appropriate platitudes. I asked Tess if she was sure; if she didn’t feel safer with a cup that was harder to spill. She hesitated just a moment, and I wondered if I had gone too far. But I had assessed the situation properly. After a second Ffrances reminded her that it was a good idea to do what the grown-ups asked until she was an adult herself. Tess blushed, looked down at her hands, and then cleared her throat. “I’m an adult,” she said. “Okay,” I nodded, reached down, and picked up the plastic cup. I gave her the coffee I’d been pouring for myself instead; slightly sweeter than she usually took it, but nothing that anyone would object to. “No sense using extra dishes. That okay for you?” She sipped the drink before continuing, and I could tell it was a little too hot for her still. But she smiled. “Yeah, thanks. I didn’t know if you would…” “I take safewords very seriously,” I said. “You said you would say that phrase if you really wanted to act grown-up for a while, and I respect that. It must be a hard thing to ask for, so I have to make sure you’re comfortable. And it’s not like I’m going to be inconvenienced by having a different mug.” Tess smiled again, and tucked into her breakfast. She had things to do, and I didn’t want to pry. I wondered if they were going to do more hypnosis this afternoon, but didn’t want to be seen prying. That was between Tess and Ffrances, and I knew by now that neither of them would appreciate my curiosity. But Ffrances told me that she had to visit the office for some reason; I’d long-since given up trying to understand her rotas. Tess asked if she could get a lift with her, and Ffrances said that was fine. So there was a chance she would be getting some reinforcement, but I couldn’t see any reason they would need to hide it if there was another session planned. Still, that curiosity was an itch I had to scratch. “Are you going into Raybridge?” I asked. “Or Ashfields? I could take you, the Christmas Market is on today and I still need to get a few presents. Token gifts for coworkers, you know the kind of thing, so something local and handmade from one of these cheap craft stalls would be perfect. It’s not really on the way if you’re going to PRMCT.” “I’m fine,” Tess answered. “I wouldn’t want to be any trouble. And…” “She means she’s nervous about you meeting her friends after last time,” Ffrances translated, and I thought I could see a little more clearly now. There was something I had to say now, I’d been thinking about it for a couple of days, but it was still hard to make myself come out with the words. “You’re going to be spending time with that guy again, aren’t you?” I asked. I knew, of course. That was the obvious reason she would have wanted to pretend she’s an adult; to impress someone who only saw her as a sex object. And I could see the hint of defiance in her eyes, the need to tell me I was all wrong about the predator’s intentions. I glanced to one side and saw Ffrances leaving the room, getting her coat and shoes on. She could even do that aggressively; a sign that she thought I was being stubborn and she was no longer prepared to keep telling me the same pointless aphorisms. I hoped she would get over that, but for now it wasn’t a problem. If I could just say what I knew I needed to say. “Can you tell him I’m sorry for the way I reacted last time?” I asked Tess. “He’s not Kieran, I know that. And I do want to get to know the people who are important to you. Look, we’re going to be doing a roast chicken for dinner on Tuesday, they were on special at the farm shop, and there’s always a ton of leftovers. So you can tell your friend he’s welcome to join us, and I promise that Ffrances will be ready to interrupt if I say anything bad about his family.” She didn’t say anything, but made a show of finding her gloves. I hated that I’d said something like that, but I knew it was the right thing to do. If I pushed him away now, I would be the enemy. It had to be him who broke contact with her, so I would be someone she could turn to. And when she looked back, I could see a half smile. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll tell him. I’d like it if you guys could get on better.” “You can talk to Ffrances first if you want. She can keep me under control, but I hope it won’t be necessary. And I know you wouldn’t be seeing him without a good reason to trust him. I know already that you’re more mature than I was at your age. You’re going to be so surprised you have an accident if he tries to kiss you or gives a sign he’s interested in you sexually. So, do you want me to give you a lift? I can drop you at the end of his street, wherever it is.” “No, thanks,” she said. “Like you said, I’ll talk to Ffrances on the way. And make sure she’s okay with another evening making sure you don’t embarrass yourself.” She actually hugged, me, said thanks again, and then flashed a devilish grin as she added: “And if you can’t manage to be civil, I think it’ll be you being a baby once he’s gone.” With that she swept out of the room, joining Ffrances, and I could be confident that everything would go well. Probably.

Check if your browser is set to clear cookies on exit. Disabling this might help retain your login session without needing a password reset each time.

POWERLESS! By Joe. A KRYPTONITE ATTACK STRIPS SUPERGIRL OF HER POWERS AND LEAVES HER AT THE MERCY OF THE SKEPTICAL AUTHORITIES.  HER DOCTOR SUGGESTS A NEW UNIFORM: A SCANTY HOSPITAL GOWN AND A STRAITJACKET. OF COURSE, SHE'LL HAVE TO SURRENDER HER OLD UNIFORM FIRST.... Part 1 "I notice that you're rubbing your shoulder," the doctor said, gently.  "Are you alright?" "I resisted when they brought me through the front gates, and two of your orderlies were pretty rough," Supergirl replied. Dr. James Phony smiled.  The thought of SUPERGIRL being manhandled by two orderlies at his asylum was almost too good to be true. He still couldn't believe that the famous super-heroine was now an inmate. Supergirl had been briefly exposed to gold kryptonite during her last battle with Lex Luthor and had barely escaped with her life. Naturally, when the police found the powerless and dazed heroine in the wreckage of the building with a tiny cut on her hand, they knew what to do.  After all, the Metropolis County Asylum processed at least three or four "super-hero" wanna-bes a week. Dr. Phony smiled as the heroine stood awkwardly in front of his desk nursing her shoulder.  Physical pain was a new concept for Supergirl, but a delighted Dr. Phony was determined that it would be the first of many lessons she would learn today. "I have good news and bad news, Supergirl," he said.  "The good news is that I know that you really are Supergirl." "Thank goodness!" she said.  "I keep telling people, but without my super powers, they think I'm just some crazy woman in a cape.  Thank goodness you believe me!" "I remember you vividly, Supergirl," the doctor said. "I'll never forget the way you picked me up over your head and threw me into that brick wall. My shattered legs kept me in the prison hospital for nearly a year -- which is what gave me the idea of posing as a doctor when I got out."  Supergirl looked at the man in stunned silence. Her doctor was a criminal...a criminal SHE had arrested! "If you tell them who I am, I promise I'll talk to the judge about reducing your sentence," she said, earnestly. "I have a better idea, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes," he replied.  "Rather than let you OUT, and go back to jail, I'm going to keep you IN, and have some fun." "You'll never get away with it!" she threatened. "Won't I?" he asked, rhetorically. "There are two "Supermen" in Ward 3, and a "Wonder Woman" in Ward 4. You'll fit right in. And if you start ranting about how I'm a criminal you once arrested, that will convince everyone you've found your new home.  "I don't treat patients with actual mental or medical disorders," he went on. "Even for me, that would be unethical. I specialize in helping rich men dispose of beautiful, unwanted women who are making a nuisance of themselves.  It's easy enough to toss a beautiful heiress into an asylum on her 21st birthday, and it's less expensive to commit a trophy wife than divorce her!" Dr. Phony smiled and toyed with the pen on his desk. "Tell me, since you're without your super powers, how many people believe you're actually Supergirl?" The girl ground her teeth in frustration.  She hadn't been able to convince the police, the ambulance drivers, the nurses, or the orderlies at the asylum.  Ordinarily, the police treated Supergirl with dignity and respect.  But, as soon as the cops realized she was powerless, the deferential treatment ended. Supergirl had been ashamed and humiliated when the horny policeman had commanded her to "place your hands on the roof of the car and SPREAD 'EM." He took his time with the search, groping her breasts and even reaching under her short skirt to fondle her through her famous red panties. She blushed as she recalled the way the fat cop had playfully swatted her bottom as he turned the handcuffed heroine over to the asylum's ambulance drivers. "Here's another one for the Magic Kingdom, boys," he sneered. "Don't do anything with her I wouldn't do." Supergirl recognized the police officer from previous encounters, and she was surprised that he didn't recognize her. Was it possible that the lecherous cop was taking advantage her powerless state to grope and abuse her?  She grimaced at the thought, but she suspected she was right. The patriarchal male police force resented her powers and abilities, and many openly protested their reliance on "a woman's help." And the press continued to call her "Supergirl," even though she had been pleading with them to refer to her as "Superwoman" since her 18th birthday. Even Supergirl had to confront the ugly face of sexism in America.... Dr. Phony's voice returned her to her present predicament.  "If you cooperate, Supergirl, then things will be easier on you," he said, in a patronizing voice.  "Of course, if you resist me in ANY way, then you will have a lot more to worry about than that little boo-boo on your shoulder!" Supergirl rubbed her shoulder as she weighed her options. She knew he was right...that she'd have to play along with him for now. But the effects would not last long, and she could already feel her x-ray vision starting to return.  When her super-strength came back, she would toss her "doctor" through the ceiling like a rag doll.  Even now, she was relishing the image of him flying through the air.... "Now tell me, Supergirl, what was your name on Krypton?  I think 'Supergirl' is far to grand a name for a twenty-year-old of such obviously limited abilities." "Kara," she said, softly. "Very good.  You see, that wasn't so hard, was it?  We're making progress already." He quickly filled out an admissions form for Kara Doe. Then he copied her name and inmate number onto a sticker and taped the sticker to a cardboard box sitting on his desk.  "The next part of the process is even easier," he said, his voice oozing reassurance. "I want you to take off your all your clothes and put them in the box."  She looked at him in stunned disbelief. "S-surrender my...my uniform?" she stammered. "In front of YOU?" "Yes, dear, take off your clothes. Don't be shy. Remember, I'm your doctor now."   She shook her head. This couldn't be happening! "Of course, if you'd rather, I can call in the orderlies who bruised your shoulder. I'm sure they'd be happy to give you a hand." "NO!" she shouted.  "I'll do it!  Just keep those goons away from me!" "It's not like you to be afraid of some muscle-bound apes," he teased.  "I see you're learning how to be docile, afraid, and submissive...just like a woman should be."  "Now, take off your cape," he said, with a cruel smile. "A cape is far too grand an accessory for a helpless little nut case like you." Biting her tongue at the insult, Supergirl unfastened her cape, folded it neatly, and put it in the box. "Now, take off those cute little booties." Awkwardly standing on one foot, she pulled off first one shiny red boot and then the other, laying them in the box. "There's something submissive about a barefoot woman, don't you think, Kara? I mean, here I am, sitting comfortably at my desk, fully clothed and relaxed. And you're standing there with your delicate, dainty feet on that hard, cold linoleum floor. I love watching you scrunch up your toes to try and keep your little tootsies warm." She immediately stopped moving from foot to foot, but she was only able to maintain her resolve for a few seconds.  Discomfort from cold was a new sensation to her, and the floor was freezing. "I think women should be kept barefoot and pregnant," he said. "And the barefoot part is taken care of." He smiled and eyed the helpless heroine lasciviously. "Knocking you up will be easy now that those tiny little fists of yours are so girly and useless." She perceived that her super-hearing was returning, and she could hear the male orderlies who had manhandled her lounging outside the room, joking about that "cute piece of blonde ass in the trick-or-treat outfit."  She resolved to teach the brutal orderlies how to treat a lady once her super-strength returned. "Now take off your yellow belt, but don't put it in the box." the doctor directed. "Hand it to me." She took off her belt and obediently handed it to the grinning doctor. "Now slip off that darling little red skirt," he ordered.  "I want to take a nice long look at those cute red underpants you love to flash." She felt warm as the blood rushed to her face. Was she actually blushing?  Like the pain in her shoulder, blushing was a new sensation for her, and the unfamiliar emotions made her feel all the more disoriented.  She had seen men look at her with lust before, but she had always been the one in control, the definitive "woman in charge." But now, as she meekly folded her skirt and put it in the box, she felt utterly helpless. The doctor was using Supergirl's strip search as an excuse to teach her a lesson in sexual submission. She was beginning to understand what the women of Earth had been complaining about for years. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't pick this creep up and throw him through a wall. Instead she had to meekly submit and surrender her uniform, the emblem of her power. Now she wore nothing but her blue top with the famous logo and her trademark red panties. "Now things are getting interesting!" Doctor Phony grinned. "What do you say, Kara?  What's next?  Tops or bottoms?" "Tops, I think," she said, nervously, trying to forestall the unveiling of her most private areas to the lascivious pervert who was now in charge of her life. "That's tops, SIR," he said, correcting her. "You have to remember that I'm an important and respected DOCTOR. You, on the other hand, are just another scatterbrained female." "Tops, SIR," she repeated.  Reluctantly she turned her back and reached down to grasp the hem of her blue top. Swallowing hard, she slowly began to peel her shirt off in front of her amused captor. He let out a long wolf whistle as her beautiful bare back came into view. "I see you're not wearing a bra," he observed. "I guess 'the woman of steel' wouldn't really need one, now would she? Of course I imagine that now that your super powers are gone, your titties will be all soft and bouncy, won't they?" He let the suspense build for a moment before he spoke. "Why don't you turn around and show me, Kara?" Reluctantly, she turned and faced her adversary, using her arms to cover her bare breasts. Her cheeks were red with shame, and she was too embarrassed to make eye contact. Instead, she just stared at her feet, which were still twitching and squirming on the cold floor. "A lot of you crazies try to smuggle things in," he said, with mock concern. "I'm going to have to ask you to put your arms at your sides, so I can make sure you're not concealing anything." She said nothing, but reluctantly put her arms down. "Very nice, indeed!" he said. After taking a moment to admire her figure, he began his lecture. "The insane asylum has traditionally been a place where men could strip difficult or recalcitrant women butt-naked and use the tools of medicine to teach them their proper place. Why do you think they call it the 'booby hatch?' "Now, I want you to lift up each breast by the nipple, so I can see that you don't have anything taped underneath," he directed. She stared at him with undisguised hatred. He grinned back at her in triumph. After a long pause, she reluctantly followed his humiliating command and lifted her breasts. He whistled once again. "Those sure are cute little honkers you have, Kara. The asylum does occasionally allow me to release patients under guard for short periods, as part of their occupational therapy.  I can arrange for you to get you get a job at Hooters.  Would you like that?  Would you like to fetch beer and pretzels while all those horny guys ogled you?" Kara squirmed as she held her breasts aloft by the nipples. He ignored her plight and continued to describe her new life in vivid detail. "They will even give you a uniform, although it won't be as grand as the one you're used to. But I think you'll look just darling, prancing around in your little orange short-shorts with those cute tits of yours jiggling under your tight t-shirt.  "But that's enough about your future career, Kara. You can let go of your titties now."  His smile broadened.  "It's time to hand over your cute red underpants, so we can get on with the rest of your processing. I have a lot of pretty little ears of corn to husk today, and I can't waste all day shucking you down!" She bit her lip, turned her back, and slowly slid her red underwear down her long legs. He whistled yet again as her upturned bottom came into view.  Damn him! She was going to bust him up good! "Now turn around, and show Doctor whether or not you're a natural blonde, Kara." She turned around and revealed her sparsely-haired blonde sex. He ordered the blushing heroine to place her hands on top of her head and turn slowly in circles.  As she complied, he made humiliating compliments about her "tight little ass" and "cute yellow fuzz." For the first time in her life, Supergirl felt like a piece of meat.  The experience was unspeakably degrading, but somehow she also found it strangely...exciting.  Over the years, she had occasionally fantasized about being stripped of her powers. What would it be like to be forced to submit to the indignities that average women had to endure everyday?  She could play-act in her secret identity, of course, but she had to be careful not to get herself into any truly dangerous situations that might force her to use her powers and blow her cover.   The fact that there was never any real danger always made the experience strangely flat. But her humiliation now was sharp, painful, and anything but flat. Her enemy was appraising her like a slave girl on the auction block.... She twirled helplessly in front of his desk, desperately wishing she could use her hands to cover her privates. Her beloved uniform, long the symbol of her power, lay casually discarded in the cheap cardboard box.  She wondered how many other Supergirl costumes were in the storeroom right now.  She knew that professional costume shops made uniforms identical to hers, and no doubt some of the other mental patients had used them. The precious box that held key to her freedom would quickly be lost among the countless other "costumes."  Her priceless, precious uniform was now the inconsequential byproduct of just another routine strip search. Dr. Phony made a big show of slowly taping up the cardboard box while Supergirl looked on, too mortified to speak. He took his time.   He knew that her uniform was the emblem of her identity, and taking it away from her was as traumatic as the loss of her powers. With her uniform on, she was Supergirl! She was invincible, and every man in the world from the President on down hung on her every word.  Without her uniform, she was just another crazy, helpless scatterbrained female in the insane asylum, forced to bow and tremble before minimum wage orderlies, sadistic nurses, and phony physicians. "I'll put this away somewhere safe," he said, patting the box. "Once this is dispensed with, we won't have to worry about anyone mistaking you for Supergirl, will we? If someone came into the office right now, they wouldn't see a super-hero. They'd see just another naked bimbo, twirling around in the loony bin," he snickered. He patted his knee. "Now, stop spinning and climb over the doctor's knee. It's time for you to take your medicine!"

I'm pretty sure this is in regards to the "Baby Susie: Super Soaker at age 35, Baby Mama having Babies" or something like that. The titles are massive and truly stand out...