Sissy Room

I had this idea visit a nursery and stay overnight (or longer) while on holiday. However, to really enhance the roleplay/experience, I would find a dom/mommy who speaks a language that I don't. For example, French or German. Even better if they genuinely have a poor command of English. This way, we would not be able to understand each other. Or at least they would refuse to respond or acknowledge anything that I say in English. Then for the actual scene, they would be teaching some basic words to me as one would a toddler. ie going through picture books, pointing at simple objects and trying to get me to say the words, etc. I also would have to pick up on some words, or resort to baby talk to try to communicate my own desires. It's quite a parallel experience to multi-lingual parents not acknowledging their kids unless they present their requests in a certain language as a way to get them to build competency. Has anyone ever thought about such a setup before? I feel that this would really recreate the baby experience.

7: A Real Accident Theo The package in my hands felt like fire. Nighttime Underwear. I hadn’t properly checked the size, and I looked down, and it said “XL, Age 14-16, 95-120 lbs”. And there was a sleeping boy with on the front, looking peaceful. But I’m not 14! I’m 18, but my weight is literally at the lower end there. So it’s like the package was telling me that I’m lying about my maturity. I knew I was over-thinking it. As I got in the car, I threw them into the back seat. I didn’t want to look at them, or think about them. My cheeks felt redder than they should. I hadn’t replied to my Mom’s comment about sticking to them until they ran out. I’d just got very quiet. “Theo, sweetie, what’s going on in your head right now? Do you want to talk about it?” my Mom asked. I shook my head. I didn’t really know. I felt a bit angry, to be honest. Like, the world had decided to give me this extra pressure, and taken away my say, because they didn’t believe me. And then when I tried to claim ownership of it for myself, I’d messed up. We finished the trip in silence, mostly. I’d turned the radio on, to try and distract myself, but the music hadn’t really been great. I could feel myself shrinking, wanting to disappear. It felt like all the effort and proof that I was capable had been shrunk down into a tiny package of… diapers. Ones that I’d bought for myself. And yes, they were diapers. The package says “Underwear” and they can be pulled up and down, so they’re pullups. But they’re underwear you put on because you can’t control your pee or poop. And I can! We got to the apartment building. I left the car hurriedly, walking through the entrance, and heading to the elevators. I wanted to get out of the situation. I don’t need diapers! I wanted to run away, but that hadn’t worked in the past. Until I’d got settled with my Mom, it felt like that’s all I’d ever done. Run from one situation to the next. And I wasn’t running away, but at least I could get a tiny break from thinking about the diapers, or the situation Max had forced me into. That “tiny break” didn’t last long. “Theo, aren’t you forgetting something?” Yes, I was. I deliberately hadn’t taken the pack out of the car. I didn’t want to look at them, or carry them, or think about them, or think that anything was out of the ordinary. I didn’t reply, but I glared at her. Why did she have to ruin it? I was going to have to go and get them. I didn’t need them. But leaving them there would prove that I’m not taking responsibility. It would prove that I’m trying to ignore this, or that I wasn’t taking the situation seriously. It’s just until the doctor. They’ll clear this all up. That gave me enough motivation to go the car and pick up the stupid package from the backseat. I grabbed it quickly, not looking down or at it, specifically. I wished I was wearing a jacket or something that I could hide the package behind. Or that I’d thought to get a packet, instead of just getting the pack itself. At least there weren’t that many of the… items… inside it. There were only 9, so it wasn’t immediately super obvious. But it still seemed that all the eyes were on me. When I walked in the door the second time, everything felt a lot more overwhelming. I hadn’t even registered the doorman before, but now it felt like he was grinning and laughing at me. It’s only for a few days. I hugged the package close to my chest, to make it feel less obvious. I entered the elevator. My Mom had already gone up, in the time I’d gone back to the car. It wasn’t going to be a long journey, and then I’d be able to put the package down, and hopefully forget about it until tomorrow. I thought I was going to be the only one going up, but just before the doors closed, another person entered. I’d never met her, but then we’d only been in the apartment for about a month. “Hi there. I’m new here, just moved in yesterday. Thanks for holding the door. I’d love to get to know my neighbors, you know. I’m feeling a bit of a fish out of water here. I’m Jackie. I’m in 375. And you are?” She didn’t actually give me a moment to answer before continuing to talk. “I didn’t fail to notice the package you’re carrying. I think my nephew has something similar. Are you helping out your brother? It’s really cool when siblings are there for each other, and don’t judge each other for any of their problems. Bedwetting is no big deal.” “Um, uh…” I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t want to admit anything either. I chose to ignore the last part. “I’m Theo Montgomery. 320.” “Oh, so we’re floor buddies.” “I guess,” I responded as the doors opened up onto the floor. “Nice meeting you, Jackie.” I didn’t let her respond or ask more questions. It was probably rude, but at least I’d said a dismissal. I got to the apartment, entering what I hoped would be a safe haven. *** I stopped trying to hide the package under my jacket. It hadn’t made much of a difference — the new neighbor had still seen them. In fact, if I’d hid them a bit better, but she’d still seen them, she might have thought they were for me! I had to keep reminding myself that none of this was real. I don’t have accidents, I’m not a bedwetter, I don’t need “protection”. I was thinking about this way more than I should have been. Even though they were “Nighttime Underwear”, there was no real pressure to wear them to bed. And the less time wearing something embarrassing, the better. My Mom had got herself set up in the lounge; she was in the corner, with her laptop propped up, and her reading glasses. She’d dimmed the main lounge lights, and was getting the light from a floor lamp behind her. It made the day feel later, but also less threatening. It made it feel like the time when you can say stuff you wouldn’t at other times. “Theo, go put those down, and then we can work on what email we want to send the school together.” I hated when people told you to do something you were already doing. It made me feel like they thought I was stupid enough to need help to do something obvious. It takes away your initiative, and makes it seem that everything is the other person’s idea. And yes, I know it wasn’t intentional or deliberate, at least in this case. It’s not like I was going to sit down in the lounge, while still carrying the package in my hands. The one I still hadn’t looked down at again. The stupid dark blue container that had been recognizable as bedwetting pants so fucking easily. I needed to find a place for them that was viable, but still hidden. By others’ standards, my room is probably on the smaller side. I’d wanted to paint it a different color than the bright yellow it currently had, but we hadn’t been in the apartment long enough to make any changes like that. I’d made the best of the space. I like everything to have its proper place, and for things to be out of the way. There’s a tiny bit of clutter on my desk, which sits perpendicularly to my bed. I liked things to feel plain and elegant, so there were no patterns on the duvet cover, and my desk was wooden (don’t ask me which type — I’m not really sure of the different ones). I need it to not feel busy, because everything out there feels like too much. Opposite my bed stood my treasured bookshelf, almost overflowing. The yellow walls stood out, because the rest of the color-scheme was very blue focused. I’d tried to not let the contrast bother me. I’d tried to add some wall coverings to make it seem better. Maps from Lord of the Rings, Stormlight Archive, and some other favorite Fantasy series of mine were hung up, which did make the yellow seem less bad. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point was there was nowhere I could put the… no, still not going to actually think about that. I didn’t want to think of the contents of the package as my underwear, which meant putting them in my underwear drawer or anywhere near there wasn’t going to happen. I didn’t want to have them just showing in the open, as if saying that this was somehow okay, and normal for me, and not something to be ashamed of. I didn’t want to even allow myself to think that subconsciously. The problem was that I didn’t really have much storage. If I wanted to put them away, I’d need to move something from it’s proper spot. I’d had to put some of the books I’d wanted to put in the bookshelf into a drawer. That was going to have to be the spot for these. It felt awful: getting rid of something treasured to make space for something I wanted to avoid. For now, I left the books on the floor, and stashed the new package in the drawer. I allowed myself a breath once I’d closed the drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. I hated that my normally pristine room now looked messy. I needed to figure out a plan, but at least now, I’d made some steps to establishing my maturity. I took a glance at the blanket at the edge of my bed. It’s a dark red color, and incredibly soft. For most of my life, I hadn’t really had much of my own. That blanket was the one exception. It was my ultimate form of comfort, and always had been, growing up. But I didn’t want to feel like I needed anything, or was dependent on anything. Even if something can help me feel better, it’s still a crutch or flaw. We were going to be sending an email to the school, to try assert some of my independence. I didn’t know if I’d need it there, but it probably would put me in the wrong head-space. I left it there, feeling a little bit of reluctance, and almost a sense of loss. I needed to show that I was capable, and didn’t need any extra measures or other forms of care. But did I really want that? Would it not be nice to rather just be able to act like a child for once, and let someone else do the thinking? No. I couldn’t let myself entertain that thought. Down that road lies heartbreak and humiliation. I’m an adult, and I’m going to prove it. *** The smell hit me first. It was an acrid scent, but I found myself wanting to sniff more and more. And then I felt the stickiness, and dampness. I was lying on my stomach, and it felt like my shirt and pajama pants were clinging to me, the same way my costume would when I would get out the pool. I didn’t want to look down, or admit what I suspected. Instead, I took a glance at the clock on my desk. 4:00 AM. This feels gross. I was literally lying in a puddle of my own pee. It felt cold, sticky, and awful. I’d had a real accident, and there was no excuse I could come up with to explain why. I turned my body around a little, to see the damage. That made it worse, though. The clinginess kind of moved around my body. It was a much bigger accident than I’d expected. I’d worn a white T-shirt to bed, and some Star Wars pajama pants that still fit, although they were a little tight. The white shirt was pretty much transparent, with the puddle going up to about just under my nipples. Fuck! Wetting the bed once doesn’t make you a bedwetter, does it? It’s not like I need the Goodnites or anything… Maybe that’s why I’d wet the bed? Like, subconsciously I knew that I’d bought ‘protection’, and so it thought it was acceptable to let go? But I hadn’t worn one of those briefs. After all, I’d never had a real accident before. Except in the cafeteria, but that wasn’t my fault. I needed to deal with this, but I didn’t want to move. Moving just made it feel worse, and was a sharp reminder. I pulled my thumb out of my mouth (not sure when I’d put it in…) and took a deep breath. First things first, I needed to get out of those gross clothes. I put one unsteady foot on the floor, hating how the stickiness kept being highlighted. Like, as I moved, the clinging feeling felt worse on my upper thigh. Gross, gross, gross. I let out a little whimper. No! I am a man! Men don’t cry. My other foot touched the ground. I braced myself, and stood up. I risked a glance down at my wet clothes. The wet shirt was obvious, but the pants were a dark enough black that it didn’t really show there. But it still felt bad there. I turned around, facing my bed to inspect the puddle. It went from just around where my knees would have been, up to just under my nipples. Why had I needed to pee that badly? Why hadn’t I woken up? I started taking my shirt off. Or rather, I tried to start taking my shirt off. As I reached for the bottom of the shirt (I was going to have to pull a shirt covered in pee over my face — ew, ew, ew!), I lost my balance. I slipped slightly on the carpeted floor, and then failed to take grip of anything that might stabilize me. I toppled down further, my wet stomach tumbling right onto the pile of books I’d taken out of my drawers. And hit the corner of my desk, but thankfully not too hard. My bedroom light turned on. At the door to my room, my Mom stood, looking bewildered. “Is everything ok, honey?” I hadn’t wanted to wake her. I hadn’t wanted her to see any of this. When I just whined as a reply (not trusting myself to say anything else), she walked in further. With the light on, there was no hiding the puddle on the sheets, or the soaked clothes I was wearing. I felt my cheeks redden: I was already embarrassed, but this was worse. “Oh, Theo, did you have an… accident?” She was trying to be caring, and she wanted to be there for me. But the slight pauses there reminded me that she didn’t think this was normal, or okay. It reminded me that I was supposed to be ashamed. And I already fucking was! She looked at me with such care in her eyes. Didn’t say or do anything, but was looking at me expectantly. I nodded sadly, took a quick glance into her eyes, and then looked away sharply. “Yeah… and then, I fell, getting up,” I whispered. I felt my thumb start heading towards my mouth, and made a deliberate effort to put it back in place. “Let me help get this cleaned up,” she responded, back into practicality mode. No! I can do this myself. I wanted to tell her that. I didn’t want her to need to do anything about this. But if I said that, I’d sound whiny and petulant, and she’d just end up “helping” anyway. Her “helping” means she takes charge, and I’m the person who’s too useless to help fix things himself. She didn’t give me a chance to object, though. “Why don’t you get out of those icky clothes, and then have a shower, and when you come back, there’ll be a fresh bed and nicer pajamas to pop into, kiddo?” Icky? Kiddo? Why was she using those words? And worse, why didn’t I hate it? Why didn’t I call her out on it? Nodding, I deftly navigated myself off the tower of books. I was already on the ground now, sitting cross-legged. So I couldn’t fall further. I was eventually able to take the soaked shirt off. It stank of pee, and it was worse when it went over my face. I’d closed my eyes, and held my breath, which stopped the smell, but not the way it felt like pee was getting on my face. My mom took the shirt. I wasn’t going to take the pajama pants off in front of her (I wasn’t wearing underwear, and there was no way I was going to be naked in front of her). I waddled out my room, trying to make the stickiness not feel worse, like it would if my legs were closer together. The shower was nice. I likely spent too long there: scrubbing myself multiple times, and hoping that the water would soak away the pee smell. It kind of did, but I also spent a while just standing there silently sobbing. It wouldn’t have been so bad if this was a one-off. And, technically, it was the first time I’d had any real accident. But it gave credulity to Max’s story. If I’d already had multiple accidents, this was just one extra. It wasn’t new; just part of the pattern that’s already established. I got out the shower. There was still a very faint pee smell, but you’d need to actively be trying to smell it to notice it. Nothing like the urine-infested pajama pants that were in the wash basket in this bathroom. With a towel wrapped around my waist, I entered my room. My mom was true to her word. She room seemed brand new. No puddles or wet sheets in sight. The duvet had been stripped, so it was just white, but she’d tried to make the room look cozy. The bed did look inviting, except for the clothes that were put on it. They looked like normal pajamas, except that, on top of them, sat a blue… brief. I’d told myself I was fine calling them pull-ups or diapers, instead of hiding from what they actually are. But when confronted with it, I couldn’t allow myself to think that. They were supposed to be a school only accommodation. Not something I actually needed. I picked it up. My mom was giving me space, so she wasn’t in my room. But I doubted she’d gone back to sleep just yet. “Do I have to?” I asked her, when I found her in her room. “We can talk about it in the morning, but for tonight, I think it would be a good idea.” “But Mom—” “I don’t want to talk about this tonight. If you need me to, I can help you put it on. Either I put it on you, or you put it on. But we’re not risking more of the furniture tonight.” No. No way was she going to put it on me. “Fine, I’ll go put it on.” I retreated from her room, grumbling in my head, but not out loud. I put the brief on. It didn’t look or feel like normal underwear, but it could be put on in the same way. Before I had a chance to look down, I put the pants and shirt my Mom had left out, over it. I prayed that it wasn’t really that noticeable. A few minutes later, my Mom came in. It looked like she was going to tuck me in, which was strange. I’d never been tucked in by her. I’d been too old when she’d adopted me. Sure enough. She pulled the waistband of the pants a little, to check that I was wearing the Goodnite. Then she tucked me in, and made sure I was snuggly. She gave me a kiss on my forehead, and whispered “I’m proud of you, Theo.” That made me a little confused, but I didn’t really think on it. She turned out my light, and I tried to sleep. I tried to ignore what was between my legs. I deliberately didn’t try to think about how it felt. I deliberately tried to think that nothing was out of the ordinary. It didn’t really help: I tossed and turned, and didn’t really get to sleep, until it was time to properly wake up at 6:30.   Max I didn’t know why I’d been called to the school earlier than normal. I’d been told I was wanted in the principal’s office for a meeting, in an email I’d received quite late the night before. There were no details or reasons. In all honesty, it felt ominous. I couldn’t think of anything I’d done recently that would mean I’d be needed, except for me lying about Theo’s accidents. What was going on? Were they going to start suddenly believing him? My fears were confirmed when I saw Theo and his Mom already present. I entered the room, and took the seat that was gestured to. “We’re here to talk about some changes and accommodations for the issues that Mr. Montgomery has been experiencing. I understand that there are concerns about the way things are currently working, and thought it best that we clear the air. As Max has been involved so far, I thought it prudent that he join us.” Principal Bell’s voice was clear and straight to the point. She didn’t leave room for questions, but I wasn’t really paying that much attention to her. Instead, my eyes were focusing way more on Theo. He was carrying himself differently. He wasn’t the confident self-assured class achiever. But neither was he as dejected as he’d been after he’d peed his pants. He seemed down, but hopeful. And (my heart whispered) adorable. If it had been socially appropriate, I would have hugged him and patted his head. And I had no clue why I was feeling that so strongly. “Yes, can we start with that, please.” Theo responded. He was blushing very slightly, but trying to be business-like. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for another student to be responsible for cataloging my toilet use. It seems like an awful privacy violation, and I’m of an age where this is something I should be trusted to be able to do for myself.” No! I didn’t want this to stop. I spoke up before I could help myself. “How about if it’s something we do together? Like, I track Theo, and Theo tracks me?” Theo gave me a confused glance. Principal Bell took over. “The reasoning for Max doing it instead of you, Theo, is that there was a concern that you’d been hiding accidents. You’re normally incredibly responsible, but the fact that it took until your third incident for anyone to be made aware is concerning. We want to trust you, but you need to earn that trust.” “So you don’t think it’s invasive? You don’t think there’s anything wrong with another senior student writing down someone’s toileting habits?” Theo almost shouted, exasperated. “Yes, Theo, it’s weird. But I remember Luke doing something similar when he started Potty Training. Where they’d have mentors and buddies to guide them and remind them. Is this really that different?” “Luke’s three, Max. I’m eighteen. It’s different.” He shuffled in his seat, and there was a tiny crinkling noise. I blinked twice, but tried to hide my shock. Theo continued, “I understand I need to earn your trust. To prove that I’m taking this seriously, I am wearing incontinence protection. I maintain that I do not need them, and would like the opportunity to prove that I do not.” Woah, I was right. He’s wearing a diaper?! And just straight up admitted it. And weirdly, I didn’t want to bully him about it? That didn’t mean I didn’t want to pull his pants down, though… “The school’s hands are tied. We cannot provide any extra form of care or accommodation until you’ve seen a doctor. And I wanted to avoid anything like this going on to your official record. That’s why I tried to keep the changes to the minimum, and minimized the school’s involvement.” Principal Bell replied. “We understand entirely,” Theo’s Mom responded, “The main thing we’re concerned about is Theo’s dignity. As an example, the log brought home yesterday had columns that were entirely irrelevant, and potentially infantilizing. My son has not had any bowel problems, but these were implied to be regular by the chart. And having another boy ask you questions like that doesn’t seem proper. It would be like me asking you, Principal Bell, whether you used the toilet this morning, and what for. Instead, Theo has designed a log that is a lot more reasonable and useful. I trust him to fill it out.” She took out a clipboard, that held a log similar to the one I’d had yesterday. It was dated today, and it wasn’t empty… I took a glance. The time of the entry said 4:15 AM. I could think of only one reason why there’d be an entry for that time. Theo had wet the bed. Shit. Was he having actual, real life accidents? I didn’t know how I felt about that. The mean part of me wanted to giggle about it. But now I was actually concerned. Did anything I’d done actually lead to that? “As you can tell here, the accidents are not limited to school time. But Theo was responsible enough to log his bedwetting this morning. I believe he can manage to stick to the schedule, and record his toileting where relevant.” “Very well. Theo can be responsible for the logging. I still think external reminders could be useful, so Max can operate in that role, if all parties are accepting.” Theo looked to be thinking it over. He eventually made a decision. “Yes, Max can keep reminding me. On one condition. He also logs his toileting in the same way, and goes to the toilet at the same time.” I blushed. He’d twisted my idea, but I weirdly didn’t hate it. If it meant I could spend more time with him, it was worth it.

Tyler After the torture session that was lunch, the quartet was put down for a nap. They had little choice. Whatever was in that milk was stronger than whiskey and put even the most miserable and petulant amongst them into a kind of weary haze, sapping them of their will.  Tyler found himself lowered into a gigantic crib and one of the other babies- or rather one of Granny’s earlier victims;Tyler wanted to say it was ‘Peter’- was lifted out in his place. Laying down and passing out had been too easy.  He’d stayed awake just long enough to see Christy switched out with Wendy and then faded away just as Christy tried to ask him “Is it true?”. Drug induced sleep was a welcome trap door to escape questions about Tyler’s feelings and fidelity.  He hadn’t cheated on his wife; just had some dirty thoughts. He couldn’t control his dreams could he? If not, then why did he feel so guilty about it? The black void of unconsciousness was a welcome reprieve from dreams of one of his oldest friends shitting her pants and loving it.  Maybe the dream wouldn’t come back now that terrible fantasy had bled into reality.  Hard to say. Hard to say if he wanted it to fade or not. At the very least in the dream all his friends were happy instead of suffering. The silence persisted after they regained consciousness. None of them talked to one another.   No one was stupid enough to think that Granny wasn’t listening in on them. Granny was always listening. Always. The baby monitor was both out of reach and in plain sight. She was magic like that. Like that fucking cartoon. Like the baby shark one that took over their bodies  Like that terrifying clown cartoon that hijacked their memories. They were fucked and deep down, Tyler knew it.  The swollen state of his diaper when he woke up was a testament to that fact.  The fact that it was feeling oddly familiar and comfortable was icing on that terrible cake. They were changed again, and the rest of that afternoon and into the night, the quartet played on the floor like good little babies. They’d had to. Granny was watching. Granny was always watching, it seemed. She never stayed still for very long.  Checking and changing diapers; cooing and tickling; handing out bottles; playing games or insisting others keep busy.  Stacking blocks on a foam padded floor. might as well have been breaking rocks in a prison yard. “You’re playing so well, Tyler! That’s an excellent block stack!” “Have another ba-ba Brittney! Why don’t you come sit on Granny’s lap?” “Christy’s a little wet, but she doesn’t need changing quite yet. Keep coloring, dearie.” “Here, Drew. Bite on this cold plastic ring, it’ll make your gums feel better.” The other babies were surprisingly well behaved, too. Not at all the toothless feral monsters they seemed to be upon impressions. No true socializing occurred, but they were possessed of a certain calm. “Uh oh! Wendy made poopies! Let’s get you changed!” “Oh look at Michael in that bouncer!  Bounce Mikey bounce” “Peter loves his play gym! Smack that star! That one on the right! Good baby!” “How about I read a story for little Jon-Jon?” It was pure parallel play all around.  Eight different people stuck inside themselves. Four of them completely unable to communicate, the other four afraid to. Granny’s eternal vigilance had created a panopticon effect.  She might be watching at any given time, regardless of proximity, so she was effectively always watching. Tyler remained quiet.  It can be easy to be quiet when your mind is permanently stuck on overdrive and faster than the words coming out of your mouth.  It’s even easier when you’re emotionally overwhelmed. Where to begin? First, there was the fact that his body was betraying him. He was wetting his pants uncontrollably, even while awake. He would feel a kind of warm hot flash centered on his penis only for it to quickly fade.  He’d write it off as hallucinatory or anxiety induced until it happened again.  And again. “Do you feel that?” he asked Christy.  “Feel what?” she asked, somewhat coldly.  Oh yeah. They were still fighting. “Nevermind.” “Okay…” He didn’t fully make the connection until his diaper started swelling and sagging enough for him to feel the difference beneath his snap crotch shortalls. They’d started out baggy enough to hide the bulge and bulk of his diaper. Then not so much.  He’d started to notice weight that hadn’t been there before; felt soft plastic brush against his inner thighs and swing slightly from leg to leg.  Looking at the state of the other’s clothing, he knew he wasn’t the only one. Practically nobody knew when they were filling their pants. The one exception was Brittney.  Everytime she wet or messed, she would devolve into a screaming, quivering, orgasmic pile of goo on the floor for a few minutes.  After the third time, she started popping her thumb into her mouth and sucking on it to mute hurtself.  Tyler hoped it was to mute herself… Whenever Brittney was changed, Granny smeared this pea green cream all over her genitals and between her cheeks.  Tyler braced himself for his change, but none of the stuff touched him or his other companions. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was causing Brittney’s condition.  Was it wrong that Tyler was disappointed no such aphrodisiac was applied to him?  On some level it would have been nice to have the excuse. Of particular cognitive dissonance was Drew.  Tyler’s best guy friend had lost his beard and his teeth. His fucking teeth!  At any given moment, Tyler was staring at Drew, tight lipped, yet said lips seeming looser and less defined; a traveling lump like a circling shark as his tongue kept obsessively probing the modified landscape of his mouth. When he wasn’t staring, he was purposefully trying not to stare, which felt a whole lot like staring. Whenever he wasn’t staring at one of the crawling toothless babblers, trying to tune out Brittney moaning and trying not to hump a teddy bear, or not stare at his deformed friend, Tyler was looking over his shoulder to see his wife glancing at him.  He was so not ready for any kind of talk right now. “Good baby,” Granny interrupted his train of thought and gave him a pat on the top of the head and one to his crinkly bottom.  Panopticon.  Granny was always watching.  “Remember boys and girls,” a woman from the television said to a small group of attentive children. She was dressed as a police officer. Beside her was an archetypal firefighter and an EMT.  “9-1-1 is only used for emergencies!” Tyler shook his head slightly to himself. The fuck! They even had 9-1-1 here. So similar and yet… “Ladies and gentlemen of the press! Monkeez has an important announcement!” It was that same diaper commercial. The one with the real babies on it, the thing that had given the game away and exposed the truth about the giant woman’s lie. Granny switched the television off. “I think that’s enough of that old commercial,” she said. “I swear I hear that one so much it’s in my dreams.” The fully regressed baby girl started crying. Evidently she’d been watching it.  “Awww, it’s okay Wendy,” Granny said, picking her up.  “Your Daddy will be here soon to take you home. It’s okay.”  She bounced the girl in her arms and patted her back as tenderly and affectionately as one would any real baby. Real baby.  If not for that commercial, Tyler would have thought that poor girl- that poor woman- was a real baby on this world. More than likely Wendy and the others were all poor damned souls that had ended up here just like Tyler and his friends.  That commercial showed them the truth.  They weren’t real babies they were - “Ersatz…”  The word came out of Tyler’s mouth before he could think it through. “What was that, sweetie?” Granny asked.  “Did you need something?” Tyler closed his mouth and shook his head. That was good enough for the old giantess. Ersatz: something that is made or used as a substitute for something else; usually inferior.  Splenda could be considered an ersatz sugar.  Great Value was an ersatz version of a name brand.  Sugar and lemon mixed with restaurant ice water was just ersatz lemonade. That’s why they were all so well behaved. The babblers, the fellow lost travelers, had all been modified and traumatized to the point where it was all they could or dared to do.  No teeth. No walking. No talking. But they still likely understood enough to be afraid.  And if they didn’t, they’d been conditioned to display the most tame and pleasant parts of early childhood. No kicking or hitting or tantruming. No biting or ripping or throwing of toys.  No rebellion. At most they would cry pathetically, something that could be pacified or soothed with ease. They weren’t real babies, but a sub-incredible facsimile of the real thing. They were all ersatz babies; and Tyler and his friends were next on some kind of assembly line. Then despite himself, one important question sounded off in his head.  Why? Some sort of child shortage? Were the giants sterile and dying out? Were the babies in that old commercial all adults now, unable to conceive?  Or was it something else?  Forcing people from outside this world to be babies didn’t make much sense if that was the case.  If you break someone’s mind and disable them, it’s not as if you can repair and rebuild them.  It’s not as if Peter, Jon, Michael, and Wendy were ever going to grow up.  They were humans, not giants. They were done growing up. Then why alter them so? Why make them useless pants pooping dependents incapable of talking?  Was it a status thing? Like being able to afford a really expensive but useless pet? What parts of this world’s culture or history- one that on the surface seemed so similar to their world- was Tyler missing? The thought kept him occupied all the way until after the giants returned and picked their ersatz children up, straight through dinner, until bedtime.  They were put to bed without being given the magnificent milk that caused them to peacefully doze while robbing them of their continence. “I think you can go one night without a bath,” Granny told them, dressing them all in footed pajamas that covered their fingers and toes.  “You’re all a bunch of Little stinkers, but I don’t think you’re that stinky right now.” “Ffffuck you.” Drew slurred. There were four cribs in that particular room.  Two were up against the left wall. One was along the far wall.  The fourth was along the right wall with another changing table taking up the rest of the wall space. Granny remained tight-lipped and glowered down at Drew in his crib along the far wall.  Someone needs some special milk,” Granny glowered down at him in his crib.  “But first…” she plucked Brittney out of her crib.  “Baby Drew seems to have leaked through his diaper and stained his bedsheets. I just didn’t notice it till just now.”  Brittney came rocketing down into Tyler’s crib..  “Can’t have him sleeping on a dirty mattress,” she said.  Britney and he made eye contact and both of their faces went red for disturbingly similar yet completely different reasons.  Granny had yet to let up on the cream.  “Can’t have the babies pretending to be married again either, though…” Christy tried to volunteer. “She can sleep with me,” she cried out from her crib next to the changing table.  “We used to share beds back when we-” Her words were cut off with a pacifier and the hissing sound of a gag inflating. “That’s enough out of you Little miss,” Granny said, picking Drew back up. “Now let’s get Mister Fussy Gums here something to help him sleep.”  She stepped over the baby gate, taking Drew with her. It was terribly quiet for a moment.  The remaining three strained their ears for the sound of crying or pain. If Drew was making any such noises, it wasn’t loud enough to travel all the way back to their cells. Brittney’s tormented moaning did. This was torture, Tyler realized. Psychological if not entirely physical.  Brittney was artificially horny as hell.  Tyler’s crush had been uncovered, and Christy was in the crib across from them, forced to watch but unable to speak. “Hey,” Tyler said, sheepishly.  He pressed himself back against the crib’s headboard. There was more than enough room for the two of them in that crib, but the walls felt like they were closing in.  “You okay, Britt?” Brittney did the same, and scooted to the back end of the same crib.  “No,” she shuddered. “No I’m not.”  Her hands kept fidgeting, unsure of where to put them.  She rested them on her thighs. Then the mattress.  Then behind her. Then across her chest.  “I’m…tired…I keep…you know…I’m…I’m…” “Horny?” Tyler offered. Brittney looked like she was about to sob.  “Yeah…” “MMMMPH! MMMMPH!:” Came the noise from across the room. A sharp pang of guilt pierced Tyler’s throat.  “Don’t worry, honey. We’re not gonna do anything.”  He was still too far in his right mind and deep in his conscience to even consider that.  “Wha-?” Brittney said, one step behind the conversation. She gasped. “Oh no,” she called through the bar. “Christy! No! I’d never do tha- Oh GOD!” She fell over onto her side.  One mittened hand jammed itself into her mouth, the other started rubbing between her legs as if trying to start a fire. Tyler was horrified and stared while she writhed and crinkled on the mattress they shared. “Brittney?” “Give me a pillow!” She yelped. “NOW!” Tyler did so, tossing it to her.  She wasted no time in straddling, mounting and then humping the ever loving stuffing out of it.  “Need…to…get…” her voice stopped and she collapsed and fell over rocking herself in the fetal position, panting and crying lightly in frustration. Liberace was wrong. Too much of a good thing was not, in fact, wonderful. Granny’s intrusion almost gave Tyler whiplash. “Ride ‘em cowgirl!” She chuckled. “Brittney loves her diapers. Don’t you Britt?”  Still in the fetal position, Brittney clutched the body sized pillow like it was a life raft and nodded silently, burying her face into it and avoiding any and all eye contact. In Granny’s arms, Drew laid cradled and unconscious. His eyes closed, his chest rising and following peacefully. Little flecks of white liquid remained on his chin, his mouth laid open flashing nothing but gums. If Tyler hadn’t known any better. “That’ll get him through the night,” Granny clucked, lowering him down into the empty crib next to Tyler.  She walked to the door and turned the lights out.  “Ni-ni, Little babies,” she taunted them. “Sleep tight.” Easier said than done. The other three hadn’t been given any of that special milk. They’d had to try to find unconsciousness the old fashioned way. Awfully difficult to do while gagged, guilty, or impossibly horny.  To make matters worse, the rest of the baby treatment was having longer lasting effects. Throughout the night, Tyler noticed his diaper swelling and getting squishier.  All the incontinence without the benefit of a full night’s sleep. It was a long night. The kind that stretches out forever. Sleep only came in bits and bursts. Less a proper slumber and just lapses of time.  Christy kept whining pathetically from behind her pacifier, tossing and turning, uncomfortable with the intruding object and the fear that Brittney would do something unforgivable.  Brittney kept humping their crib’s single pillow.  She would doze like a lizard on a rock and then start groaning and gyrating hard enough to make the mattress shake. The few times Tyler realized he’d been asleep was when Brittney woke him up beating herself off.  It was hard to tell in the darkness, but Tyler suspected she was doing it in her sleep now. She was having a more than literal wet dream. Drew? Drew slept like a baby.  Fucker snored. When Tyler wasn’t grasping for sleep his mind was racing on overdrive. What was he missing? He felt a rock in his gut, grunted, and pushed without thought, relieving the pressure. A warm solid mass spread his cheeks and then vanished; almost like a fart. Almost. Analyze the pieces. Make the connections others don’t see. An otherwise modern world, but with plastic backed diapers instead of the kind with the velcro. Made it so that babies couldn’t take them off. Because babies wouldn’t want to wear them and would have the wherewithal to remove them otherwise. Cuz they weren’t really babies. Diaper commercials with actual children. So they existed here.  The only media with babified adults represented were in private DVDs like the Baby Shark. Coded comments about training.  A private at home daycare that was actually used for conditioning. Sadistic gags and alteration tools disguised as common baby items and products. This entire world was something monstrous wrapped in a veneer of pleasantry. But why? Another solid fart and Tyler realized he’d actually been pooping his pants without giving it too much thought.  He quietly groaned and laid his head back down on the mattress, finally passing out.

There was a Chinese man who loved fried rice, especially the one served at a local Greek restaurant, however, being Chinese whenever he ordered it, it came out as "Flied Lice".  The Greek owner, a big burly man, thought that was the funniest thing he heard and used to get all his friends over when he saw the Chinese man coming in.  "Listen to this guy", he'd tell his friends.  The Chinese guy would place his order and the Greek guy and his friend would burst out laughing, leaving the poor Chinese guy embarrassed and humiliated. The thing was, the Chinese man loved the fried rice so much he couldn't stay away, but was constantly humiliated by the Greek owner and his friends.  Finally he decided to enroll in a night English speech class at the local school just to learn how to properly pronounce "fried rice".  Finally when his class was finished, he proudly went back to the Greek restaurant he liked so much.  As soon as the owner saw him walk in, he grabbed all his buddies and said, "listen to this guy order fried rice" The Chinese fellow stepped up to the counter and said, clearly and plainly, "I'd like an order of fried rice please".  The Greek owner was so shocked and taken aback that he stammered, "say that again?"  The Chinese guy said, "Never mind you Fluckin Gleek!"

Found BitterGrey's Understanding Infantilism, then ended up here.