Other Fetishes

Happy holidays to one and all.

California's Stag's Leap Wine Cellars also came in first among red wines with its 1973 Cabernet.  

"Because you are a baby. You've been behaving like one all holiday.. and more. I just want my little boy back, and this time, I will make sure you behave."  She looked at the pyjamas he was holding up by the waist, and the growing wet spot.  "Hmm, Mommy's little boy had an accident! Let's get you changed."  She unceremoniously lifted him up, keeping his arms restrained and carrying him over to her bedroom, where a set of cutesy toddler clothes with the slogan 'Mama's little monster', a changing pad, and a thick diaper.  

Chapter 1  Britney holds Elsa like a baby and put her in the Highchair "who ready for some baby food hmm" as she smiles at the captured queen from arendelle. Britney: "Here comes the airplane" As she pushes a spoon of smashed peas towards Elsa's lips. Britney: *giggles as she watches Elsa's nose crinkle in disgust* "Oh come on, princess, it's not poison - just some yummy greens for growing girls!" Britney: The spoon hovered near Elsa's pursed lips, peas dripping slightly onto the highchair tray as Britney tilted her head with mock concern. "Someone's being a fussy baby today," she teased, using her free hand to gently wipe a smear of green from Elsa's chin while secretly admiring how the afternoon light caught those frost-touched eyelashes. Britney: "We could always switch to carrots," she mused aloud, tapping the spoon against the jar's rim with rhythmic clinks that echoed in the quiet nursery. Behind her playfulness, Britney noted how Elsa's fingers twitched against the highchair straps - not with magic, but with the restrained fury of royalty unused to being handled. The scent of lavender baby powder mixed oddly with the queen's natural winterberry fragrance. Elsa: "This indignity serves no purpose," Elsa finally hissed through clenched teeth, her breath frosting the spoon's metal surface. "Unless you intend to keep me trussed up like an actual infant indefinitely?" Her gaze flicked toward the window where icicles dripped in slow, deliberate patterns against the glass.  "I have watched you for a long time snowflake" As Britney bops Elsa Nose "you have a cute nose anyway as I was saying I thought you being 21 was not the right age for your coronation and so I thought it so much better for you not to be a queen so I will take over and you can be my little baby" Elsa's nostrils flare as Britney's fingertip taps her nose—the frost spreading from her shoulders down the highchair straps in jagged fractals. "You delusional little *creep*," she seethes, voice dropping from royal disdain to something far darker. The mashed peas freeze solid in their jar beside her with an audible *crack*. Her wrists twist against the restraints—not magic now, but the calculated tension of someone who's escaped kidnappers before. The vial in Britney's apron pocket suddenly glazes over with ice crystals, its stopper frosting shut.  Britney tsks, brushing snowflakes from Elsa's bangs. "Temper-temper," she sing-songs, but her grin falters when she notices the queen's bare toes curling purposefully against the highchair footrest. The wood beneath them darkens with moisture—not from melting ice, but from *sweat*. Elsa's breathing stays measured despite her glare. Britney's eyes widen a fraction too late—just as Elsa's knee jerks upward, smashing the tray hard enough to splinter the latch. The restraints snap away. Britney stumbles back against the changing table as Elsa surges forward, her nightgown hem tearing on the chair's jagged edges. The frozen vial shatters against the floorboards between them, releasing a thin blue smoke that makes Elsa's nostrils flare. "Valerian root?" She scoffs, stepping through the mist with bare feet already frosting the rug. "How *daring* of you." Britney scrambles backward, knocking over a shelf of rattles and teething rings that clatter like distant sleigh bells. "Naptime's over?" she squeaks, reaching blindly behind her for leverage—her fingers close around a porcelain baby bottle. She swings it wildly, catching Elsa across the temple with a sickening *thock*. Elsa staggers, a thin trickle of red threading through platinum hair. > aw sweety look you have ruined your gorgeous platinum hair as Brit runs a hand over Elsa hair your little reign as queen has come to a end my little snowflake let get you in your new home a crib hmm hear we go little one.  Britney's fingers smear blood through Elsa's hair as the queen sways—her knees buckling just enough for Britney to catch her under the arms. Elsa's eyelids flutter, her frost-lashed gaze unfocused as Britney half-drags her toward the ornate crib in the corner. The queen's bare feet scrape faint trails of ice across the floorboards with every step, her fingers twitching weakly in what might be an attempt to summon winter. A sharp breath escapes Elsa's lips as her back meets the crib's padded mattress, her head lolling against a lace-trimmed pillow embroidered with embroidered snowflakes—now darkening crimson at the edges. Britney hums while strapping the restraints, her thumb lingering on Elsa's pulse point where blue veins stand stark against suddenly pallid skin. The crib's mobile sways above them, tiny silver bells tinkling like far-off icicles breaking under their own weight. Elsa's whisper is barely audible: "You realize... I'll kill you." Her fingers curl around the crib bars, knuckles whitening as she forces her vision to clear. The delicate scent of lavender and iron fills the space between them. Britney leans down to smooth Elsa's ruined hair back from her forehead, her smile never wavering. "Oh, sweetheart," she murmurs, tapping the queen's cheek with a fingertip, "you'll have to stay awake first." She reaches beneath the crib, producing a nursing bottle filled with murky liquid that sloshes thickly when tilted. The scent of valerian root mixed with something darker—hemlock?—makes Elsa's nostrils flare again.  Outside, the dripping icicles abruptly lengthen into dagger-sharp points, plunging through the nursery window in a shower of glass. Brittney yelps as a shard grazes her forearm, the bottle slipping from her grip to shatter against the floorboards. Frost erupts from Elsa's palms in jagged spirals, encasing the crib's restraints in crackling ice—but her movements are still sluggish, her magic weakened from the head wound. Britney scrambles to pin Elsa's wrists against the mattress, her breath coming in ragged pants. "Bad baby," she hisses, pressing a knee into Elsa's ribs hard enough to bruise. The mobile above them spins wildly, silver bells chiming like a demented lullaby. Elsa's throat works silently for a heartbeat before she arches upward with a strength born of pure adrenaline—her forehead smashing into Britney's nose with a wet crunch. Blood sprays across the embroidered pillow as Britney reels backward, shrieking. "You BITCH!" She clutches her face, crimson seeping between her fingers. Elsa's smile is glacial as she wrenches one hand free from the half-shattered restraints, her fingertips already blooming with delicate ice fractals. "Who's the fussy baby now?" she murmurs, voice thick but triumphant.  The nursery door bursts open—a hulking guard stumbles in, crossbow leveled, but freezes at the sight of his queen strapped to a crib, blood and shattered glass glittering around her like macabre confetti. "M-my lady—?" he stammers. Elsa doesn't even glance his way. Her freed hand snakes out, fingers curling into a claw as the guard's weapon encases in ice so fast it cracks the stock. "Out," she commands, and he retreats faster than a whipped dog. Britney whimpers through her broken nose, scrambling for the fallen bottle's jagged remains. Elsa's breath comes in visible plumes now, the crib's bars groaning as frost devours the woodgrain. "Did you really think," she rasps, yanking her other wrist free with a spray of ice shards, "a few drops of valerian could hold the Snow Queen?" Brittney's back hits the wall, her blood-slick hands leaving smeared prints as she fumbles for the doorknob. Elsa rises unsteadily, her nightgown clinging to sweat-damp skin—until the fabric itself stiffens into armored frost-weave with a ripple of her fingers. "You wanted a child to care for?" Elsa steps forward, the air around her cracking with sudden cold. The spilled liquid from the shattered bottle crystallizes into venomous blue spikes between them. Brittney's whimper turns into a choked gasp as her fingers freeze to the metal knob. "P-please—" Ice creeps up her wrist like living vines.  but then out of nowhere Britney friend Nikki comes and spays Elsa with milk from a milk bottle making her feel wobble and shrink. The arc of milk catches Elsa mid-step—a thick white stream splattering across her collarbones before Nikki shakes the bottle violently, dousing the queen's face and chest. Elsa gasps as the liquid seeps into her frost-weave gown with unnatural speed, the fabric darkening and sagging like wet parchment. Her knees buckle as a strange warmth spreads through her limbs—not the pleasant thaw of spring, but a sickly, invasive heat that makes her fingers spasm. The ice fractals at her fingertips drip away as milk runs in rivulets down her shrinking form, her nightgown pooling around her suddenly child-sized waist. Britney's whimpers turn into breathless laughter behind bloodied hands as Elsa wobbles, her adult proportions distorting—shoulders narrowing, legs shortening—until she stands no taller than a seven-year-old, blinking up at Nikki through milk-smeared lashes.

" 'm under the desk! I.. I shrank! I don't know what the fuck just happened! I had the cofeee and I... I just started getting smaller!?" He called out from underneath the desk. He had wrapped himself in the jacket that was now hung from his neck to his feet. He looked kind of pathetic.