Mike D

She’s a recurring character in this little series. First appearance in earlier at daycare.

I don’t know. I honestly never have any plot lines in mind beyond the basic setting. I just start writing. We will have to see what happens when it happens. I don’t think Sandra would actually try to take revenge on Katie. In her heart, she knows what happened. And I think she likes the situation as it is now on that basis. Katie loved Mike. She instigated the affair. Now she can have him, but not in the way she wanted. In that sense, she already has her revenge. At least as long as the regression continues And right now I can’t be sure if it will. Katie might agree to save Mike. But I don’t know how that will work. A lot more would probably have to be written to make that happen. Or she might decide to double cross him - again - and lull him gently back to drooling babyhood just as he thinks he’s making good his escape. The latter is of course a familiar plot element. I don’t know if I wanna go there. There’s other better writers out there for that. Mike might just get up and walk out of that living room and into a new life where he avoids any and all triggers permanently. But would that work? Stopping the treatment is dangerous…. Only time will tell. We might never get full resolution on any of these questions.

Happy new year readers! Welcome to the latest (and I think the penultimate) chapter in the Mike and Sandra and Katie saga. This one presented some difficulties as it turned into an attempt to develop a vaguely plausible path to mental regression while I was writing it. Some of the spicier stuff had to be cut to make room for that, and yet we still don't really know what's going on behind the closed doors of the mysterious Regression Center. Judge for yourselves if I got there with Mike in terms of what he's been going through. As always, all characters are 18+ I'm back. But I don’t have any idea where I am or how I got here. I’m sitting on the floor in a living room near a pile of toys and children’s books that aren’t mine. A few more are scattered here and there across the carpet. It’s nice carpet, but not a color I could live with. The furniture and décor are also unfamiliar and not to my own or Sandra’s taste. A little too spartan really. First home maybe? There are no pictures on the wall or any other clues as to the owner that I can see from my current vantage point. The presence of what I do recognize as my backpack in the corner behind me suggests that I’m meant to be here and therefore likely safe. I’m not really responsible for my backpack, even though it’s “mine”, and even though it goes with me everywhere I go outside the home. Some well meaning adult put it there or sent me here with it. My initial sensation of panic begins to ebb a bit. The mystery location is actually less of a concern in the grand scheme of things than the missing time. I don’t even know what month it is, much less day or date. How long have I been zoned out for? I’m wearing a plain colored tee shirt and matching sweatpants. Holiday neutral and seasonally appropriate for any time of year as long as one is spending most of one’s time inside. No time clues there. The soggy disposable diaper underneath my sweatpants and bottom suggests that enough time has passed to allow for significant progression in my regression. The last I can remember clearly, I was still in training pants. Something akin to a diaper, but not quite. And yet, I can vaguely recall wearing daytime diapers at times too. And being changed at daycare. Or was it playgroup? It’s all so jumbled! I shake my head trying to clear the cobwebs and reflect for a moment on the irony inherent in the concept of progression in regression. But then I have to remind myself that getting lost in thoughts like these is a very risky undertaking. They can trigger more zone outs. The zone outs started subtly. Waking dreams that I slipped into without noticing I’d checked out. Like falling asleep in front of the TV when you are still sort of aware of the show as it plays on, but when you wake up, you have no idea what has happened or how much of it you missed. My first significant zone out actually occurred in front of the TV about three weeks after I started my sessions at the Regression Center. It was like any other lazy Sunday night. I was cuddled up with Sandra on the couch watching some awful family comedy movie she had picked out. I needed to pee, but I was patiently waiting for the next commercial break when all of a sudden, I was jolted back to reality by a shout of surprise from Sandra. A disposable training pants commercial was playing on the TV screen. And my pants were soaked. Sandra had been very nice about it. In fact, after her initial expression of surprise, she had been nonchalant about the whole thing, even though I couldn’t explain to her how or why it happened. As if it were totally normal for a diaper commercial to prompt a full-blown wetting accident in an adult. As if everyone just lost time from time-to-time. I was cleaning up in the shower and feeling very sorry for myself when I heard the bathroom door open. Sandra had slipped into the shower behind me without asking for permission to join. She pulled me into her, her bare breasts pressing firmly against my back. We stood like that in silence for a minute or so, and then she began soaping my back with a soft, baby blue washcloth. I’d never seen her use a washcloth before, but this felt really good. The tension in my shoulders eased a little. She moved closer again, the cloth now working lower on my bottom. As it slipped between my cheeks, she leaned forward and whispered in my ear: “Awwwww is my boy upset because he did a wee wee in his panties?” I let out a small gasp in reply - prompted more to the invasiveness of her work with the washcloth than the sensitivity of the subject. Sandra nodded in sympathy and moved the cloth to the front. The fingers of her left hand now caressed the tip of my penis as she gently worked over my crotch and balls with the right. She whispered again: “It’s OK, Sweetie. Accidents are no big deal. It was bound to happen sometime wasn’t it?” When I didn’t respond immediately, she paused her movements. Her touch felt amazing, and despite my shame, a growing part of me very much wanted this treatment to continue. My voice quivered a little as I replied: “I guess so, but not like this!…I mean I didn’t even know it was happening, and then I was wet, and you shouted, and I felt like I didn’t know where I was or who I was. And I know I said I wanted to go to the regression center, but really I just wanted an excuse to quit my job. I, I didn’t think it would be like…like…this. I didn’t even think it would WORK, and now look I’ve ruined the couch, and I just want to stop going and stay home with you instead…” Sandra interrupted my rambled confession with a gentle “Shhhhhhh!” in my ear. She was stroking me now with the washcloth. “Sweetie, it’s too late to stop treatment now. Or at least, you can’t quit all at once - you know that could cause a serious psychotic break that could leave you permanently baby-brained. You don’t want that do you?” I shook my head “no” even as a soft moan escaped my lips. Sandra’s work with the washcloth was exquisite. I was thrusting a little bit into her hand now, and feeling her match my movements with her own, her smooth pubic area keeping firm pressure against my bottom. “No - you don’t. Let’s just stick with it until Easter and then we can decide what’s best for you. Does that sound good, my sweet boy?” I nodded and moaned again, thrusting harder now. “Besides, I have to tell you that you looked absolutely adorable sitting on the couch, looking up at me with confused puppy dog eyes, and a wet patch on your pants. In fact, if you had put your thumb in your mouth at that moment, I probably would have just ripped your wet pants off and fucked you on the spot.” I didn’t have time to be surprised at that statement because, as soon as she said it, she spun me around and kissed me deeply, my dick throbbing against her smooth lower belly. She grabbed my bottom with one hand, pulling me closer into her, while the other guided my hand down and between her legs. “Feel how wet that makes me, baby”, she whispered in my ear as she pushed two of my fingers inside her. That did it. “Oooooh fuuuuuck!”, I groaned, as I came hard against her belly, my knees buckling and almost giving way. Sandra caught me and held me, slumped and panting into her breasts. “Oh my - two accidents in one night!”, she teased, and then she continued to rock me back and forth under the warm water. Of course not every zone out was as climactic as that first one, but in those early days especially, it did seem like Sandra went out of her way to “reward” me every time I did something particularly babyish while I was out. Getting a blowjob in dirty training pants in the family bathroom at the mall was one of most unexpectedly erotic things that had ever happened to me. There were some triggers I later came to recognize (and to be wary of) in my more lucid moments: baby talk, commercials or other media featuring babies or toddlers, praise for accomplishing simple tasks, and certain smells associated with childhood comforts and care. I’m sure the regression center planted other zone out triggers as well, although it was likely overkill as I was exposed to all of these things on a near constant basis by Sandra and the limited range of other adults I now interacted with regularly. It was next to impossible to avoid zone outs under these circumstances, even when I was aware of the triggers. A momentary slip into a daydream, a warm rush of dopamine, and I might not reawaken for hours, or days. Or as it now seemed, possibly weeks or months. And worse, there is no longer any guarantee that I’ll be “all there” even when I do come back. Sometime in the spring, during one of my still (at that time) frequent moments of clarity, I realized that I’d been operating for the past few hours in a sort of limbo. Not a full on zone out - but somewhere undeniably much closer to baby mode than adult. It’s tough to describe what it’s like being in the “in between”, as I now refer to it. If a zone out is like falling asleep without realizing it, then the in between is like waking from a deep sleep when the boundaries between dreams and reality are still blurred and thoughts and feelings slip easily through your head and then away and out of reach. You’re conscious, but the events unfold in your memories like a surreal slideshow. For instance, I could tell you about how we fed the ducks at the park, and that I had my blue coat and mittens on, but I couldn’t tell you how we got there, or what day it was, or describe why I enjoyed it so much. At the time, this new mental state was quite concerning to me because, unlike during a zone out, I was consciously doing those babyish things, expressing those babyish emotions, thinking those babyish thoughts. And worse, I began to like doing it. Soon after the in between periods started, I also began to notice a distinct rush of warmth and contentment whenever I did something juvenile or was treated like a small child. It wasn’t a subtle feeling either. It was something new and very pleasurable. I first experienced it during a period of lucidity. We were eating dinner together at a restaurant, when Sandra suddenly reached across the table to wipe some food off of my face. That innocuous little mothering movement that we’ve all seen and experienced a thousand times and probably never thought twice about, shot me straight to the moon! My eyes went glassy, my mouth fell open, and I slumped down into my chair with a soft moan. I was vaguely aware that my bladder was letting go, but I didn’t even try to stem the flow. I just sat there gaping and staring into the ether for at least a full minute. The people next to us probably thought I was having a stroke! But Sandra stayed calm, watching me with an expression of amused interest. Eventually, she lent forward and whispered across the table that I was “being such a good boy”, which prompted further waves of pleasure to wash over me. I was way too doped up in that moment to process what had happened, but it became clear in the days that followed that I had entered a new phase of the regression protocol. Those quacks at the regression center had done some serious rewiring in the pleasure centers of my brain. I was immediately hooked. Completely and utterly addicted. I've tried every drug in the book, and nothing, I mean nothing, compares to the intensity and pleasure of that high. And there was no shortage of opportunity to score in my new lifestyle, especially in the in between. As time wore on, the addiction chipped away at even my most basic inhibitions and standards. The more I degraded my adult self, the more intense the high. I found myself choosing to slip into the in between. It was like taking a vacation from my adult self and all my grown up problems. It was just way too easy to let go, and to allow Sandra or the ladies at the daycare or playgroup to do practically everything for me. To treat me like the smallest and most incompetent of children. I stopped caring about the distinctions between adult and child. Between big boy and little boy. I started sucking my thumb more frequently and openly. I no longer got upset about my potty accidents, (even though I would still occasionally deny that they had happened). I spoke in simpler sentences. My coordination deteriorated, and I began having trouble with basic logic and forward planning. In short, I was caught in a vicious, but very pleasant spiral of regression. And the more babyish and helpless I behaved, and the more I let myself slip out of lucidity and into the in between, the more comfortable and content in myself I felt. True, I sometimes had vaguely disconcerting recollections that I had been something else, something possibly more preferable, but it didn't seem important to dwell on those thoughts. Because I was choosing to act this way, and I told myself that I could also choose to stop at any time. Of course the more classic zone outs and episodes of lost time also continued during these times (case in point, this most recent episode of indeterminate duration and origin). God knows what those things are doing to my psyche when starting from such an already vulnerable in between state. It’s possible that one day I’ll just slip away into a permanent zone out - my adult brain permanently cooked, never to return. But I don’t think that’s Sandra’s intention, or how this stuff really works. Sandra likes me being aware of what’s happening. She wants me to retain the memories of lost battles in intimate, gory detail. There’s no fun in this change in status unless I’m aware of it. A permanently zoned out zombie baby is not the desired end state. And yet the zone outs continue, so they must be serving some purpose in pushing this whole process forward. If I had to guess, I’d say the zone outs work on the subconscious level - breaking down any remaining subconscious resistance from my now beleaguered, dopamine addled brain. I expect they’ll stop if and when I surrender completely. But for now, here I am. Wherever and whenever this is. This is the most lucid and just generally with it I've felt in a long time. And it's only in times like these, that I can see just how close I am getting to rock bottom, and just how much I wish I could stop the unending cycle of soggy and squishy bottoms that come with it. The last time I snapped back to something like my adult self was somewhere around Thanksgiving I think, and I was definitely much fuzzier then. Still, I can remember pieces of time from before that, trick or treating for instance, and various other scenes of a familiarly babyish nature that seem to span weeks. Had I really allowed myself to stay in the in between for so long? Unfortunately, I had chosen to waste my previous limited time in adult space by picking a silly fight with Sandra over the color of the shirt I was wearing (like I said, I wasn't thinking perfectly straight). I can't remember anything after that, so I must have been permanently zoned out between then and now. Maybe Sandra triggered a mega zone out to punish me or just to shut me up. It has happened before - or at least I suspect it has. This is one of the more unpleasant thoughts that invades my brain when I'm back. One of the adult problems that I run away from in the in between. Because I suspect that Katie triggered the zone out that ended my last period of true lucidity before this one. The last time I was truly able to see the depth of the spiral I was in. The time when I brought up our deepest, darkest shared secret. In a moment that felt even more intimate and vulnerable than that night years ago. And the possibility of that betrayal hurts - it terrifies me - because I don't think I can get off this train alone. And I think she might be the only person who can help me. To be continued...

Very well written and uncannily familiar to my own situation/ experience so far!

Hello dear readers! It’s been a while since we checked in on Mike, Katie, Sandra (and now someone new)! This is the latest installment in this series. As always, comments and critiques are welcome. All plot characters are 18+ At Miss Katie’s House Katie sat on the couch, idly flicking through a parenting magazine she had “borrowed” from her obstetrician’s office. Who even subscribes to paper magazines anymore? Well, apart from Doctors, obviously. She glanced up to look at Mike and her almost 3-year-old niece, Jessie, playing in the corner. The contents of the small tub of toys she kept for babysitting were strewn across the living room. Mike and Jessie were playing adjacent to one another, but not together, per-se. Each was fully engrossed in their own little game, oblivious to everything and everyone else. Katie knew this was normal at Jessie’s age, and probably at Mike’s current developmental stage as well. She hadn’t seen as much of Mike lately, not since her decision to move him from her preschool classroom into the “2s and 3s” room (AKA the pre-potty-training room for kids not quite out of diapers or otherwise unready for preschool). She had loved having Mike as her Little Helper, but it was just getting too difficult as his regression took a deeper hold. Of course she’d played her own small part in accelerating that on at least one occasion (it had to be done), but it was his wife, Sandra, who was really in the driver’s seat there. She still wasn’t sure how far Sandra was going to take things with Mike’s treatments. She knew Sandra was still taking him for regular visits to the Regression Center, but surely she’d have to stop soon? No one wanted a giant infant did they? Who knows. Sandra clearly wasn’t done yet. Mike had slipped even more since she’d last seen him about a week ago. Developmentally, she’d put him somewhere between 2-3 and definitely closer to 2 now. Arguably less mature than Jessie in many important ways. The pastel liner peaking up above his waistband and the bulk around his bottom were confirmation of that. Mike had joined her in late summer as a very capable pre-school-level little. In fact, at that time he was the most advanced Little Helper she’d ever had in her classroom. He probably could have gone to another classroom, but Sandra had insisted that he be placed with her, and she could hardly deny that request given their history. Plus, she still liked Mike. True, she had liked him in very different and more adult ways before his regression, but a good portion of that affection had carried over to him in this present state. He was just adorable and cute now rather than sexy. As summer turned into fall though, Mike had begun to fall further behind the actual children in the class. At first it was in more subtle ways, like getting frustrated when he couldn’t keep up with the rules of new games or forgetting to wash his hands after using the toilet. That was ok. She could help with that stuff. It was part of the job. But the decline continued, and by early October he was very clearly struggling with even the most basic tasks for a Little Helper. His occasional dribbles and wettings had become an almost daily occurrence, meaning she was spending more and more of her time tending to his accidents, and less time doing her actual job. She’d tasked one of the junior teachers with keeping an eye on him and reminding him to use the toilet, but she was still the only Preschool teacher certified to clean up and change potty accidents from the Little Helpers, which meant long periods of time away from the classroom in the staff bathroom wiping down Mike’s pee-soaked crotch and legs and helping him into fresh undies. The first time he soiled his pants in her classroom, he had been quite upset, and she’d had to take him to the quiet/nap room to calm him down before cleaning him up. She’d pulled him into her lap like a toddler (ignoring the smell from his bottom) and rocked and shushed him gently in the dark until he calmed down. Unfortunately, it seemed she had done too good of a job of calming and reassuring Mike after that particular accident. He had absolutely drenched his lightly-padded training pants while sitting in her lap, and some of it soaked through to her pants. Lesson relearned: tinkle usually follows soon after poop. That was also the first time she had noticed him sucking his thumb. Normally she would discourage that behavior in her preschoolers, but with MIke’s current trajectory, what was the point? After that day, she had insisted that Sandra start sending Mike to daycare with several clean pairs of the thickly padded “training pants” she knew she was putting him in at home (and which Mike usually arrived wearing in the mornings). In truth, they were pull-on cloth diapers, and so they did a pretty good job of containing both kinds of messes, but cleanup was still a bitch because they had to be pulled down his legs. It wasn’t the accidents that had led to Mike’s eventual demotion, though. It was his nonchalance about them. The Regression Center specialized in total regression therapy, which included modules aimed at re-socializing clients into more developmentally appropriate attitudes and emotions. Sometime after Halloween, Mike reached a stage where he was no longer overly embarrassed or concerned about his increasingly babyish behavior, including going potty in his pants in front of others. And that was simply bad for business in a preschool classroom where the most important skill to be learned and reinforced was the need to keep oneself dry and clean. Bottom line - Little Helpers were special - but they were still expected to set a good example for the others. And Mike was no longer capable of doing so in her classroom. The final straw fell one afternoon when she had to pause story time because her nose had detected a familiar foul odor. Her eyes went immediately to Mike who was kneeling (not sitting) rather conspicuously in the circle of children on the reading rug around her. Normally, she tried to be discreet about checking for and dealing with his accidents, but this time she had just asked him in front of everybody if he needed to be changed. Mike might’ve spared himself the demotion if he had told her the truth. But instead, he lied, and insisted quite adamantly that he didn’t. He even tried to blame the odor on the girl next to him. Katie had sat there for a moment, looking at Mike and waiting for him to confess, while he just stared back defiantly. The whole classroom was watching this interaction, and she knew she couldn’t just let this slide. Silently, she stood up, marched over to him, and pulled back the back of his pants to check him. She didn’t need to announce what she had found in there. The whole room already knew. She held a tight grip on Mike’s hand as she wordlessly handed the book off to her junior teacher and walked Mike out of the room and into the hall, picking up his backpack on the way. Once there, she turned to him and put on her best firm, teacher voice: “Mike you lied to me again about going poopy in your pants. Remember what I told you about setting a good example for the others?” Mike slipped a finger in his mouth as if in thought and then nodded slowly in the affirmative. “Uh huh. Well, unfortunately you haven’t been doing that lately. I know it’s not your fault, sweetie, but I think we need to put you in a different classroom, at least for a little while.” Mike felt vaguely unsettled by this plan, but he couldn’t quite place why. Everything had become so jumbled and fuzzy lately. And he was zoning out more and more often. Sometimes he lost whole afternoons or days. Oddly though, he didn’t feel that concerned about these lapses. In fact, in this moment he was feeling quite docile and very happy for Katie to lead the way to something new. He had even forgotten about the mess in the back of his pants. Now they were walking again, hand in hand. Mike had assumed that they were going to the toddler room to change first, because that’s where Miss Katie usually took him after a messy accident. But today they kept walking past the toddler classroom and stopped in front of an unfamiliar, brightly decorated door. Katie knocked twice and then opened the door, pulling him inside with her. It was laid out almost exactly like the preschool classroom, but it was very quiet for some reason. There appeared to be no kids in here. Mike was suddenly overcome with a wave of shyness, and did his best to hide behind Katie, who squeezed his hand reassuringly. Across the room at a single large changing table, next to what looked like a bathroom, a woman was finishing changing a boy of around 2. She stood him up on the changing table, pulling his pants back up around his fresh diaper, then lifted him onto her hip and turned to greet them, still holding the soiled diaper. She was a lot younger than Katie, but still very much a grownup compared to Mike. As an adult, Mike probably would have considered her more ‘cute’ than pretty with her button nose and minimally applied makeup. Her sandy blonde hair was tied back loosely in a functional ponytail. She smiled warmly at both of them, put her finger to her lips to indicate that they should be quiet (it was nap time), and then walked over to them both still carrying the tot. “You must be Mike” she said, now looking directly into his eyes and holding that same friendly smile. “I’m Miss Rachel”. Mike nodded shyly and fidgeted. He was suddenly very aware again of the contents of his pants. “I’ll be back in a minute so that we can introduce ourselves properly, but right now I need to get this one settled for nap time. Would you mind disposing of this for me?”, she asked, handing the used diaper to Katie. Katie nodded and pulled Mike along with her across the unfamiliar room and into the bathroom. There was a diaper pail in here next to the trash can along with a couple training potties and a small toilet with no stall. Katie disposed of the diaper in the bin and then turned to Mike. “Phew - I don’t know if it was that boy’s diaper or yours that’s stinking up this place, but why don’t we go ahead and get you changed too before Miss Rachel comes back?” This wasn’t a really a question, even though it was posed that way. Katie knelt down almost immediately and helped Mike remove his shoes and socks and step out of his pants. She found they were a little bit damp in the crotch, but she knew Sandra always sent him in with a spare pair. Katie stood up and removed the clean pants from Mike’s backpack. Then she turned away from him and opened a large cabinet above the sink, removing a tub of wipes, a wet clothes baggie, and a pair of vinyl gloves. She held something else behind her back while she turned and set the rest of the supplies on the small bench next to where Mike now stood. The tile floor was cold on his bare feet and it was very bright in here under the fluorescents. Mike put his thumb in his mouth, shivered a little, and looked to the doorway to find Miss Rachel filling it. Her eyes lingered on his dampened crotch for a moment and then flitted to the items on the bench. She had already noted the telltale bulge in the back of his soggy panties before he turned around. “Braiden went down quicker than normal, so that’s a small victory I guess”, she said. Katie laughed and continued to pull on her vinyl gloves. “You can change Mike out here on the changing table if that would make things easier?”, Rachel asked. “I can put his changing supplies in his cubby while you do that…unless you just want me to go ahead and change him?” “No, it’s fine”, Katie said, kneeling again in front of Mike. “I’m already invested in this process here”, (she held up her gloved hands for emphasis), “and besides, Mike is used to me taking care of him when he’s a Mr Stinky Pants, aren’t you, Mike?” Mike smiled and nodded sheepishly. He glanced at Rachel who smiled back, which put him more at ease. He sighed deeply, inhaling the aroma from his backside mixing with the one from the diaper pail. This wasn’t so bad. Miss Rachel didn’t seem to mind that he had gone potty in his big boy pants, nor did she act surprised by it. He’d also overheard her talking to the little boy in the same sweet and playful tones that Katie and Sandra often used when they were changing him. Thinking about that now prompted a familiar dopamine-induced rush of warmth and contentment that spread from his head to his toes. He decided in that moment that he liked Miss Rachel. He imagined her humming gently and laying him down in the nap room with a stuffy and a full sippy of warm milk. It seemed so real - almost like a memory instead of his imagination. He sighed again, and let the imagery and sensations wash over him fully. For some reason Miss Rachel seemed very big now, and he was very small. In fact, he now fit on the toddler nap mat with room to spare. The room was dark and there was a soft lullaby playing from somewhere. She was sitting next to him and gently stroking his hair. He was aware of the bulk of his naptime diaper around his waist and between his legs, but that was OK. It was just for when he was asleep, or on long car rides, or at the zoo. Besides, lots of the kids in this class wore diapers ALL the time - even when they were awake. He contemplated the thought of wearing daytime diapers. He knew he used to feel adamantly opposed to them for some reason, but he couldn’t remember exactly why. A wet diaper was much more comfortable than wet training pants, and lately he felt very safe and secure whenever Sandra put him in one. It just felt right. Of course he knew that he was still too old to wear diapers all the time. Only babies did that. And he was still a big boy wasn’t he? He thought about this for a moment and decided that, yes, he was still a big boy as long as he got to wear big boy pants at least some of the time. And he could. He could even start going tinkle and poopy on the potty again if he wanted to. Come to think of it - when was the last time he had used the grown up potty? He found he couldn’t remember that either. All he could picture was Sandra holding his legs in the air and wiping his bottom as she praised him for not making a fuss about using the potty. Oh well, it didn’t really matter right now did it? Because he was feeling soooo warm and sleepy and content. The funny, nagging pressure from below his waist felt very far away and unimportant right now. He decided he would let Miss Rachel put a daytime diaper on him the next time she offered. Or maybe he’d ask for one after his nap, just to test out those waters so-to-speak. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? He began to imagine her diapering him as he felt his bladder let go, the tickling warmth running down his taint and pooling around his bottom before being absorbed. This was heaven! A shout of surprise from Katie brought him back. He looked down to find his soiled pants gone and his bottom now clean. In fact, everything was great in the back. It was what was happening in front that was the problem: A golden arc of tinkle was currently streaming from his naked pee-pee and splashing onto the tile floor. Oops! Mike watched in fascination, completely mesmerized and unable to recall how to stem the flow. It felt like this was the dream and the memories of being tucked in and soothed by Rachel were reality. He was all out of sorts. Thankfully, Rachel sprang into action - grabbing the open diaper that had appeared next to him on the bench, and cupping it deftly over his crotch while pulling the back up between his slightly spread legs. “Oopsie - looks like someone had an unexpected visit from the tinkle monster!”, Rachel said in a singsong voice as she held the diaper on him with one hand still covering his crotch and the other gently cupping his padded bottom. Mike just smiled and nodded as he stood there and finished. The tinkle monster was indeed a very frequent visitor these days. The reassuring, gentle pressure from Rachel’s hands through the diaper felt nice against his skin. He shivered a little, but this time not from cold. When Rachel was sure he was done she pulled the diaper away, used the back to roughly mop up the puddle on the floor in front of Mike, and then threw it in the diaper pail. By now, Katie had recovered from the shock of almost getting peed on. She stood and retrieved a fresh diaper from the cabinet, this time making no effort to hide it or her intentions. She had been prepared to claim that the diaper was only because he might take a nap soon, but surprisingly Mike didn’t offer any objections. She glanced outside the bathroom to make sure the coast was clear of any other children before leading him by the hand to the changing table where she creamed and diapered him without a fuss. Then she pulled his pants up, helped him off the table, and sat him down on the floor with a gentle pat to his diapered bottom. “Rachel - I know you guys are already intimately acquainted by now, but I’d like you to formally meet Mike, my ‘favoritist’ Little Helper and former neighbor.” Rachel arched her eyebrows for a moment at this news. She hadn’t known that Mike and Katie had known eachother before his…change. Clearly there was more to this story, but that could wait for the staff room or after work drinks. She bent down and smiled at Mike while offering her hand for him to shake. “Nice to meet you properly, Mr Mike! I think you’re gonna get along great in my classroom, don’t you?” Mike nodded. “Yep - you’re gonna fit right in here. But don’t think for one second I’m gonna let you just play baby all day. I’ve still got some very important jobs for you to do like helping me put away toys and bringing me things like diapers, pullups, and wipes when I need them, OK? Can you do that for me?” Mike beamed and nodded again proudly. He understood his role as a Little Helper, even if it was in a different class. Katie had left him with Rachel soon after that, feeling a little melancholy about losing her daily time with Mike. But she knew it really was the best thing for everybody. And besides, Sandra had been asking her to babysit more and more frequently in the evenings and on weekends so that she could go out on dates with her many different boyfriends. Katie was pretty sure the current beau’s name was Mitch, but she could never keep up with the revolving cast of dudes. How did Sandra do it? Her husband was out of town for the week and she had agreed to have Mike and her niece for the afternoon while her sister shopped. Watching 2 toddlers wasn’t much different than one, and she needed more practice in the home anyway. Her own baby was due in less than 8 weeks now! Time flies! Speaking of which, she glanced at the clock and realized Jessie was way past due for her nap. “A mother’s work is never done” she thought as she scooped a protesting Jessie into her arms and carried her towards the spare bedroom, leaving Mike to play on his own for a moment. She knew he probably needed changing by this point, but that could wait.

It probably won’t be the last time we see Katie. She’s available for babysitting at home too. And maybe a trip to the playplace at the mall.

Hi folks - welcome to the third and final installment of my Mike and Katie short story series. All characters 18+ and of course comments and critique are welcome! Later At Daycare (or Mike and Katie Part 3) Mike knelt on the floor of the playroom, dutifully picking up Duplo bricks one-by-one and dropping them into the tub at his side. He was trying to drag this task out for as long as possible. He didn’t want to have to talk to Miss Katie right now. Prolonging this little clean-up job would prevent that. Throwing the Duplo tub was naughty - he knew that - but it wasn’t such a huge deal. She didn’t have to put him in timeout for something as trivial as a little tantrum. And it seemed especially unfair that he was now missing outside time. He glanced up at Katie and saw that she was watching him. He quickly looked back down and continued to pick up the pieces of his little tantrum. There was another, more tactile, reason why he was avoiding her company and her gaze: Every time he shifted his posture, even a little bit, the rapidly cooling mess in his training pants shifted as well. He couldn’t say with any certainty how or when it had happened. One minute he was picking up colorful bricks in clean training pants, and the next he was doing so with a heavy warmth against his bottom. He must have zoned out briefly, although he had no recollection of that or of snapping back. It was more like he had jumped forward in time all of a sudden. True, he had known he needed to go, (and he probably should have alerted Miss Katie to that much earlier) but he definitely hadn’t known he was going. He didn’t want Miss Katie to find out. Partly because this wasn’t a teeny little accident that could be quickly remedied with a few extra wipes. But more importantly, because with every second that passed, he was further breaking the rule about telling her when he’d had an accident. She’d already had to change his wet undies twice today. What was she going to think if she found out he was poopy? He was in too deep to turn back now. Maybe if he just kept to himself and continued quietly cleaning up the toys, Katie wouldn’t notice until it was time to go home, and then Sandra could change him in privacy. He glanced up again. Katie was still watching him, and he wasn’t quite sure he liked the expression. It was like she was assessing him. In the back of his mind, he knew what it meant. It was the same look Sandra used to give him before she asked if he needed to go potty (whether she suspected he still needed to go or not). Thankfully, she had gotten off his case about that in recent weeks. He looked back down, attempting a nonchalant, relaxed, and innocent posture/ expression. He hoped the smell wasn’t too bad. Oddly enough, it didn’t bother him anymore. In fact, it was super easy just to ignore it or even forget about it unless someone commented. He continued picking up the bricks, one by one, the mess further cooling against him, reminding him of his predicament. Before re-experiencing them firsthand, Mike had always assumed that poopy pants/ diapers felt like warm mush. And they did - at least at first. But what most people can’t remember (at least those not among the ranks of the incontinent), is that diapers and some training pants are cut with extra room in the seat, and that once a mess is deposited there, most of it sits away from the skin (unless the wearer is sitting down) and cools to room temperature fairly rapidly. The actual feeling of “being poopy”, in the infantile sense of the term, isn’t so much mushy warmth as it is sticky clamminess. It’s a decidedly babyish feeling because it means you’ve had poop in your pants for more than a few minutes, and that it happened in a garment that is designed to catch it. Mike was on all fours, reaching for a more distant block when he felt a tug at his rear waistband. He whirled his head around to see Katie bending over him, and peering down the back of his pants. He tried to turn away from her, but she was experienced at this, and she held him firmly in place with her other arm. Katie let his pants go with a snap, and turned him to face her, pushing him back so that he was looking up at her and his bottom was resting on his heels again: “Mike, did you go poopy in your pants?”, she asked gently, but firmly. He looked down without saying anything. As he did, he became aware that he was peeing. He wasn’t even sure how long the stream had been going, but it wasn’t soaking through his shorts yet, so probably not very long. Or maybe it was just a little tinkle. He sometimes did those these days. Those were the hardest to control, because his bladder never got full enough to feel like he needed to go: a sudden gush of warmth into the padding around his crotch was the only indication that his bladder had been filling. His control was definitely slipping. But there was no time to think about that now because Katie was demanding answers about other, more blushy aspects of his toileting. “Mike - look at me please. I asked you a question. Did you poop in your pants? Yes or no?” He looked up at her, tears starting to well up in his eyes. It was so unfair! If she hadn’t made him pick up the Duplo, he wouldn’t be in this mess. He never went potty in his pants during outside time (partly because Katie was very diligent about checking him and taking him to the toilet beforehand along with everyone else). For a moment, he considered lying. But he knew he was caught. She had seen the mess on his backside. There was no getting out of it now. “Yes Miss Katie”, he mumbled sheepishly, looking back up at her and feeling the stream in the front of his pants dissipate. At least that little problem had stopped. “Yes. You did. Thank you for not lying to me. But you know you’re supposed to come tell me if you’ve had an accident. So why didn’t you come tell me?” “I didn’t want you to think I was a baby” was Mike’s straightforward reply. Katie’s faced softened at this familiar but immature response. “Sweetie, having an accident doesn’t make you a baby. The difference between big boys and babies is what happens after. When babies go potty in their pants, they usually don’t tell anyone. In fact that’s the main reason why they have to wear diapers, because diapers hold the tinkle and poop in without making any mess until an adult finds out. But you don’t wear diapers do you? - at least not when you aren’t sleeping?” Mike shook his head “no”. He was glad he could provide such a strong answer to this important question! “That’s right! You don’t have to wear diapers because when you make pee pee or poopy in your pants you come and tell me or one of the other teachers straight away, don’t you?” Mike hesitated briefly, then nodded in the affirmative. It wasn’t strictly true. Case in point, today. And it was even worse outside of daycare. In fact, Sandra had actually asked him to stop “making a fuss” about the condition of his pants when she was busy (which seemed to be most of the time) or when they were out and about. He would just go in his training pants and wait for her to change him. Last week he had broken that new, “no fuss rule” while they were browsing the aisles at Target. In fact, he had demanded that Sandra take him to the toilet for an urgent number 2, and she had begrudgingly complied. But when they got to the family restroom she had refused to remove his overalls, instead sitting him fully clothed on the toilet, and telling him it was up to him whether he left dirty and wet, or clean and dry, but either way his pants weren’t coming off now until after lunch. Unfortunately, his muscle memory was still strong, even if his toilet training wasn’t, and he’d found it impossible to hold it once she had sat him down on the seat. His sphincter just released, and he started pushing involuntarily, going quite red in the face while Sandra watched, patted his head, and teased him momentarily about what he was doing. Sandra wasn’t satisfied with this level of humiliation though. He was in mid-push when she suddenly grabbed his hands, yanked him off the toilet, and pulled him out the family restroom door, and back into the brightly lit store, keeping a firm grip on one hand as she made a beeline towards the back. The large turd he had been working on was stuck halfway out of his bottom, and he was unable to pinch it off without stopping, which Sandra of course refused to do. He was forced into an awkward cowboy waddle as he slowly continued to mess his pants while following Sandra through the store. They had finally come to a stop in the diaper aisle, where Sandra pretended to browse the various brands, refusing to leave until he finished making poopy. The smiling babies on the packages seemed to mock him as he pushed out a second round of much softer poop into the seat of his trainers before also drenching the front - all while maintaining a classic “toddler squat.” Sandra had even had to explain to a disapproving young mother that Mike was one of the Littles from the Regression Center, provoking further embarrassment. Miss Katie wasn’t privy to any of these memories though, and she was still talking about what had happened here, today and with no help from Sandra: “…If I can’t trust you to tell me when you’re wet or stinky, then I think you need to be wearing diapers when you are here. And I can’t have a Little Helper who wears diapers because that’s not setting a good example for the others. You will need to go to the toddler classroom if you want to start going poopy in your pants without telling a teacher. OK?” Despite his embarrassment, Mike felt the need to object to this phrasing. “I don’t ‘want to start going poopy in my pants’ - it was an accident! It just came out on its own.” Katie decided to let him hold onto at least some of his dignity for the moment, even though she was pretty sure she had watched him actively push this particular load into his pants. She simply nodded that she understood, looked at him appraisingly for a moment, then held out her hand, pulling him to his feet, and leading him towards the door while commenting: “Well, for what it’s worth, you actually have pretty good timing, kiddo. The diaper changing area should be free in the toddler room right now.” Mike held back a sob and clenched his fist with his free hand to avoid putting his thumb in his mouth. As they left the classroom, Katie grabbed a fresh pair of his training pants and a pack of wipes that had appeared conveniently on the cabinet next to the door. She kept a tight hold on his hand as they left the preschool classroom and turned down the hall. The toddlers and preschoolers had shared outside time, and it was naptime for the infants, so the whole place was uncharacteristically quiet. There was nothing but the sound of their shoes on the floor and the creek of the hinge as they made their way into the darkened toddler classroom. Miss Julie, the head toddler teacher, was eating an early lunch inside. She looked up and smiled good-naturedly when she saw Mike and Katie. It was immediately obvious why they were visiting, but Katie still felt the need to explain: “Hi Julie - You remember Mike, my Little Helper, right?…That’s right, Sandra’s little boy, err…husband. Anyway, Mike had a pretty big accident, and I need to get him cleaned up before outside time is over. Is it OK if we use the changing table really quick?” Julie replied in the affirmative, pointing towards the clock and reminding Katie that she didn’t have long. The diaper changing room was very different to the stark whiteness of the staff bathroom he was more used to being changed in. It was painted in bright colors, and there were no potties or toilets in here, just two large wooden changing tables along one wall. The other wall was dominated by a large picture window, facing out into the main toddler classroom. With the lights on, Miss Julie would be able to see every gory detail of his change from her desk. Above the changing tables were cubbies, each labeled with a child’s name, containing neat stacks of diapers and other changing supplies. He shuddered. Was this his fate? Would his name end up on one of the unoccupied cubicles soon? The toddler classroom was ADA compliant, meaning that the changing tables were large enough to accommodate a much larger child with developmental disabilities. Sunny Hills didn’t currently have any special needs clients, but the tables did come in handy when a Little Helper had a big accident. Mike’s calves and ankles would hang off the table if he straightened his legs, but it was otherwise more than adequate to accommodate him. Katie was moving quickly. She had him sit on a low chair that was by the door (apologizing when she saw his facial expression as his bottom contacted the hard seat), and then she knelt down and took off his shoes and socks, catching a fresh whiff of his pants in the process. “Pee-ew! You might win the prize for biggest stink today, buddy! Let’s clean you up and get you smelling like a big boy again”, said Katie, with a smile and poke to his belly. The stern-ness was gone from her voice now. She was talking to him like Sandra did when she was babying him. The combination of her soft instructions and the cheerful setting melted any remaining resistance he might have had in a way that felt almost hypnotic. He wanted to be a good boy for Katie during his change. He wanted her to tell him what to do and to make all the decisions right now using that same gentle voice. Katie had him stand back up so she could pull down his shorts and help him step out, leaving Mike standing there in just his heavily soiled and wet training pants. At this point, Mike kind of wished that he was wearing one of the daytime diapers he was normally opposed to (even on a strictly “just in case” basis). At least they would better hide the evidence of his incontinence. The wet stain in the front in the front of his trainers and the prominent bulge in the seat left nothing to Katie’s imagination. He had clearly done ALL his poopy and tinkles in his pants. There was nothing left for the toilet, and thus no point visiting. Katie opened a small drawer under the table and removed a pair of vinyl gloves, which she put on. She also removed a thin plastic bag and set it at the head of the table. Then she turned back to him. Mike had expected Katie to make him lie down before removing his training pants, but instead, she knelt again and gingerly pulled the pants down his legs, taking care to avoid skin contact as much as possible. As he stepped out, he was treated to the same unpleasant view as Katie. At least it was fairly firm and well contained. Strictly speaking, the daycare guidebook instructed her to “shake or scrape” the contents of his soiled pants into a toilet before bagging them up. No one ever did that though. If shit happened in anything other than a diaper at Sunny Hills, it got sent home intact for the parents to dispose of. She wrapped up his poopy trainers in his wet shorts and tied them both into the plastic bag, placing it on the changing table. Standing there, naked from the waist down with a very dirty bottom illuminated by the bright fluorescents was the low point of the whole process for Mike. He started to cry a little as Katie turned back to him to inspect his bottom more closely. She gave him a few quick wipes while he stood there, and then she asked him to hop up on the table so that she could clean him more carefully. Katie was glad that Sandra had opted for the laser hair removal treatment at the regression center. It made cleanup a lot easier, and seeing a hairy crotch adorned in this mess would be downright weird. She noticed he was getting a little rashy in spots, so when she was finished wiping, she reached up and grabbed a tube of diaper cream from one of the cubicles. She was sure the owner wouldn’t mind sharing. She removed her gloves, pushed his legs up and back again, and started spreading cream with two fingers down his crack and up to the base of his hairless balls. She watched his face as she did this, hoping he would relax now that the change was almost finished. Applying the sweet smelling cream often had a calming, almost mesmerizing effect on her charges. But Mike was still visibly upset. In fact, more so than when they had started the change. She lowered his legs down and wiped the cream off her fingers with a spare wipe as she tried to sooth him: “Mike, sweetie, what’s wrong? It was just an accident. It’s not a big deal. You’re all clean now. It’s like it never happened. That’s the nice thing about getting changed isn’t it?” Mike gave a little nod and a hitching sigh. She tried a different tack: “I’m not mad about you not telling me about it. We can just try to do better next time, OK?…Accidents happen to everyone don’t they? I’m sure you will do poopies in the potty for me tomorrow, but even if you don’t, I won’t be mad about that either. All I ask is that you come tell me so I can get you changed quickly. Besides, it’s kind of nice getting to spend this one-on-one time together isn’t it?” Mike didn’t respond this time. He just laid there, still visibly upset. She pulled the fresh trainers up his legs and pulled him up to a sitting position, swinging his legs out over the side of the table so that one leg was on either side of her hips. Then she reached up and gently pulled his shirt back down over his belly, finishing with a quick pat to his freshly padded groin. She’d have to find him some clean shorts when they got back to class. She wondered briefly (but not for the first time) where Sandra had found such thick,adult-sized training pants. They were basically pull-on cloth diapers, except the sides did not tear away or snap open (making cleanup for an accident like the one she’d just changed a more delicate process). He definitely needed such a high level of protection. Especially lately. In fact, she wondered if MIke was using the potty at all at home anymore, or if Sandra was just letting him treat the trainers like a diaper? It certainly seemed to be the latter. She’d been meaning to have a well-rehearsed chat with Sandra about the importance of maintaining consistency between toilet learning/ procedures at home and preschool, but she also knew it was different in Mike’s case since he was enrolled in a program that was actively pushing him towards at least some loss of control. Sandra had never been straightforward with her about how “young” she intended Mike to go, (the response was always something along the lines of: “We’ll see. I’ll know we’ve gotten there when I see it”). Katie didn’t know what the “it” was, but it was clear to her at least that Mike had regressed beyond a point where she would normally recommend starting potty training. He just wasn’t ready anymore. And she had a professional opinion on the matter. He was almost never dry now when she checked him or took him to the toilet, and being wet didn’t seem to bother him. He was also wetting more frequently and in smaller amounts. He would wake up soaked after every nap time. All of these were ominous signs in terms of toilet training readiness. The last vestiges of his prior training were the only things keeping him out of the full time diapers game. And now, just 2 weeks into September, even the kids that were newly graduated to her classroom from the toddler room were outpacing him, and not just in terms of toileting. Today’s tantrum episode was just the latest evidence of a broader trend. She knew that he was finding some of the structured learning activities more difficult now, which was adding to his propensity for frustration and acting out. He was also zoning out more frequently, during which times he was functionally no different from a 2 year old, or maybe even younger. She wasn’t sure if he understood even the most simple instructions or questions at these times. He’d sit there drooling and babbling to himself or smiling up at her adoringly until he snapped back to the present, leaving him disoriented and often a little embarrassed. Mike would probably be happier and less self conscious if he started helping here, in the toddler classroom, where there were no “accidents” and stinky or wet diapers went unnoticed by everyone except the staff. But she also felt an obligation to both Mike and Sandra to keep him with her for as long as she could. Because they had a shared history. And because taking care of Mike in this way, as he lost his grip on his independent self, was her share of the penance for what had happened between them 6 years ago. She moved herself closer in to him, her baby bump just barely making contact with his padded crotch as she pulled his head to her chest. She held him like that for a few minutes without saying anything, just rocking him, rubbing his back, and shushing gently as he continued to cry. She remembered that he had nuzzled into her like this once before, only under decidedly more adult circumstances. It had only happened once, and Mike had been her first. She was just 20 years old at the time, but already more mature than Mike had been at 26 (or now ever would be). They had gone to the guest room because Mike wasn’t comfortable in the bed he normally shared with Sandra. He had actually been quite shy and indecisive about the whole thing, which she found irresistible. She took control, putting his hands on her breasts and then shoving them down her pants while she stroked him through his, and later undressing first herself and then him. She could vividly recall that moment just prior to penetration, as she knelt over him on all fours, her face just inches from his as he thrust his hips upwards trying to make contact with her most sensitive area. His eyes had been so hungry. He wanted her. At first, it had felt amazing. Better than she had imagined in fact, and she had imagined plenty in her bed, in the bath, and even once in the bathroom of her parents house while Mike stood outside during a dinner party, quietly knocking and telling her through the door that he “needed the toilet, please!” Unfortunately though, the actual sex was over almost as soon as it started, and it ended badly. She remembered the feeling of his cum oozing out onto her upper thigh while she dressed in the dark. Other than that, her most vivid memories of what came after were his copious apologies for not pulling out in time, followed by actual tears over betraying Sandra. “The more things change, the more they stay the same”, she thought ruefully as she once again held Mike while he snuffled and cried into her chest about an accident. They had never spoken of that night again. And he had sort of avoided her after that, which had hurt a little. Yes, she had led the briefest of physical affairs (prefaced by a much longer emotional one). But her part In this tale was also one of a broken heart. She had loved Mike. And she had never really been able to show it - not to him, and especially not to Sandra. Part of her wished she could forget like he had. That would be better. It would be easier. She continued to rock him gently, still making little shushing noises. They would need to move in a few minutes, but she needed to get him calmed down before that could happen. The last thing she wanted was for some parent to find her leading a crying regressed little down the hallway in his underpants. “Mike, I can’t help fix it if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, and we can’t stay in here forever. So PLEASE tell me so that I can help make it all better, sweetheart.” And so he did. Sitting there on the toddler changing table, his not-quite-diaper pressed against her belly as she held him like a baby, he told her about something that wasn’t very babyish. Something that made his penis stiffen against her as he talked about it. “Miss Katie…I mean, Katie…I…I, remember. I remember us. From before.” Katie didn’t respond. She had read in the Little Helpers guidebook that these regressive breaks could happen, especially after an emotional event. It was like one of his zone outs, only in reverse. They weren’t supposed to last long, and the guidebook had given clear instructions on how to deal with them - namely by redirecting the little’s attention to a recent and more “age appropriate” memory. But for now, she wanted to hear what Mike had to say. She could feel him hardening through his trainers. “I remembered just now while you were…changing me. Sometimes I can remember things. Things from when I was…big…but they don’t always make sense because I’m also little…and, and…we did something bad, Katie. We…we kissed. I touched you. We…had sex,” he said. He started sobbing again. Katie pulled him tighter to her, aware that he was fully erect now. She was filled with a curious mixture of care for Mike and horror at the risks of him carrying this memory around and possibly sharing it with others. He couldn’t be trusted with secrets anymore. Especially not this one. She knew what she had to do. She would have to induce a nuclear-level zone out. Hopefully it would be enough to erase this little episode and the memories that triggered it without inducing a major step change in his regression. She wondered briefly what would happen if she returned Mike to Sandra drooling and unable to form a complete sentence? It was a risk she’d have to take. She’d need to act fast while she still had his undivided attention (on multiple levels). Katie composed herself for a moment before starting to speak in her most gentle, nurturing tone of voice. “Oh Mike”, she said, pressing his head firmly to her chest with one hand, the other reaching around to pat his padded bottom. “That was such a long time ago, sweetie. Things are different now, aren’t they?… “…Everything is going to be OK. It’s good you remember. Because we liked eachother back then didn’t we? We were friends then right? And we still are, just in different ways. I’m friends with all the little boys I look after - even little stinkers like you!” She tickled his sides suddenly as she said this, provoking a small giggle from Mike and a gush of urine into the front of his training pants. “I know it’s not always easy being little is it? You need someone to look after you all the time now…don’t you sweetheart?…” “…Mmhmm. That must feel so babyish. Having everything done for you, or done to you. It’s hard to be a big boy when everyone treats you like a little baby isn’t it? Mike shook his head, “yes” feeling her breasts bounce against his face as he did. He liked this feeling of safety with his face hidden in Katie’s soft shirt. He was calmer now. Katie was so nice. She was rubbing her fingers up and down his back in a way that gave him little shivers down his spine. “Although, sometimes you do things that make people think you are a little boy who needs to be treated just like a baby? Isn’t that right, Mike? Do you do baby things sometimes?” Without thinking about it, Mike nodded and then rattled off a short list of behaviors that Katie agreed were indeed very babyish. He wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about telling Katie about these things. Besides, she had witnessed a lot of them herself “And what about your thoughts, sweetie? Do you sometimes think like a baby? Is that maybe why you made a poopy in your pants right in front of me today? Did you forget you weren’t wearing a diaper?” Mike nodded. He didn’t care if Miss Katie knew that. In fact, it sort of justified it in some ways. “I thought so. That’s OK. I don’t mind. You can be as babyish as you want when you are with me. I won’t tell anyone. It can be our little secret.” She punctuated this last statement with another little tickle to his sides. Mike smiled and nodded, his face still buried in her chest. Her tone was quieter now, almost a whisper into his ear as if she were telling him the most important of secrets. “Besides, I have to confess that I think you’re much cuter like this, kiddo. I love the time we get to spend together. I even like changing your wet and dirty diapers!” Mike decided not to correct her on the difference between training pants and diapers. He was starting to feel very contented and warm in her arms. He hadn’t even noticed that his erection had softened. He relaxed more fully against her, sighing and smelling that sweet perfume she wore. He still couldn’t quite place it, but he had decided a while ago that it smelled most like pancakes. With syrup. Syrupy pancakes that Miss Katie had cut up for him. Cut up, syrupy pancakes she was feeding him in a highchair in the kitchen while she gently teased him about how sticky his face and fingers were… He snapped himself back with a jerk of his head. He had no idea how much time had passed, but it didn’t matter. Miss Katie just pulled him back firmly into her and told him to be a good boy and listen to her story. And as she spoke, he started to drift again, finding that he could remember every detail so vividly just after she spoke about it. It was as if she were unlocking new memories in his mind. Katie told him the story of his poopy accident at the park last week. Except in this story, he wasn’t with Sandra. He was with Katie. And he was little. And not just in his head. His body too. He was wearing overalls, a red tee shirt, and Velcro shoes that lit up when he walked. Under his overalls, he was wearing something crinkly and soft. Not as thick as a diaper though, because he was almost too big for daytime diapers wasn’t he? Yes everyone could see that, and Mike could see it too. Could he remember what he was wearing under his overalls? That’s right! It was his pull up. And it wasn’t a dry pull up was it? No, it was all puffy and soggy because he had done a big tinkle in it on the car ride to the park. Miss Katie had noticed he was wet when she got him out of his car seat, but there were no leaks, so it was OK. Because pull ups were just like diapers once you wet in them, weren’t they? Miss Katie could just change him later, and if he needed to do more potty before then, he could just go in his pull up. Mike was more than happy to agree to this plan - changes were boring and they had just gotten there. Katie reminded him all about how he had made friends with some other babies in the park, and how they were all playing so nicely together in the sandbox (or more accurately, playing alongside eachother). He remembered how cute he looked, playing in his little overall outfit among his new friends. The other mommies were nice too. Then she reminded him how one of those other moms had called her attention to his posture and body language as he tensed and started to push. Mike clearly remembered doing that, and how it felt as the mess pushed into his pull-up. And then Katie confessed that she had decided to just let him finish without trying to intervene. Without reminding him that he was a big boy. And without telling him that she didn’t have any spare pull ups left to put on him. Because it was probably too late already wasn’t it? And because he had also decided that he didn’t need to be a big boy. At least not all the time, right? In fact, they had invented something called the “baby game” that day. Did he remember the baby game? Did he remember the rules? That’s right! All you had to do was act and think like a baby! You had to do both to make it work. And it turned out Mike was very good at both. He must have been playing it already when he dirtied his pants in the sandbox, hadn’t he? Yes, and that was OK. Because it was just a game wasn’t it? And Miss Katie had everything she needed to help him play the game correctly, didn’t she? Katie helped Mike remember how she had lifted him out of the sandbox and sniffed his bottom before carrying him on her hip over to the park bench. He remembered the feeling of his soggy crotch pressing against her hip while the mush in his pants spread further across his bum. She had sat him down next to the other mommy she had been talking to while she readied his changing supplies. She reminded him that he hadn’t felt shy at all, even though the other mommy could probably smell his stinky bottom. Because she knew he was playing the baby game too. Mike smiled at this. That other mommy had been so nice hadn’t she? He remembered giggling while she talked to him, before he was whisked off the bench and laid on a changing mat right there in the grass in front of Katie’s spot. Katie began describing the details of the change in great detail now, interspersing her narrative with questions: Did he remember how it felt when she pulled off his overalls leaving him lying there in just a soiled and wet pull up? Did he remember how good it felt when she pushed his legs back to wipe him? Could he remember what the wipes smelled like? Did he remember what his bare legs looked like, up in the air, and pointing towards the clouds? Did he remember sucking his fingers and smiling up at her when she was putting diaper cream on him? He had been nodding along as she fired off all these questions, but now they combined into such a vivid mental image that it completely overwhelmed his thoughts. He was flooded with dopamine and feelings of pure bliss snd contentment. It was like an orgasm, only entirely cerebral. He was no longer sure if this was happening now or if it was still just a memory. He moaned softly while Katie rocked him and continued whispering soft words he couldn’t quite make out anymore. Katie handed him a diaper to hold while she balled up his dirty pull up and cleaned the cream off her hands with a spare wipe. He remembered turning it over in his hands to see Mickey smiling at him from the front. He pressed it to his nose. It smelled good. He remembered Katie asking in a singsong voice if she could borrow his diaper for a minute and smiling back at her as he handed it back to her like a good boy. He remembered her lifting his legs and sliding the diaper under him and how it felt when she lowered him onto it. But instead of pulling it up right away, Katie had instead paused and crawled forward over him on all fours, bringing her face down and level with his as he lay half naked underneath her, the crisp, clean diaper sticking up from between his bare legs. She had looked intently into his eyes as she spoke in a more serious tone, and it was so real - so intense - like she was looking into his eyes right now. But that was impossible because he was at the park with her. Having his diaper changed. “Mike, sweetheart, before I put this diaper on you, I need to know if you can keep it a secret? Because it’s just for when we are playing the baby game. If Sandra or the other teachers at daycare found out that I put a diaper on you, they might think that you need to wear them all the time. And then you would be a baby for real, wouldn’t you? And we don’t want that do we? No, we don’t.” “So, if you want to keep playing the baby game, then this diaper has to be our little secret. And if Sandra asks about it, you definitely can’t tell her that I had to put a diaper on you because you went stinky in your pants, OK?” Mike nodded slowly and solemnly, prompting Katie to smile and tap his nose before reaching down and taping his diaper snugly around him. She finished with a quick pat to his crotch, declaring him her clean and dry little helper. Mike just beamed at her, unable to avert his eyes from her face. He knew there was something special and secret about Katie, but he hadn’t quite been able to remember what it was until now. But that was OK, because Miss Katie remembered, and she took care of everything. All he had to do was keep their baby game secret. He could do that - at least until he decided to start playing the baby game with Sandra. Katie bent down and kissed him on the forehead, telling him what a good boy he was and giving his sides another little tickle. He could hear himself laughing and giggling as she did so… And then he was back. Still sitting on the changing table in just a tee shirt and hid trainers, his padded crotch still pressed against Katie’s front and his legs on either side of her hips. And she was still tickling him mercilessly while kissing him all over his face and expressing delight that she had found her happy little boy again. She released him from her embrace, reached up and grabbed a tissue from the shelf above, and held it over his nose, instructing him to blow. Mike tried, but for some reason he couldn’t work out how to do it. He looked up at Katie with a bewildered expression, but she just laughed and used the old squeeze and pull technique. She helped him down off the changing table, took his hand, and led him back to her classroom while he prattled on about what they were going to do for the rest of the day and how much he liked being her Little Helper. Because they liked each other. And they had a special secret that was just between the two of them. And no one could take that away from either of them. Ever.

Hi folks - I hope you enjoy the second part in my daycare short stories series. There will be a third and final part coming soon. As always, characters are 18+ and comments/ critique are welcome! This story contains a lot of discussion about messing. You’ve been warned. Earlier at Daycare (or Mike and Katie Part 2) Her phone was ringing. Sandra glanced at it and saw “MIKE DAYCARE” flashing on the screen. She had just sat down on the back patio with a small joint and a glass of wine. This was supposed to be her “me time.” True, it was only 11AM, but non-traditional mommies like her had to find time and ways to relax whenever they could. Hell, traditional mommies could get baked and buzzed before noon for all she cared, and she knew plenty of them did. She needed this today. Mike had been a whiny grump that whole morning, culminating in a tantrum (as in legs kicking and arms pounding on the floor) when she’d informed him that they were out of milk, and he’d have to have apple juice with breakfast instead. Call it the “terrible 32s.” She probably should have disciplined him, but she had decided to let it go, wordlessly handing him the sippy cup of juice once he had calmed down enough to take it. They both knew she had “won” whatever battle he had thought he was fighting. She always did. He had lain there on the kitchen floor, drinking his juice morosely and occasionally making little post-crying shuddering sounds until it was time to get ready to go. There was no time for a proper breakfast. Getting Mike dressed and out the door had been equally trying. He’d completely soaked his pants not 5 minutes after she had changed and dressed him. Normally she left him in his nighttime diaper for longer, but they were already off to a late start, and she had taken a chance that the apple juice had already gone through him. No dice. She supposed she should be pleased that these morning wettings were routine for both of them now. In fact she couldn’t recall the last time he had asked for the potty in the morning. He stayed in, and fully used, his bedtime diaper until it was time to get ready to leave. Sandra hoped this in-between-diapers-and-potty-training stage wouldn’t last much longer. No parent or caregiver enjoyed it - at any age. Life would be sooooo much easier for both of them when she had him back in diapers full-time, when his accidents would no longer be considered “accidents”, and when she would have full control over when and where he was changed. In an effort to speed things along, she had read everything she could about effective potty training strategies and procedures, and then started doing the exact opposite with Mike. So for instance, when they were at home she let him stay wet for as long as possible after an accident (without risking damage to the carpet or furniture of course). Mike had always been less-than-meticulous about his hygiene, and it hadn’t taken long before he was perfectly content to sit in wet pants for as long as she wanted him too. Sometimes he wasn’t even aware that he needed a change until she announced it. The delay tactic had the added benefit of making additional wettings even easier and less bothersome for him. When you were already wet, what did it matter if you got a little wetter? In fact, why bother holding it at all in those circumstances? Much easier just to let go at the slightest urge. It was a vicious circle that Sandra was orchestrating with the gentlest, most nurturing of hands. When she saw signs that he needed to go, she would ask him if he was “about to make pee pee?” This subtly suggestive phrasing allowed her to maintain the illusion of concern for his continence, while often provoking him to wet on the spot. His cute little “potty face” was a dead giveaway, even if he didn’t always wet enough to soak through the thick trainers. Sandra loved knowing that she now had the power to make him wet himself on command. She wondered if the staff at the regression clinic could leave him with that mental trigger? It might be fun and useful, even after he became fully incontinent. She had also changed how she dealt with cleanup. Instead of changing him in the bathroom while standing up (as one would for a “big boy” that had had an accident, and as recommended in literally every potty training guide), she had started laying him down on a changing mat in the living room for every change. In truth, this arrangement made more work for her (and potentially more mess because the cloth trainers did not open at the sides like a diaper). But she knew that there was nothing quite like holding a man’s legs in the air and gently wiping his bottom to induce feelings of deep, infantile dependence. It’s a trigger that is wired into our subconscious literally from day one. Changing him in the living room also reinforced the idea that poop and pee (and the cleanup routines that followed) weren’t necessarily things that had to take place in the bathroom. They could happen anywhere. And that was fine. It was good. Mike was realizing that he had options now. And one of those options was simply a lot more convenient when he was engrossed in a more preferred activity. In fact, accidents could now be expected at these times, unless she or the daycare staff intervened. And she rarely did. She’d even allowed him to poop in his pants at the park the other day, despite the very obvious cues that he was about to have (or was having) a bowel movement. She’d watched with amusement as Mike paused his little game in the sandbox and froze, staring off into space as if mesmerized by the act of filling his drawers. Any experienced parent or caregiver who saw that expression and posture would have recognized instantly what was happening. Thankfully, she seemed to be the only one looking in Mike’s direction at that moment, and they had the sandbox to themselves. She knew she wouldn’t able to change him there, despite his regressed state. But Mike didn’t want to leave, and had even requested to go back to playing after she had called him over and checked him (NBD right?). Letting him play in dirty pants was an enticing proposition on some levels, but not something she wished to expose others to. She ended up having to literally drag him from the park while he fussed loudly and lied that he hadn’t gone poopy in his pants and he didn’t need changing. She had managed to find enough privacy between their car and the one parked next to it to hastily tape his naptime diaper on over his soiled training pants. At least the car seats were protected. Mike had started to object to this, but one stern look from Sandra and a quick smack to his squishy backside put a stop to that. She was done taking crap from him today, at least in the idiomatic sense. The car ride had been less-than-pleasant in terms of the smell, but making him sit in his mess like an awkward toddler was worth it. She’d even taken a detour through the McDonald’s drive-through to prolong his suffering. When they got home, she had put him in his booster seat at the kitchen table and made him finish his happy meal before finally taking him to the living room for a change. When doing so, Sandra noticed that the diaper she’d put on him was a little wetter than she expected, and also lightly soiled in spots from the escaped contents of his training pants. This discovery gave her a wicked idea: She gave Mike a single, cursory wipe to scrape the bulk of the mess off his bottom, and then she taped his slightly poopy butt back into the slightly poopy and wet diaper. Mike was surprised at first, but knew he was in no position to object. He didn’t even complain a few minutes later when she pulled him into her lap, clad in just his tee shirt and a wet and soiled diaper, and fed him an extra large sippy of warm milk as if he were an infant drinking from a bottle. She had decided not to tease him too much - the diaper and baby treatment were more than enough to humiliate him. But even so, she couldn’t resist a few tickles, crotch pats, and bum squishes along with feigned ignorance as to where the smell of a stinky baby was coming from? When he finished the bottle (oops sippy), she had patted his messy bottom a final time and sent him off to his bed to nap alone - leaving a faint whiff of dirty diaper trailing behind him down the hall. Mike was rashy and grumpy when he woke up, and she was down an expensive pair of cloth training pants that were now in the trash, but overall the afternoon at the park had been worth it. She knew the daycare felt and treated him differently (for obvious reasons). But she also knew, based on his daily activity reports and her conversations with Katie, that what was happening at home was having an effect on his toileting at Sunny Hills as well. At this point, Mike was pretty much functionally incontinent unless consistently reminded not to be. He needed to be back in diapers. They were almost there. But he was still stubbornly, even adamantly resistant to this next step in his regression. Daytime diapers were a bad word in their house, which was partly why she had decided to leave their eventual (inevitable) introduction to the staff at Sunny Hills. She figured Mike would be less willing and/or able to resist that change when the time came if it came from the daycare staff. She knew from talking with his mother that he’d been very difficult to potty train. And he was still obviously diapered in the photos from his 3rd birthday party (Sandra had a practiced eye for these things, and Mike’s mom wasn’t shy about sharing photos). So it probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he was equally difficult to diaper train. And besides, that knowledge had proved beneficial in lots of fun ways, even before Mike had started his regression therapy. She remembered it vividly. It was the first time she had become aware of her dominant side on such a sexual level. His blushy reaction to her gentle teasing about having his dirty dydee changed in front of all his little party friends had made her so wet she’d left a visible spot on the crotch of her jeans. Their love making that night had been incredible, especially after she started using the baby talk voice again, teasing and encouraging him to have an “accident” inside of her instead of pulling out like usual. When she knew he was close, she had pulled him in tighter, shoving her tit in his mouth and telling him to be a good baby for her as he gushed inside her while protesting weakly around her slick nipple. Unfortunately, it was also a bittersweet memory, because it had marked the start of a relatively sad time in their marriage when they learned that they would never be able to have children of their own. She’d have to content herself with Mike to fulfill both her sex drive and her more domestic nurturing and mothering urges… Sandra shoved these thoughts from her mind and returned to the present. Could she let the call go to voicemail? No. Probably not. Probably should not. She knew from experience that Sunny Hills wouldn’t call unless there was some sort of problem, and she had found it really annoying when parents hadn’t answered her calls when she worked there. Reluctantly, she picked up the phone and wasn’t surprised to hear Katies cheerful voice coming through from the other line: “Hi Sandra, It’s Katie over at Sunny Hills…” “Yes I’m fine, thanks. It’s not an emergency or anything, but I wanted to talk to you about Mike…” “Yeah - he’s been a handful for us too, which is actually part of the reason I’m calling…” “Well he made some poor choices this morning in terms of his behavior, acting out and throwing toys, and he was also more emotional than usual…” “Yeah we’ve had lots of tears about little things this morning, so I decided to keep him in with me during outside playtime.” Without really realizing it, Sandra’s hand had snaked down to her crotch as she envisioned Mike being punished by Katie for acting so babyish. “And then, while he was inside cleaning up the mess he had made earlier, he had a pretty big accident in his pants…” “Yep…“ ”No, and I’m sorry I wasn’t watching him more carefully. He actually hasn’t been very good about telling me when he needs to go this week, so I’ve been trying to keep a sharper eye on him. It’s usually pretty obvious when he needs to poop, but…” “Yes exactly! [Katie punctuated this affirmation with a good natured laugh]. But this time I didn’t notice until I smelled him. And unfortunately, he didn’t tell me about it either - before or after.” Sandra’s hand was inside her panties now. She had to suppress a moan. A finger slid it’s way into her slick crease. The thought of Mike, knelt on the floor, busy with some task, and quietly pooping in his pants like a 2 year old was absolutely exhilarating. The thought of the smell betraying him to Katie was almost too delicious to bear. That kind of thing wasn’t supposed to happen in the preschool classroom. And there had been no other, more likely culprits present to pin it on. Katie would have known from the first whiff that it was her Little Helper who had dirtied his pants. She wondered if Katie had bothered to ask his permission before she reached down and pulled back the bunched elastic waistband of his not-quite-diapers to confirm with her eyes what her practiced nose was already telling her? He hadn’t pooped yesterday, so it was probably a pretty big one, and the trainers didn’t have as much room in the seat as a disposable diaper. Katie would have seen it immediately. She wondered what his face looked like when she got down on his level and asked him in a serious, but nurturing tone, if he had poop in his pants, and if so, why hadn’t he come and told her he needed changing like he was supposed to? She also wondered if he had tried to lie about it at first, despite the visual and olfactory evidence to the contrary. Perhaps he had even stomped his foot and shouted: “not got stinky!” or “no change me!” in a petulant and ineffectual attempt to dodge her persistent questioning. Fuck, that mental image made her so wet… She pictured him doing the “walk of shame” down the hallway towards the changing facilities, one hand held tightly in Katie’s, and the other clamped tightly over his dirty bottom, trying desperately to keep the load inside from shifting around too much. The trainers she had been putting him in were basically pull-on cloth diapers (sans cover), and would probably contain the mess unless he sat in it, but Mike didn’t seem to know that. He had held his bottom the same way at the park the other day, even as claimed in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear that he was not poopy. She snapped back to the conversation when she realized that Katie was still talking. “It’s no big deal. Luckily, the toddlers were also having outside play time so the changing facilities in that classroom were free for us to use in private…” That did it. That mental image - of Mike laying teary-eyed on the plastic-covered cushion of the toddler room changing table, his thumb in his mouth, his striped tee shirt tucked up over his pot belly, naked from the waist down with his soiled “big boy pants” tied up in a bag next to him, with Katie wiping his poop-covered bottom, and his crotch already glistening from where she had wiped him previously - all of those things combined into the image that pushed her over the edge into one of the strongest “solo” orgasms she’d ever had. She shuddered, and bit her lip. It was Katie doing these things, and seeing Mike in this way. It was almost too much to think about right now. She’d need to process it later, and maybe rub another one out… She realized Katie had paused: “Sandra? Are you still there?” “Yeah - sorry - I was just walking upstairs” Sandra said, breathlessly. “No worries…Anyway, I got him cleaned up and into a fresh pair of trainers - he’s out of spare training pants and backup clothing by the way…” “Yeah, well I noticed he was a little damp right after he arrived, so I changed him then. But then during morning snack time he completely soaked that first back up pair of undies as well as his clothes…” “Yeah, as in wet up to his armpits…” “Nope. He definitely didn’t. He knows the rules about telling me, but I think he was just too busy with his snack to put his hand up, so I’m not too worried about it…” “Well we can chat about that when you come to pick him up…” “No, he seems fine. I think he’s completely zoned out right now. He’s actually sitting on the floor, putting a car in his mouth. In fact, hold on just a sec:” Mike, sweetie - get that out of your mouth. It’s yucky. You’re not a baby. “Sorry - where were we?…” “No. You don’t need to do that. If he has another accident, I’ll just put one of his naptime diapers on him and he can spend some time helping Miss Julie in the toddler room until it’s time for pickup…” “ Sandra? Did I lose you again?…” “OK, good. Look, that’s actually not the reason I’m calling. Or at least not the main reason. I’m calling because I wanted to let you know that I think he REMEMBERS…” “Yes - as in before before…Before he was a little. I think he remembers ME.” To be concluded…

Because I use them as stuffers sometimes. Hug eez

Thanks! The psyche part is easy for me, because it’s mine too, although I know everyone is a little different. A lot of my ideas are based on scenarios that my wife and I have talked through or acted out over the years. And those in turn evolved from fantasies that are much deeper-rooted. Special big kid helper at daycare, and a (failed) preschool readiness interview are favorites, although we usually separate those two. Likewise, coerced wetting and a very obvious accident at a moms and toddlers playgroup (per my other stories). And there are others I haven’t shared yet ? My wife is actually vanilla, (like heaving bodice romance novel vanilla) but she plays that more dominant caregiver role for me, and she’s pretty intuitive about adding interesting details and suggestions when we talk things out in bed. I know I am very lucky to have such an open and accepting wife. I don’t want to go into too much detail on our private lives because that’s bringing her in here without her consent, but our little games are the basis for a lot of what I want to write about. I’m not into ABDL or diaper porn. It actually turns me off. But audio scenarios/content, especially from Lo/ Dream a Little, and Hypno Mommy/Domina Victoria (both of whom clearly also get the psyche of this kink) push all the right buttons for me. My short story/ single scenario style follows that same formula. I’ve been lurking on this site since 2005-ish when the forum was first established. And before that others. Some of my favorite current writers are here. Personalias, Elfy, Quietly Humiliated, Baby Doc, Sally Ka/Kat among others. All of those are better writers than me by far. Their work not only interests me in predictable ways, but it also reveals nuances of this kink and the psyche/ power dynamics that drive it. I find new pieces of myself and interests I didn’t know I had in their writing. Yes - you can learn from erotica, folks.. My favorite writer all time is/was Jennifer Lorraine. Sadly she is gone. I began reading her stories on newsnet sites when I first discovered the ABDL scene in about 1996. I enjoy physical age regression stories, (as long as it’s non-sexual), but I’m not going to write those myself. There’s plenty to explore in the mental space, and the idea of experienced babysitters, carers, and moms treating grown men like their younger charges is what I find most intriguing. And always have. For as long as I can remember. (BTW: “mommy” is a very loaded term psychologically and emotionally, and I don’t really like it, but until someone finds something else that adequately captures the expectations and dominance/ dependency that is bound up in that word/role, I’m stuck with it). As I’ve gotten older (I’m mid 40s), I’ve realized I’m actually more into the power dynamics and change in status elements in ABDL writing than the diapers and baby things. Those are just tools to get there. I’m less of a DL I guess. It’s the status change that intrigues me in regression stories. And being assigned that status by gently dominant women. Which is exactly what the whole bittergray survey showed us, if you are familiar with that. Anyhow, thanks for your comment! Well a certain major brand has those same designs on their overnights line. Ask me how I know

Hi folks. The story of Mike’s forced regression, and Sandra’s devious/ dominant hand in that continues - but this time with the introduction of a new (old) flame. This will be at least a two part story. Mike’s changing (ha) relationship with Katie the preschool teacher isn’t finished yet. The name of the daycare facility is a tribute to an old story that some of you might recognize. As always, all characters are 18+. Please note: Although this story takes place in a daycare setting, it presents/ focuses solely on a conversation between 3 adults. This story contains mental regression and gentle femdom, along with strong AB elements. Feedback and critique are welcome. Before Daycare Sandra held Mike’s hand tightly in hers as they walked up the sidewalk towards the brick building she remembered so well. She wasn’t having to drag him up the sidewalk, which was a good start. His response had been less than enthusiastic when she had first suggested the Little Helpers program. They left the summer heat behind as they moved through the double doors and into the air conditioned reception area. Almost immediately, a plump 50s-something woman who Mike didn’t know scurried out from behind the big desk that dominated the entry space and wrapped Sandra in a giant hug. Sandra hadn’t seen Diane in almost 10 years, and truth be told, she was a little surprised to find her still here. It was as if nothing had changed with her. Same out-of-style hairdo. Same bright-colored “designer” tracksuit that accentuated her curves in all the wrong places. And apparently still uninterested in having any more responsibility attached to her job than keeping an eye on the front door, signing for packages, and answering phone calls. Mike found it a little intimidating having this strange woman invade their shared personal space so suddenly and loudly. He had a strong urge to hide behind Sandra, but he managed to push that aside. Instead, he held her hand tightly and surveyed his surroundings as the “adults” caught up. It was a stereotypical one story daycare building located along a busy road. At some point, Sunny Hills Daycare might have been operated by one of those corporate chains, but now it was in private hands. Cool linoleum covered the floors in all directions lit up by florescent panels. A long hallway with multi-colored, half-windowed doors extended to the right. A cacophony of different sounds, shouts, and cries came from that direction. To the left, was a shorter hallway with what looked like a kitchen/ laundry and an office at the end. Suddenly, Mike realized that Sandra and Diane were both looking at him: “Are you going to say hello back to Miss Diane?”, Sandra asked gently, pulling him forward a bit. Mike gave a wave and shy little hello, which prompted a snort and a proclamation of his “adorableness” from Diane. “You can go on through and wait in the office”, she said, “Katie had to run back to her classroom for just a sec but she will be right there, Diane said. The office was a small space, barely enough to fit a modest desk with 2 adult-size chairs in front. In the corner farthest from the door sat a smaller chair and desk painted in bright red, which also had a basket of children’s books on top. Mike started to sit in one of the adult chairs, but was redirected to the corner seat by Sandra. He decided not to object. He didn’t really want to be part of this particular conversation anyway. The regression center Sandra had enrolled him in last Christmas offered a number of “extracurricular”(AKA for an additional fee) programs and experiences for littles. Most were expensive and even a little kitschy. But there was one extracurricular offering that had caught Sandra’s eye almost immediately. Of course it helped that the Little Helpers Daycare Program was one of the only free options, (provided that a suitable placement could be found), but that wasn’t the main reason she was interested. The program provided opportunities for littles enrolled in the regression program to “perform supervised volunteer and learning activities” at a number of local daycares. Little Helpers were not paid carers or even interns. And they weren’t daycare kids either. They existed somewhere in between. They helped with simple tasks like passing out crayons, or picking up after snack time, while receiving an appropriate level of care and supervision for their regressed development level. They were not allowed to perform any actual care activities (partly for licensing reasons and partly because they weren’t always capable) but they were allowed and encouraged to join in on daily activities where appropriate. Most Little Helpers enjoyed story time (and needed nap time) as much as the others. The program had proven to be very popular. Moms like her enjoyed the free time of course, and program participants like Mike benefited as well, especially in terms of their regression progress and socialization. Like it or not, humans are pack animals, and the norms and characteristic behaviors of one’s peer group tend to rub off on the individual. Participants in the Little Helpers program tended to be more accepting of their status overall and less resistant to major regressive steps or changes at home, such as the introduction of afternoon naps (something Mike had been adamantly opposed to at first). But it was the daycare providers and curriculum companies who liked the Little Helpers most of all. Not because of the free labor - the Little Helpers didn’t really do enough in the classroom to earn their keep that way. They liked them because they were still adults, (at least in age), which meant they could be used for market research, curriculum testing, and direct feedback on programs and care protocols without having to go through a bunch of pesky ethics review boards. And best of all, the data was coming from individuals who were much more in tune with the needs and interests of their target market. It was a virtual data gold mine - especially for the corporate chains who could afford high powered marketing and data analytics teams to support these efforts. Sandra suspected that the chains were probably subsidizing the programs via the regression centers to keep them free and therefore more attractive to carers and parents of enrollees. Whatever - it worked - and it was really no different to what the social media companies were doing with her data all day every day. Mike could be their little guinea pig as long as it also served her purposes. Her thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of Katie: “Sorry to keep you waiting - one of my kids spilled paint EVERYWHERE and I had to help with cleanup and locating a change of clothes.” “No worries - It comes with the territory!” said Sandra with a little laugh, and then they hugged briefly - but not nearly as long as she had hugged Diane. It had been nearly five years since she had seen Katie. She knew she worked here now of course, (she’d provided her letter of reference) but she’d been much younger and less mature the last time she had actually seen her. Now, in addition to sporting a sizable rock and wedding band on her left hand, she was also visibly pregnant. If Sandra had to guess, she’d say between 5-6 months - definitely into the glowing stage. Katie had always been pretty in a cutesy way, but pregnancy seemed to have enhanced her looks further, softening some edges and accentuating her curves. She looked more womanly than girlish now. As Sandra took in these changes, Katie turned to Mike, who started to get up from his low chair at the same moment that she bent down to hug him. The net effect was that Mike ended up receiving a faceful of Katie’s boobs instead of the intended hug. He said something in greeting, but it was too muffled against her chest to be intelligible. Katie wasn’t at all phased. After a quick pat to the back, she released Mike, turning back to her seat behind the desk and sitting down with her attention focused on Sandra. Mike also sat back down, taking care to locate the small chair underneath him, lest he fall off and embarrass himself in front of her. He had noticed that Katie smelled really good when she had embraced him - some particularly intoxicating combination of soap and something sweet. Vanilla mixed with maple syrup maybe? Whatever it was, he certainly didn’t mind it. His nose was so sensitive now! Whereas Diane’s copious floral perfume had almost made him gag earlier, this combination of smells had a much different effect on him. It put him immediately at ease and made him wish he could have more and much longer cuddles with her. He was suddenly overcome with a particularly vivid image of reaching for her, and Katie picking him up to hold him crossways across her body with one hand on his bottom and his face pressed into her soft breasts. The warm, full body embrace and that curiously inviting smell enveloped him, relaxing him so deeply that he started to… “Mike!…Mike?…Hello?…Miss Katie is asking you a question!”, Sandra said with amused tolerance, breaking him from his reverie. He gave a startled look and shook his head. He’d gotten lost again. These little “zone out episodes” as Sandra called them were becoming both more frequent and decidedly more babyish in scope lately. Sometimes he’d even find himself acting them out, but through a weirdly disembodied shift in perspective in which it felt as if he were observing a smaller version of himself. It was like there were two people sharing his body now. And toddler Mike was booking way more than just cameos these days. He had no idea how much time had passed, but the girls had obviously had time to catch up with one another and move on to the business at hand - him. He looked up at Katie guiltily, but she just smiled at him as she repeated: “I was asking if you wanted a sticker, sweetie? I’ve got one here I think you might really like.” She held it to out him, and he stood again to take it, now noticing a little bit of warm dampness in the front of his pants that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. Like the zone outs, these little lapses in control were an increasingly common side effect of his regression, often occurring in tandem with them, and sometimes turning into full-blown accidents. Thankfully, this one felt rather small and easily contained within his padded panties. There was no need to tell Sandra or Miss Katie about it. But he might need to ask for the toilet soon… Mike turned the sticker over in hands, studying it. It was bright metallic blue with yellow lettering that said “ LITTLE HELPER” in block capitals. In the background he noticed a variety of stenciled farm animals. He could name all of them. Most prominent was a cute little duckling with a very round bottom…almost as if… Katie was talking again. Mike peeled his attention away from the sticker, noticing that his pants felt quite a bit warmer in front now. Oops! But there was no time to think about that, because Katie was telling him in a very serious, grown up voice about how important it was for him to wear the sticker all the time while he was at the daycare, so that she and the other staff knew that he was one of the big kid helpers and not one of the daycare kids. He wouldn’t want them to mistake him for a baby, would he? Mike shook his head, indicating a hard “NO” to being mistaken for a baby. And to show he understood the importance of the sticker, he peeled off the backing and placed it on his chest. “Good boy!” Katie said, using a syrupy tone that would normally not be used to speak to a big kid. But Mike didn’t seem to notice. In fact he was beaming. He’d always had a “praise thing” going on for as long as Sandra had known him - it was one of the first tools she’d used to bring out his subby side after they started dating. Now, as she watched the dynamic between them, Sandra was absolutely convinced that she had made the right choice enrolling him here. She had chosen this location partly because she knew it. She had worked at Sunny Hills for almost 3 years before marrying Mike - first as a teacher and then as the supervisor in the toddler room. It was an excellent facility that received consistently high marks from parents as well as state inspectors. In truth, Mike wasn’t quite ready for the preschool room anymore. The regression program had really started to take hold in the spring, and he was frequently acting more like a two-year old (in words and deeds) than a pre-schooler per-se. He needed a lot of guidance and help with even the most basic tasks, including (especially?) toileting. He often had trouble making it to the potty on time without being reminded, and would struggle with getting his clothing off when he did. Some days it felt like the potty was an altogether alien concept to him. The thickly padded training pants she’d been putting him in were barely adequate for his current level of daytime continence. He was almost always a little damp when she checked him. On the advice of another mom from the regression playgroup, she had tried slinging a toddler prefold into the crotch of his trainers, but that had provoked an absolute meltdown when he noticed the extra bulk, and so she had not tried that again. Picking her battles was a mark of her maturity compared to Mike, who now made a big, repeated deal about everything. At least he was diapered for naps and nighttime now. That was a significant victory, and it had also made her life and sleep schedule much easier. Despite his lingering stubbornness about “baby things”, Mike hated wet beds, and had willingly accepted a diaper for these times. Of course there had been no mention of bed wetting pants or similar products for older children. It was either thick, nighttime diapers adorned with cute Winnie the Pooh designs, or a cold, wet bed. Easy choice. She kept them on hIm for as long as possible after a sleep, and she was pretty good at finding creative excuses to put them on early. But Mike could still be depended on to demand his “big boy pants”, even when she didn’t mention them. As of yet, she hadn’t refused this request. The change would come in time. It was inevitable. There was no need to rush. Besides, she had to admit that her dominant side found his pee soaked undies absolutely adorable in a way that was different to his wet diapers. They made her wet too, but in a much more grown up way. Wet training pants were “accidents”, and accidents were supposed to be embarrassing for “big boys.” Despite the slippery (and wet) slope he was on, Mike still knew that too, and his blushy responses to her questions about the condition of his pants were worth the extra cleanup and laundry duties. She’d stopped orchestrating or “facilitating” these accidents herself - he was perfectly capable of peeing or even occasionally messing in his pants on his own these days. But she still took advantage of every one to reinforce his status and dependence on her. She had started changing him lying down using the strongest smelling baby wipes she could find. She would linger over his private parts as she held his legs and wiped him, making sure to comment if she found traces of diaper rash, or a dirty bottom from his diminished wiping skills. Then she’d finish by putting a liberal dollop of lavender scented diaper cream on the fingers of her free hand, and slowly and sensuously trace a path through his butt crack and up and over his scrotum. These moments were heavenly for both of them. The cream didn’t seem to affect the absorbency of the training pants, and Sandra liked knowing that it served as a sticky reminder of his diminished status. In fact, it probably felt a lot like having a poopy diaper, and getting him used to that feeling wasn’t a bad idea at this point. Turning back to matters of the present, Sandra also knew that Katie would care for Mike in similarly gentle and nurturing ways. True, she probably wouldn’t get off on it like Sandra did, but that was a good thing. Being checked and changed in a preschool setting, where accidents were common and dealt with matter-of-factly by trained staff, would take his diaper training and acceptance to levels she could never achieve on her own at home. She wasn’t sure if Mike remembered Katie or not. Judging by his reactions, he at least felt comfortable around her. But the regression program seemed to have scrambled his memories pertaining to adults he didn’t interact with on a regular basis. Shared histories and memories of specific events were gone, but the emotional connections (including his like or dislike of specific people) often remained. Maybe it was something to do with conscious versus subconscious memory and how those manifested differently in thought or behavior. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter really. Because she remembered Katie. And Katie remembered him. And that was the main reason she has decided to enroll Mike here as a Little Helper. Katie had been their next door neighbor for her first five years of marriage to Mike. When they first moved in, she has been a rising freshman at the local community college and was very much that stereotypical, fresh-faced teen girl next door who shows up as a bright green blip on the radar of both husbands and wives. From the start, Mike had done little to hide his infatuation with Katie, which was surprising because he was normally shy and introverted around women. He seemed to look for excuses to talk to her and her friends. He behaved differently when she was around. It wasn’t quite creepy, but it was overt.. She knew he fantasized about fucking her, (or more accurately for Mike, being fucked by her) even if he was probably too shy to go through with it. Probably. Sandra had never been 100% sure whether or not anything physical had transpired between them. On one occasion, she’d come back early from a girls night out to find him hanging in Kati’e’s garage at a small party. Mike was the oldest one there by at least a few years. He had provided the alcohol, and she and he were both obviously buzzed and standing very close to one another when she had first entered the garage. Sandra had managed to hide her anger as she grabbed Mike’s wrist, announcing loudly that it was time for him to go home and get ready for bed. That statement had provoked some giggles from Katie and her friends, but not in a way that felt directed at her or her desire to protect her marriage. Katie wasn’t mean, but she was still a threat, especially to guys like Mike. Like Sandra, she was naturally maternal and nurturing in a way that men like Mike often found irresistible. In fact, it had been easy to write Katie a letter of recommendation for this position on the basis of that personality trait alone: she was a natural with kids, and they tended to love her almost immediately, just as Mike had. She had been happy to extend Katie that professional courtesy, and she knew her letter of recommendation would go a long way at Sunny Hills. Katie had probably gotten this job because of her. And now she could use that to her advantage on a more personal level. Enrolling Mike here now, in his diminished condition, and with Katie as his official caretaker, was the perfect ending to the little relationship they may or may not have had behind her back all those years ago. If Mike wanted this other woman to dominate and mother him, then he was going to get it - just on a much more realistic and infantile level than he had ever intended. She wanted Katie to see Mike for who he was, then and now, and she knew Mike wouldn’t be capable of hiding the gory wet details for long. But Katie didn’t know about these ulterior motives, and she doubted that Katie would be open to putting him here on that basis. So - if her plan was going to work, she needed to get Mike through the preschool enrollment process the old fashioned way: by telling teeny tiny little white lies about his level of independence and development, (including toilet training). It was ironic how the regression program so often imitated the everyday lived experience of parents with actual toddlers. Here she was, trying to sneak her 32 year old into a preschool program that he didn’t quite qualify for. She had prepped Mike for this visit, coaching him on what to say and making it clear that Katie needed to see that he could still be a big boy if she were going to let him be a special helper in her class. She hoped it would be enough. And more to the point, she hoped that he wouldn’t zone out into baby mode during their meeting today. She’d seen him starting to slip away momentarily after Katie had hugged him, but she managed to snap him out of it fairly quickly. Still, she wondered if his pants were still dry… Thankfully, they were nearly through the meeting now. She had done most of the talking for Mike to this point, but now Katie turned her attention back to him. Sandra looked at him anxiously, but she could tell that he was still with it. So far so good! Katie began: “Mike, before I agree to let you be a helper in my class, I have just a few questions for you, OK?” Mike nodded his head and looked up at her shyly. It was actually really cute, (which Sandra hoped didn’t work against him). But Mike needn’t have worried or been nervous. These weren’t hard questions, and he knew all of the answers, even if some of them were a little bit embarrassing. She started off asking him about the regression program, whether he liked his friends at regression playgroup/ how he got along with them, what kinds of tv shows he liked, and what were his favorite books? Katie wasn’t really interested in the specific answers to these questions, so much as how he responded to them. She was gauging his level of social and intellectual maturity. As the biggest “kid” in the room, would he be capable of playing nice and following her instructions? Finally, her questions turned to toileting and accidents. Sunny Hills didn’t have a strict “no diapers” policy for preschool like some other places, but kids who were still mostly in diapers or who had frequent accidents were better suited to the toddler room that Sandra used to manage. There was more to do and learn in preschool, and diaper/ clothing changes took up valuable time. Katie’s tone was gentle but insistent now: Did he ever make tinkles in his pants? Was that because he didn’t know he had to go, or because he just left it too late (Sandra had coached him to indicate only the latter, even though she was pretty sure both had been true at different times). Mike passed this little test with flying colors. When the questions turned to poopy accidents, Sandra noticed a change in Mike’s demeanor. He still felt very embarrassed about these (much more than wetting accidents), and would try to hide them from her when they happened. Mike blushed deeply and held up three fingers without looking up at Katie. “Does that mean you’ve made poopy in your pants three times?” Katie asked softly. Mike nodded almost imperceptibly in response, while continuing to stare down at the desk. They both breathed a sigh of relief when Katie smiled and replied: “well a big boy like you should know that three is a very small number. It’s definitely not something to be embarrassed about it it?” She paused, waiting for a response from Mike. He looked up, his face less red now, and shook his head “no”. Katie nodded, apparently satisfied with his answers. She was in full-on teacher-mode now: “OK Mike, I’ll make a deal with you: If you’re going to be my Little Helper, then you need to set a good example for the kids in my class. Because you’re not a baby. And neither are they. So I expect everyone in my class to at least try to use the potty when they notice they have to go, and that includes you. Can I trust you to do that for me?” Mike nodded, looking pleased. He could definitely do that. “And when you do have an accident, I expect you to come tell me or another member of staff straight away. OK? I won’t be mad, I promise. Telling me about accidents is another way you can show me that you are a big boy, and also set a good example for the others.” Mike nodded again. He could definitely do that too! But Katie couldn’t let this point go just yet. She needed him to understand the consequences of not sticking to their deal: “Because only little babies go potty in their pants without telling anyone. And if that happens too often in my class, then you will get sent to a different classroom where everyone wears diapers (yes, even the helpers like you),and no one gets to use the potty, not even for poopies!” She paused for a moment to let that last part sink in… “That doesn’t sound very fun, does it? You don’t want me to think you’re a baby who needs to wear diapers and is too little to be in my class do you?” Mike shook his head “no” - he definitely didn’t want her to think that “Good! Then I think this is gonna work out great!” She turned now to Sandra: “OK. Wet pants are no big deal, and we can change them in the staff bathroom or the classroom bathroom if it’s unoccupied. Wetting accidents are expected at his age (or rather his stage of development), but it is also good that you are keeping him in training pants so that he feels wet when he goes. We don’t want him getting used to being in wet pants, or feeling comfortable when he is wet”… “…Although…having said that, I realize that advice might not apply in Mike’s case, at least depending on how far you want him to…go…” She paused, trying to find the right words: “I guess what I’m saying is that, for kids in the regression program, it might be different…but I still think it’s best that we approach their care exactly as we would for any of the other kids in my classroom. Otherwise I’m not doing my job properly!” She smiled as she said this. And Sandra smiled back and nodded in agreement. If only she knew! “But state law says that soiled pants have to be changed in a designated diaper changing area. And that means taking him to the toddler classroom to be changed when or if that happens, which obviously also necessitates that the changing area is free for us to use in private. It’s A LOT more work and coordination to change poopy pants, and it means I have to be away from my classroom while I take care of him. So, if he starts having a lot of poopy accidents, we might have to think about putting him in diapers to make cleanup easier or even placing him in the toddler classroom where they are better equipped to take care of it. But for now, let’s assume that’s not going to happen, because I can tell Mike wants to be a big boy for me.” She turned to smile at Mike as she said this last part, and he smiled back. He liked Miss Katie! Katie turned back to Sandra: “Just like with any preschooler, you’ll need to provide a couple of spare pairs of training pants, a change of clothing, and a supply of diapers if he wears them for naptime?” She looked at Sandra questioningly as she asked this, but it was not a gotcha question. About 1/4 of the preschoolers still needed diapers or pull-ups at naptime. Sandra indicated that he did, and Sandra replied: “Great, please send along at least a 2 week supply and we will keep you updated when they start running low. Usually parents just put together a backpack with all this stuff in it, and maybe a favorite cuddly toy - anyway you already know the drill here, ‘you’ve been there done that’ as they say!” Sandra smiled and said she could do that, and it seemed the interview was coming to a successful close. But before they got up to leave, Katie turned to Mike and asked him if he had any questions for her. Mike didn’t know what to say. Sandra hadn’t coached him on how to respond to this question about questions. But he did remember the promise he had made a few minutes ago. And so he decided now was a good opportunity to show her that he could stick to their deal. “I tinkled in my big boy pants, Miss Katie” he said without a hint of shame. Katie let out a good-natured laugh in response. And so did Sandra. Because that one little sentence, those nine simple words that conveyed so much about status, power, and dependence, were a better start to Mike and Katie’s new relationship than Sandra could have hoped for.

This is one of the best ABDL stories I have ever read since I discovered the ABDL internet scene in 1995 (including your early stories) The transitions and slippery slopes to regressive behavior are just perfect. And the prose and styling are top-notch too. “Julie” pushes all the right buttons. I hope to read more from you someday. Thank you ?

I made a few edits to this story to make it fit better with the other story I shared this week. More fun exploits coming soon from Sandra and Mike’s ever evolving MD/lb relationship!

I love this story, P. Esp the magic playground and river chapters. The Narnia books were my favorite when I was younger - especially the Silver Chair - which contains some themes that I never understood why I liked so much, until I was much older.

Hi folks. The response to my last short story was positive, so I’ve decided to post another. This one has a little bit stronger (but still gentle) mommy domme themes, along with forced regression and messing. All characters are 18+. As always, comments or critiques are welcome! Before Playgroup Sandra sipped her coffee as she watched Mike playing with his toys on the rug. He was all but oblivious to her presence as he busily pushed a brightly colored wooden train along the ramshackle track that had taken over most of the living room. Her lips cracked into a sly smile as she observed the liner of his nighttime diaper peeking out from the elastic waistband of his jammiee. The soggy bulge in the crotch and sag in the bum also signaled that she’d need to get it off him soon. But not yet. It wasn’t time to leave for regression playgroup yet. And that diaper wasn’t coming off until they were on their way out the door. For the past month, Sandra had been gradually increasing the time Mike spent in his nighttime diaper in the mornings before transitioning him back to “big boy pants”. A series of uncomfortable wet beds had made nighttime diapers an easy choice to accept, and the increasing time spent in them after waking was just a natural extension of that (at least from his perspective). There had been some grumpy feelings at first, but by the end of the first week, he seemed to be perfectly happy staying in his soggy night-night diaper at least through breakfast, and often well beyond. Sandra was already starting to reap the rewards of these efforts. Even on the rare occasions when he woke up dry, his diaper was almost always wet by the time he finished breakfast. He didn’t seem particularly bothered by these periodic lapses in daytime continence either. In fact, Sandra didn’t think that Mike was even especially aware of his diapers at these times. They had become an accepted part of his morning routine now, and using the potty was not. On mornings when they weren’t going out right away, she’d supply him with a fresh sippy cup of juice or milk and send him off to play, waiting to change him until she was sure the residuals of the additional liquids had found their way into his baby pants. Sometimes she’d pull him into her lap, all cute and warm and squishy, and tell him what a good boy he was for not making a fuss about the potty while he was diapered. Sandra loved the intimacy of these little moments together - when he allowed himself to be babied and cared for so completely. The faint smell of urine and baby powder wafting from his jammies was a not-so-subtle reminder of his growing dependence on her. She wanted him to be this way for her more often. And that desire was why she had decided to enroll him in the the Regression Clinic last Christmas. Mike had gone quite willingly to the first few bi-weekly appointments (he’d always been a little subby and into kinky ageplay), but she suspected he was treating it more as a gimmicky excuse to take some time off work, and possibly an easy opportunity to get his hands on some fun meds. It had been slow going in some areas, especially at first, but things were starting to change in more noticeable ways now. Apart from the bedwetting and increased time spent in diapers when at home, she had begun to notice some distinctly babyish shifts in Mike’s behavior and personality. He’d started sucking his thumb when he was sleepy or stressed, and he sometimes needed a nap in the afternoons now. He was more eager to please her, and much more affectionate. Mike had never been much of a cuddler in their previous 6 years of marriage, but now he craved her hugs and attention, sometimes lapsing into whining or even tears if he didn’t get what he needed from her right away. He’d definitely started reacting more like a two year old, even if he didn’t always act like one. And one topic that could almost always be relied on to set Mike off was his toileting. Apart from nighttime and early mornings, Mike was still adamantly opposed to wearing anything that didn’t closely resemble “big boy pants” during the day. The one time Sandra had casually suggested putting him in a “just in case” diaper before they went out had provoked such a swift and petulant “NO!” reaction and stamp of his foot, that she’d almost laughed out loud. It wasn’t because Mike didn’t need daytime protection - in fact they were long past that point. Sandra had been keeping careful track of Mike’s toileting and accidents since he started the regression program. Although he still had some good days (or bad, depending on which side of this process you were on), the completely accident free days were pretty much a thing of the past. The program was clearly having an impact on his level of independent bladder control, but that also meant more work for her - cleaning up puddles, peeling soiled training pants down pee-soaked legs, and doing endless loads of laundry. It was growing tiresome. After Mike had left a trail of urine through the checkout line at the grocery store about a month ago, Sandra had decided it was time for him to start wearing cloth “training pants” during the day. She had bought the most absorbent ones she could find, but without a waterproof cover, heavy or repeated wettings still soaked through to his clothing. The not-quite-daytime-diapers were a small victory, but it still felt like they were dancing around the problem rather than dealing with it in the most logical, practical, and inevitable way. Now, as Sandra watched Mike play, she was carefully observing his body language. If today’s plan was going to work, she’d need to time this perfectly. Sandra knew Mike usually had a bowel movement about 30-45 minutes after breakfast. He was still pretty good about requesting the potty for “poopies”, although there had been a couple of notable “mishaps” in recent weeks. In truth, Sandra had “facilitated the first accident through simple distraction and redirection. She’d been a little concerned that Mike would see right through her scheme, but it turned out that the opportunity to play with mommy’s phone (something he almost never got to do) was a very powerful motive to completely ignore his toilet needs. As planned, that little “boo-boo” had happened in his sodden nighttime diaper, and Sandra had made sure the whole experience was extra memorable for both of them. Just the smell coming from Mike’s bulgy bottom was enough to make her wet. And his subsequent blushy confession about what he’d done in his diaper and why he needed to be changed was almost enough to make her come on the spot. As she held his legs and wiped his bottom, Sandra had been careful to reinforce the point that cleaning up a poopy diaper was no big deal, and that she wouldn’t mind if he decided that he wanted to do all of his poopies in a diaper from now on. Of course it was his choice, but it would be a lot more convenient for everyone wouldn’t it? And in exchange, he could have more phone time! As predicted, Mike had refused, but she had at least planted the seed that poopy diapers were an acceptable (and preferred) alternative to sitting on the potty. The second poopy accident had happened more “organically”, and, unfortunately for Sandra, it had occurred when Mike was in training pants. On that morning, she had dutifully changed him out of his morning diaper and settled him in the living room in front of the TV, while she took some time for herself to catch up on news and social media. She had been in the kitchen, absentmindedly poking at her phone when she noticed that Mike was being more quiet than usual. Too quiet. Sandra crept to the entrance of the living room and peered in to find Mike standing in front of the TV with his thumb in his mouth and his eyes glued to the screen. A rivulet of drool hung from his lips. As she watched, Sandra had been mildly surprised to see Mike bend his knees and push his bottom out a little bit. She knew immediately what was happening. She had seen this characteristic posture countless times during the years she had spent working in the toddler room at the local daycare before marrying Mike. The only difference (apart from size) was that those kids were still in diapers full-time, and therefore had no legacy of potty training to contend with. Going in their pants was an everyday occurrence. For his part, Mike seemed completely unaware of what was about to happen. He was totally engrossed in the preschool TV program she had put on for him. Sandra continued to watch with amusement as Mike tensed and held his breath. His body relaxed for a moment and then tensed again, this time for much longer. This was no involuntary little “accident!” Whether he realized it or not, Mike was pushing a large poop into the seat of his pants as if he’d never been toilet trained. He gave another short push, followed with a little shiver, and then returned to a full standing position as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Moments later, the smell of freshly dirtied training pants reached Sandra’s nose. She considered leaving him like that for a while to see how he would react, but she quickly decided against that course of action. It would be better for his diaper training (and her control) if she pretended to discover his little accident all on her own. And besides, she wasn’t sure the cloth trainers would contain the mess if he sat down or moved around much. There was a very noticeable bulge in the seat of his pants. Sandra knew it was weird, but she found that posture and that bulge so irresistibly cute! Part of her wished she could just run over, pick Mike up, and hug him tightly to her with one arm firmly planted under his bottom. She imagined the look on his face as he felt the warm poop smushing further up his backside as she bounced him lightly and held him tightly to her. She imagined him blushing and burying his face into her breasts as he told her in muffled tones that he’d gone poopy in his pants and that he needed to be changed into a clean diaper. Maybe he’d even start to wet himself during his confession, and she’d feel the spreading warmth against her tummy as she patted his bottom and gently shushed him. Maybe she would… No. She was getting carried away. There would be plenty of opportunities to enjoy stinky diaper time with Mike in the future. Right now, Sandra knew she needed to stay in gentle, but firm mommy mode. Without saying anything, she walked over to Mike, and with a motion perfected in years of professional practice, she knelt down behind him and pulled back his trainers to peek inside. She knew what she would find, but she wanted to reinforce in his mind that she, not he, was the one responsible for tracking the condition of his pants, and that she didn’t need his permission to do so. The sudden motion startled Mike out of his trance. He looked up at her questioningly at first, his face the picture of slightly dazed or bewildered innocence, but then his expression quickly changed to one of dismay as Sandra announced matter-of-factly that he was stinky and that she needed to change him right away. A brief bout of tears followed, but she drew Mike into her, rubbing his back, gently patting his bottom, and speaking in such soft, reassuring tones that the embarrassment over his accident was soon forgotten. It had been quite a thrill watching Mike dirty his pants for the first time without her “encouragement”, but Sandra also knew that these moments presented important focal opportunities for increasing Mike’s regression and introducing important changes to help him along on his journey. The staff at the regression clinic had made it clear that Mike’s regression would not follow a linear or steady path. Instead, he would go days or weeks at a time with little to no perceptible change in his behavior or attitude, and then an event like this would trigger a sudden and permanent shift towards more regressive, babyish behavior. Sandra had used the second messing episode as an excuse to start changing Mike while lying down on a changing mat, instead of standing up. He needed to get used to being changed this way. Standing changes were only for big boys who had occasional little accidents. He no longer qualified on either count. Mike had fussed a little bit when she first laid him down right there in the living room, but Sandra had been firm that it would be easier and faster for mommy to clean his dirty bottom this way. Besides, he was in no position to argue with her in his current state. Oddly enough, Mike seemed to become completely comfortable with this change in status and procedure by the time Sandra began wiping him down. It was as if she’d flipped a switch in his mind. He had laid there passively as she worked on his most intimate areas, perfectly content to ignore what was happening and to continue watching TV sideways from his position on the changing mat. It was the single most babyish behavior Sandra had seen from Mike to this point. In the days that followed, Sandra had noticed other lasting changes in Mike. He seemed generally less concerned with his potty accidents. Whereas he used to demand that she change him as soon as he noticed he was wet, he now seemed content to just wait for her to take notice and change him when she was ready - a task which she often delayed for as long as possible - at least when they were at home. She’d stopped mentioning or suggesting the potty when they were home alone together unless she needed him in dry pants for some reason. In fact, they begun treating the cloth trainers more like diapers when at home. Public accidents were a different story though, and still prompted immediate and whiny demands to be changed on the spot. And there were occasional tantrums if that was not possible for some reason. Sandra had allowed this bad behavior to continue in the hopes that it would change on its own as the frequency of his daytime accidents increased. But alas, not yet. Which brings us to the events she had planned for today. Sandra knew that removing Mike’s aversion to public accidents and public changes was an important step in his journey to full-time diapers. He was more than ready physically, (as noted, there was plenty of evidence of that in the diaper pail and laundry room). But still, something was holding him back. Eventually, after consulting with one of the on-call psychologists provided by the regression program, Sandra had determined that Mike’s resistance was primarily social in nature and origin. He still wasn’t comfortable with being treated like a baby or doing babyish things in front of his peers or other adults, because that’s not what “big boys” like him were supposed to do, and he assumed they still saw him that way. Size matters in all things to boys, Sandra thought, ruefully. The stigma that wider society attaches to needing or wearing diapers after a certain age was clearly ingrained on Mike’s psyche. Becoming a “big boy” who no longer needed to wear diapers had been a point of pride for him at one point in his life. And he was still holding on to the social expectations and norms that drove that pride, even if he wasn’t consciously aware of it. Sandra hated to admit it, but the competitive side of her was a little bit frustrated by Mikes slower “progression to regression” in this respect when compared to his peers in the regression cohort. He had been one of the first to start wetting the bed regularly at night (she knew he had been a bedwetter as a child until the age of 10), and that had given her false hope that a transition to daytime diapers would soon follow at a similarly accelerated pace. But that hadn’t been the case. Now, nearly 6 months into the program, most of the other littles in Mike’s cohort and in the neighborhood playgroup had moved past him into full time diaper dependency. Yet Mike remained that awkward kid - still in trainers, and still demanding to use the potty or to be changed when he had a public accident. But today Sandra had an opportunity to help change that.She waited until she saw his characteristic “number 2 fidgets” beginning, and then announced with feigned panic that she had lost track of time, and that they were going to be late for playgroup if they didn’t leave right this minute. In actual fact, they had plenty of time, but Mike didn’t know that. He had stopped paying attention to the clock months ago, satisfied in the knowledge that Sandra kept track of time for him. She hastily removed his diaper, gave him a cursory wipe (arriving at playgroup smelling a little bit like stale urine certainly couldn’t hurt his progress today), then pulled up his trainers and shorts. She stood them both up, grabbed his hand, and literally pulled him out the door to the car. She had conveniently “forgotten” his change bag on the counter in the kerfuffle. For his part, Mike had no time to object before he was pulled out the door. He also hadn’t had time to ask for the potty. He mentioned it to her now from the backseat as she drove, although he didn’t make it clear just how urgent the need was. Sandra smiled maternally, and told him that she’d be glad to help him make a big poopy as soon as they were at playgroup. It was true, in a way. She assumed that Mike would be able to hold his bowels while sitting down in the car with his bottom pressed tightly into the seat. But once they arrived at playgroup, it would be a different story. Standing or kneeling while temporarily distracted with new and fun toys was a virtual guarantee for poopy pants in Mike’s regressed condition. All she had to do was get him through the door and into the playroom without stopping for the potty. After that, nature (and the regression program) would take its course. And that’s what Sandra wanted. That’s what Mike needed. Because today, Sandra was going to help Mike show himself and the rest of the mommies and littles at playgroup that he is definitely not a big boy anymore. Today, Mike was going to do a big poop in his pants, in someone else’s living room, and while playing with another little’s distracting and unfamiliar toys. Today, Sandrawas going to be too engrossed in conversation with one of the other mommies to notice what was happening or to suggest he pause to use the toilet. Today, Mike was going to get his bottom sniffed suspiciously, and then have his pants checked for confirmation without warning, by someone else’s mommy. Today, a tearful Mike was going to have to tell her what he’d done in his pants in front of the other mommy she’d been chatting with, who would look on affectionately as she continued to nurse her own little. Today, Mike was going to learn that Sandra had forgotten to bring any spare trainers or shorts for him, and so they’d have to find another solution for his stinky and wet pants (unless he wanted to go home and stop playing with the fun new toys). Today, she’d help Mike come up with that solution on his own, providing only gentle encouragement to guide him toward the robvious answer. Today, Mike would experience the humiliation of having to ask another mommy if he could borrow a diaper - and having to tell her why (as if it wasn’t plainly obvious). Today, Mike was going to find out that mommies expect little boys like him to make poopies in their pants, and that no one was mad or upset at him for doing so. And of course there were spare diapers available for little boys like him who needed them. Today, Mike would toddle back over to Sandra, proudly holding the diaper he’d acquired, and ask her to put it on him with barely a hint of embarrassment. Today, Mike would experience a very public change.