LilLew

All characters are adults. This is a work of fiction, not necessarily set in the real world. Every time your criticize online fetish erotica for being unrealistic, a fairy gets tax audited. The rest of the car ride was quiet, but not in a good way. Every little shift in someone’s seat, every bump on the road, every red light, even driving straight on a smooth road with light traffic—everything reverberated around the minivan’s interior. Anger and shame echoed off the glass. The click of the turn signal was deafening. And whenever another car pulled next to us at an intersection and either one of us made incidental eye contact with other drivers, the emotion in the car would somehow intensify. I would start tearing up again, but I dared not sob or sniffle my nose—that would only make things worse. My runny eyes and runny nose had already dripped down my face and on to my Sesame Street shirt and the straps of my overalls, but that was hardly the worst mess in my outfit. Lower down, my entire bottom was completely soaked; I’d wet my pants in the car. The wetness had dribbled down to my shoes and wicked up to the lower part of my shirt. My car seat was full of my naughty pee-pees, and I could almost feel it slosh around as we wove around traffic. It was cold now. The little toy mirror attached to my seat had somehow gotten pointed down, and a glance displayed a little baby who couldn’t hold on to use the potty like a big boy, and I just felt like crying again. And worst of all, I could already feel my tummy rumbling, and I would need the potty again soon. I’d never had a poopy accident before, but how could I possibly ask mommy for help now? I had hoped she would calm down during the car ride, but one shared glance in the rear-view mirror showed that wasn’t going to happen. Would I have have two accidents today?! Mercifully, we reached the driveway of our house. Unmercifully, mommy did not pull all the way into the garage. Instead, she parked outside, turned off the car, and turned around to face me. “I can’t believe you’ve had another accident! That’s the fourth time this week you went pee-pee in your nice clothes, and I have to get you cleaned up and clean up the mess you made! And all the bedwetting! Big boys use the potty! They don’t have accidents! Only babies do! Are you a baby?” Mommy’s upbraiding got me crying again. In between wails, I tried to say, “I’m sorry mommy!” but nothing intelligible came out. “I’ve had it with you! I don’t know a single other 34 year old who can’t control themselves. I know you’re big enough to hold your potties. So you must just be doing this to make mommy mad! Is that it?” I continued crying. “Well mission accomplished! So now I’m going to march you into the house, in broad daylight in front of all the neighbors so they can see what a little baby my supposed husband is, and you can stand in the naughty corner while I clean up your car seat.” With that, mommy pressed the button to open the sliding car door while she got out and stomped around the front. Reaching the door, she leaned over me and unbuckled my car seat, getting a real good view of how much I’d peed. “I guess you shouldn’t have had all that juice this morning, huh? Now get out.” I gingerly climbed out of the car and on to the pavement. Some of my cold pee-pee dribbled further down my pants, making me shiver. Now march! Double time! I waddled up the driveway, leaving bid wet footprints behind me. The neighbors were indeed getting an eyefull, watching the woman next door push her pathetic husband into the house with wet pants. What a loser! Mommy led me over to the corner of the living room, the naughty corner, to wait in time out. But then my tummy made another rumble, and I remembered that I still had to go poopy. “Mommy wait! I needa go potty!” “Oh no you don’t, mister! You’re not going to wiggle out of corner time that easily! Your ‘potties’ are all over your clothes and car seat, so I know that’s a lie!” “But mommy…” “No buts! If you so much as budge from that corner, you’re going to get the spanking of a lifetime!” And with that, mommy swooped right out of the room back outside to the driveway, leaving me in the corner. Pants full of pee. Shirt covered in tears and boogies. And a tummy full of poo-poo that really needed to come out. And so I started holding again. The wait dragged on as my tummy growled louder and louder, begging for relief. After a while, I could hear the car door close and the remote lock beep, and I could tell mommy was done cleaning and I could leave time out soon! I was gonna make it! But then I heard voices outside. It was Mrs. Whiting next door. She and mommy had stopped to talk! Oh no! I can’t hold on! “Mommy!” I shouted, the strain causing a little bit of poopy to poke out of my tushy. No answer. My strength giving out, my knees started to buckle, and I involuntarily squatted down. With my last little bit of strength, I squeezed as hard as my could for about a second, then a little fart escaped. My exhausted tushy fell limp, and I felt a real big poopy slide out. It felt firm at first as it shoved out of my body, but got squishy as it dropped into the bottom of my underpants and stretched it out. Another fart, then a second poopy came out, softer than the first. The sensations of all that yucky poopie squishing against me, the loud farting, and stink of my accident was all too much, and I started crying again. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, snot was oozing from my nose, and more pee-pee flowed into my pants as I started wetting again. I stood there and wailed for what felt like hours. During a break in my sobs, I could feel there was third wave of poopy inside me, blocked by the pile already sitting in my pants. I just wanted it out, so I squatted down some more and pushed. Another small squirt of pee came out, and then a glob of very mushy poop burst out of my… “Oh my god, you are not serious!” During all my crying, I hadn’t noticed mommy had come back in and was standing in the doorway. She saw her crying husband with a fresh puddle around his feet, squatting down and pooping his pants. “Now you’re messing yourself?!” I didn’t answer with any words, just a fresh round of crying. My face was purple now. I lightly stomped my feet, and a small piece of poopie dripped down my leg. Mommy swooped in, grabbed my by the ear, and whisked me upstairs. I wailed all the way into the bathroom. I wailed the whole time mommy swiped off my soggy shoes, my cold socks, my stained shirt, my dripping overalls, and finally, my wet and poopy underpants, slipping down my legs and landing on the floor with a thump. I stood naked in the bathroom, shivering with cold and fear. I knew what was coming. Mommy silently emptied my messy underwear into the toilet and put the rest of my clothes in the special hamper we have for my accident clothes. She also took a wet-wipe from the counter and gave my tush a cursory wipe, confirming the dread punishment I was in for. She turned on the bathtub faucet to let it fill, took the special hairbrush from the counter, lowered the toilet seat cover, sat down, and looked dead at me. “Come here.” “Please mommy, I’ll try harder! I won’t poop my pants again, I promise!” “I said, come here!” Quivering with pathetic fear, I gingerly walked over to mommy, and knelt down over her lap. “Do you know what you did wrong?” “I had a potty accident in my pants.” Tears were coming again. I put my hands behind my back. Without warning, mommy grabbed my two crossed wrists and began spanking. I started bucking and wailing as blows rained down on my reddening cheeks, mommy berating me with every stroke: “BIG! BOYS! DON’T! WET! Their PANTS! They USE! The POTTY! ONLY! BABIES! WET! And POOP! Their PANTS! ONLY! BABIES! CRY! STUPID! CRYING! PISSY! STINKY! BABY!” The room was awash in noise with mommy’s shouting, my crying, and the water faucet’s roar. It wasn’t until I cried so hard that I started choking on my own sobs that mommy finally relented. As suddenly as they began, the blows stopped and I was told to stand up again. Mommy put the brush away and turned the faucet off. She tested the water temperature, and motioned for me to get in. I gingerly lowered myself into the water, wincing as my red tushy touched the water. I sat down and just tried to catch my breath. I felt drained from everything that had happened, and I could only flop around limply while mommy took a bath sponge and started soaping me up. “I’m going to mark two accidents on your potty chart today. Do you know how many days this week you’ve been accident-free?” I shook my head no. “Just once, four days ago. And that’s only because I was being nice.” I remembered that trip to the potty. I had already dribbled a lot by the time I made it to the training potty in the hallway, and my underpants had a silver-dollar-sized wet spot on them. It sure felt like an accident, especially once I was finished and had to pull my cold underpants back up. And then, wet pants and tears three days in a row, finished off with a big poopy mess. “And you’re wetting the bed every night, too! That’s why you’re so tired and cranky during the day.” Mommy’s voice was softening. What did she mean? “I think someone’s not quite ready for big boy pants, hm?” Mommy took the shower spray and got my hair wet, then started massaging in shampoo. “If you can’t use the potty like a big boy, then the only solution is for you to start wearing your diapers again.” Oh no! Not that! Please! I’m not a baby! I’ll be good! I wanted to scream and thrash in the tub, but I was too tired, and all that came out was a moaned, “Noooo…” “I’m sorry, sweetie, but you’re still too little.” She started spraying the shampoo out of my hair. “If you can’t hold your pee-pees and poopies for the big boy potty, then you’re just going to have to wear diapers for all your accidents.” “No, no, no, no, no…” My moan was now barely a mutter. Everything inside me was gone. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t use the potty… I really was just a baby! Mommy pulled the plug in the bathtub and started toweling me off, even while I softly blubbered. “I think you’re going to need a nap once I get your diaper on.” “Noooo naaaap!” “I’m getting mighty sick of hearing you whine ‘no’ over and over again. Now lets go get your baby pants on, unless you just want to stand here naked all day? You want that? You want to make mommy mad?” Still quietly sobbing, I shuffled over toward my bedroom, if you could call it that. More like a nursery. Mommy wouldn’t let me sleep with her anymore since I kept wetting the bed, and that was usually where Mister Robert slept when he stayed over, so there was no room for me. I slept and took naps in the guest room instead, which mommy had decorated with teddy bear and train decals on the walls, and Sesame Street or Pup Patrol bedsheets, whichever set wasn’t in the washing machine, on the bed (along with an uncomfortable plastic sheet). Toddler toys and stuffed animals were strewn around the floor, and there was still a faint smell of pee-pee in the air from previous nights’ accidents. Once she ushered me into the room and closed the door, she walked over to a mini-fridge in the corner of the room and pulled out a bottle of milk. Silently, she put in the bottle warmer sitting on top, then strode over to the closet and retrieved an unopened bag of diapers (she’d bought them to threaten me a week ago), a big beach towel, and a small bag I’d never seen before. All with a kind of scary efficiency, she unfurled the towel on the floor and set the diapers and bag down next to it. She turned to me with a cold look. “Lay down.” “Please, mommy…” She looked at her once-husband, still softly sobbing, cheeks wet with tears, a fresh coating of snot bubbling out of my nose and down over my mouth and down my chin, clutching a towel over my shoulders, shivering, my little pee-pee shriveled up even more than usual… A one-time junior law partner reduced to something so… “Pathetic,” she muttered. “I said, lay down.” “But I don’ wanna…” “LAY DOWN FOR YOUR DIAPER OR I SWEAR…” I crept a little closer, and then mommy grabbed my arm and, somehow without throwing me, quickly put me on my back on the makeshift changing pad, almost pinning me. She opened the plastic bag of diapers, pulled one out and started fluffing it, making sure I got a good look at the design. It was decorated with baby circus animals, each wearing its own diaper, and a few with pacifiers, baby bottles, rattles, and other infantile things. Once she was done fluffing, she opened it wide. “Lift your butt, diaper boy.” I never stopped sobbing. I obeyed and lifted my hips slightly, and mommy slid my diaper under me. Reaching into the mysterious bag, she then produced a bottle of baby powder and started sprinkling its snow all over my little pee-pee and tushy, rubbing it in with her other hand. I was embarrassed, but I liked the scent. Finally, she folded my diaper up over me, its cushioned stuffing hugging all my potty parts, and fastened the tapes. The whole time, she muttered, “Can’t use the toilet, can’t use the plastic potty in the hall, can’t hold his piss in the car, and now can’t hold his poop. Baby diapers it is.” The whole time, I just kept crying. “I’ll have to get a changing table for you, so I don’t have to bend over on the floor.” Once I was taped up, she got up and went to my dresser to get a new shirt. I sat up and looked at the puffy, crinkly diaper bulging between my legs. Every time I moved, the plastic crackled like firecrackers. I gingerly reached down to feel the plastic… “NO! You may not remove your diapers! Understand?” She lightly smacked my hand. “Now stand up.” I got up from the towel, trying to adjust my stance for all the padding between my legs. As I steadied myself, a long string of snot dripped down from my nose onto the towel. “Ugh, gross,” mommy said in disgust. She reached down back into the bag and got a pack of baby wipes. She took one and started roughly wiping my face down, removing the tears and snot. “You’re just a mess on both ends, aren’t you? Now arms up.” I complied, and she brought down a clean t-shirt over my head, one that had “BABY” in toy blocks printed on the front, and was just a little short, leaving my diaper on full display. “Now get into bed for your nap. Your bottle should be ready now.” I mournfully shuffled over to my bed and pulled back the sheets. Even after washing, there was still a dingy yellow stain there from repeated wettings, a reminder of why I was in the predicament. As I laid down, mommy came over with a warm bottle… and Jake. Jake was my best friend. He never yelled at me when I had accidents. He never called me stupid or smelly. He was always ready to give me hugs and comfort me. He wasn’t just my best friend, he was my only friend. I was so grateful Jake would stay with me for my nap. I reached out for him and clutched him close. “Now drink this. Maybe then you’ll calm down.” I was reluctant, since I wasn’t thirsty, and I was worried I’d wet the bed again if I drank anything. I shook my head no. “Well if you’re going to nap without your bottle, maybe you can nap without Jake.” I squeezed Jake tighter and moaned. “Then open up.” I opened my mouth a little and mommy slid the nipple in. Without thinking, I started suckling, and the warm milk started squirting out into my mouth, down my throat, and into my tummy. Mommy gently guided my free hand over the bottle and helped me grasp it, then pulled up the sheets. “Now don’t get out of bed until I tell you, and don’t try to take off your diaper. Just drink your bottle, and I’ll do some laundry.” With that, she turned off the lights, left the room, and closed the door. I kept suckling my bottle on autopilot while I looked at my situation. I was back in diapers, and I didn’t know how long until mommy let me try to potty train. I reached down under the blankie and felt the plastic covering my pee-pee. I knew I wouldn’t get the bed all wet, but I was still sad I couldn’t be a big boy anymore. I took the bottle out of my mouth and turned to Jake. “Can I still be a big boy?” I listened to Jake’s answer, then I responded. “I guess so. Mommy knows best.” I kept suckling the warm milk out of the bottle until it was all done. I was so sleepy from all the chaos that’d happened. Just as it was empty, I let the bottle fall from my mouth and hugged Jake tighter. At least I was warm. Warm from the milkies, warm from my blankie, warm from Jakie, and warm in my diapie… Did I just have another accident? I fell asleep before I could answer.

All characters are adults, but horribly immature. This is a work of fiction, not necessarily set in the real world. Every time you criticize online fetish erotica for being unrealistic, a fairy gets tax audited. Think of the fairies! I was a little leery of going in to Kelly’s bedroom while she was sleeping. It had been three hours now since I’d finally gotten my baby girl down. Kelly was normally a deep sleeper, but it always took forever to get her to calm down and go to sleep, doubly so when woken in the middle of the night. But I’d forgotten the case of my angel’s diapers in the car, and I knew they needed to be put away before morning. As I stood in the upstairs hallway, I briefly considered just setting the snipped-open bag outside her door, but I didn’t want to leave a single extra thing to deal with in the chaos of getting her ready for daycare. So I turned off the hallway light and carefully turned the doorknob… Kelly’s room was full of pinks and pastels, all illuminated by the nightlight in the corner of the room. The white noise machine was still filling the room with its soft roar from the top of her clothes drawer, while the oil diffuser made its own addition of lilac and vanilla. I looked over to the changing table and was reminded that there was only one disposable left on the shelf, and that I’d carelessly placed the evening’s story book on her changing pad. “Good thing I caught that before morning,” I thought. Being extra careful with the diaper bag’s plastic crinkle, I removed each of the diapers and stacked them neatly on the shelf. I also took a quick survey of her other supplies: Brand new bottle of baby powder, plenty of boosters still, the lotion bottle looked to be about half-full, baby wipes were running a little low, as was Kelly’s special diaper medicine. Her oversized diaper pail probably needed to be emptied soon, but there was no way I could get that done quietly. I’d take care of it tomorrow while Kelly was at daycare. Quickly and quietly, I put the storybook back on the shelf and cleaned up a few errant toys and clothes on the floor. And I was about to sneak out again, when my attention turned to the crib, and the angel sleeping inside. I crept up to the railing and looked down: Below me lied the center of my world. Kelly slept on her side in her Abby Cadabby pajamas, clutching Mr. Blue, her stuffed shark. It had been unseasonably warm the last few nights, and she had kicked off her blankets, her puffy padded butt and the waistband of her diaper plain to see. Her mouth was just slightly open, and a little spot of drool had formed on her pillow. And just a few inches away from her mouth, her nighttime bottle, now empty. Even with her short bob cut, her hair had partially obscured her eyes, but in the dim light I could just make out her eyelids moving. She was dreaming! I stood there a while, watching her body gently rise and fall with her breathing, and thought about how we had gotten here and how long it had taken. I thought about all the visits to the Regression Clinic; all the complicated restraints and cuffs I’d had to use at first; standing next to her while she was tied up with her headphones and goggles, a syringe in one hand, waiting for the computer screen to indicate the right moment to administer her hypnosis medicine (I had to; the Clinic was closed for Covid and I didn’t want to lose any progress); the ridiculous wait list to get her into regression daycare; and all the tantrums, carpet stains, and messy diapers I’d had to deal with. But it was moments like these that made it all worth it. There was just a perfect little creature sleeping peacefully right in front of me, and every time she called me “daddy,” it just made my heart melt. I leaned over the railing and reached down to pick up her empty bottle. As I drew close, I saw her face shift slightly, the rhythm of her breathing change, and through the hiss of the white noise machine, a soft grown escape from her lips. I froze and braced myself, waiting for her to suddenly shoot up and start demanding more stories, more cookies, or another episode of Bluey. But she didn’t wake up. Instead, Kelly shifted her legs slightly, and let a small sigh out. I knew what was happening. I reached down to the seat of her pajamas, and, very gently, placed my hand on her bum. Sure enough, I could feel her padded tush warming up. Whatever silly little girl dream she was having, it looked like it now included making peepees in her nighttime diaper! I smiled down at my adorable little princess. Kelly was so little, so sleepy, so full of milk and juice (and regression meds), and so busy with her dream that she just couldn’t hold it anymore. Of course she couldn’t hold her daytime peepees (or poopies) anymore either, nor was she really trying anymore. But seeing her like this, wetting her diaper in her sleep at night, completely unaware, just made her look more helpless, fragile, and special. Regressing Kelly was the best thing I’d ever done! I was about to sneak out of the room again when I paused. Kelly’s a heavy sleeper, but she’s an even heavier wetter. She had had a second sippy cup of juice at dinner, and it was only a little after 10 now, so she would probably wet again before morning. I always put a booster in Miss Niagra’s diaper for nighttime and naps, but would she still leak? Maybe I should change her now… One last look at my baby angel put an end to that idea. How could I possibly wake my little baby girl now?! I softly closed Kelly’s bedroom door, went back downstairs to put the empty diaper package in the trash, then decided it was time for me to have a few dreams. In the morning I would have to change a very soggy diaper, get her dressed, comb her hair, help her eat her breakfast, and get her into the car and off to daycare, all without a meltdown if I’m lucky. And I still need to order more meds, and empty the diaper bin, and maybe change wet bedsheets. But right now, the universe is perfect. Kelly, my regressed baby girl, is sleeping without a care in the world.

Does your little/sub/diaperslave not use the toilet? These are some fun humiliating songs to make them sing (and dance to)! Do they need to pee? Make them sing before they're allowed! Make them sing before giving them a change! Make them sing before changing them out of their sodden clothes! Make them sing before giving them permission to get out of bed! Better still if there are tears running down their face! I designed these song meters to be gender-flexible, so you can swap boy/girl or daddy/mommy or undies/panties as needed. (Though I'm not sure what to do about NB piss-pants; suggestions welcome.) Diaper Wetting I'm going to wet my diaper! My pants really crinkle It's handy when I tinkle I'm going to wet my diaper! I drank a lot of juice So I'm going to let loose I wear my potty every day So I can do my pee-pee without delaaaay! I'm going to wet my diaper! 'Cuz I'm a baby boy! [Start wetting] Psss, psss, psss, ooh! Psss, psss, psss, ohh! [Repeat until all done] I just wet my diaper! Soggy diapers are the norm Squishy, yellow and warm I just wet my diaper Mommy put me in a Pamp And I made it all damp My pants are starting to sag Someone had better grab the diaper baaaag! I just wet my diaper 'Cuz I'm a baby boy! Diaper Messing I'm going to poop my diaper! I ate a bunch of fruit But now I need to toot I'm going to poop my diaper! Now I'm going to squat down And push out something brown My face looks like I'm trying to think But the truth is I'm about to raise a stiiiink! I'm going to poop my diaper! 'Cuz I'm a baby girl! [Start pushing] Pushie, pushie, pushie, ooh! Pushie, pushie, pushie, ooh! [Repeat until all done] I just pooped my diaper! I gave a big push Now there's poopie on my tush I just pooped my diaper! I just made a present But it doesn't smell too pleasant I bent down and made boom It's pretty obvious to everyone in the roooom! I just pooped my diaper 'Cuz I'm a baby girl! Pants Wetting I'm about to wet my undies! I didn't use the potty And that was very naughty I'm about to wet my undies! I was busy playing But my holding strength is fraying Now I'm doing the pee-pee dance And I'm moments away from going in my paaaants! I'm about to wet my undies! Just like a baby boy! [Start wetting] Drip, drip, drip, ooh! Drip, drip, drip, ooh! [Repeat until all done] I just wet my undies! I didn't notice I had to go And I couldn't hold my flow I just wet my undies! I made pee-pee everywhere Everybody point and stare Tell everyone the news: My accident is dribbling into my shooooes! I just wet my undies! Just like a baby boy! Bedwetting I hope I don't wet my jam-jams! If I wet the bed again That'll be another stain I hope I don't wet my jam-jams! Daddy always gets mad He says I need a puppy pad The chart says I've wet five times this week It seems like every night, my bladder springs a leeeeak! I hope I don't wet my jam-jams! 'Cuz I'm no baby girl! [go to sleep] I just wet my jam-jams! I just woke up and I'm groggy But I see my sheets are soggy I just wet my jam-jams! I'm sitting in a puddle And I'm gonna be in trouble I was having such a lovely dream But at the same time, I released my streeeeam! I just wet my jam-jams! Maybe I'm really a baby girl!

Glad you're back!

This is the second time I've read one of these lately. Last time, it was a child/teen who claimed that their mother was an ABDL forcing her fetish on her kids, and they were are their wits end about what to do. It was a total crock then, and it still is now. Somebody's out there writing this bogus crap about all those sick fetishists and the lives they're ruining, and there's no point arguing or discussing it like it's reality.

I'd like to know more about how these apps use their data, and who they share it with. (Yeah, I'm that guy.)

Does anyone have any recommendations for stories with soft or nurturing mommies? It seems like so many of the stories I find feature domineering women giving out spankings and enemas, and just humiliating people. I'd like to see more like the recent "Before Daycare" series, where the caregiver gently coaxes the little into diaper dependence with cuddles and encouragement. What recs can people offer? Free or paid, here or on any other boards.

Chapter 3: Expo Hall: K&C Home Products Booth 202 (Upper Hall), Day 1 A middle-aged woman was sitting in her kitchen, sipping her morning coffee, when a younger woman rushed through and grabbed a granola bar off the shelf. “Gotta run mom! Accounting class today.” She started toward the door when the older woman stopped her. “Charlotte! Just one moment, young lady. Do you remember what we talked about?” The daughter’s face was flushed with embarrassment. “Yes mom. I’m wearing my Daisy Girls.” “Come over here. Turn around.” Charlotte whined, then walked over to her mother and turned her back. Pulling back the waistband of her jeans, the mother could plainly see her daughter was indeed wearing Daily Girls Accident Pants, covered in multi-colored flowers. “This is so unnecessary. I promise I’m not going to have an accident in the classroom. It was just that one time.” “I know it’s embarrassing, hon, but you’ve been having a lot of close calls lately, and I just want to make sure that if you do have an accident, you’re protected.” She gave her daughter a kiss on the forehead. “Now don’t be late for class. Love ya.” “Bye mom.” Charlotte then left through the door. The mother then turned to the camera. “In a few months, my Charlotte will be completely regressed and rediapered. My husband and I are using a comprehensive plan for her to lose her potty training, and for this part of the plan, we’re using all-new Daisy Girls Accident Pants.” She was now holding a bag of Daisy Girls Pants up for the camera. “All-new Daisy Girls, with patented RediWet™ technology, are the right choice for this phase of my little girl’s retraining. They’re medicated to block bladder and bowel signals, when used in conjunction with hypnotic treatment and dietary changes. And the delayed-sensation absorption layer makes sure she won’t realize she’s had an accident until she’s already done.” Now she held up a smart phone. “And full Internet connectivity means I can monitor her progress from home, so I know right away once she’s wet.” A caption at the bottom of the screen read, “Smartphone app required for Internet monitoring. Data rates and surcharges may apply.” “I love my daughter. And with help from Daisy Girls, she’ll be my sweet little baby again!” The picture dissolved to a computer-rendered diagram of a pair of Daisy Girls, and a male announcer began speaking. “The all-new Daisy Girls Accident Pants use patented RediWet™ technology to encourage wet and messy accidents, and move your little one to full-time diapering. The secret is our three-pronged approach that makes it easy! First, newly-developed medications…” --- Vaughn spotted a couple who had stopped to view the looping informational video (commercials, really) on one of three video displays in the K&C Home Products booth. First-timers, based on their name badges. He’d already closed one big sale this morning, and he was thirsty for more. So he took a moment to straighten his tie, check his belt line, and put on his sales face before walking over to greet the new visitors. K&C was the oldest continuous RegCon sponsor. And the biggest. This wasn’t just a table and someone handing out pamphlets; this was 600 square feet of interactive displays, sizing guides, consultation desks, and of course, pyramid stacks of all their grown-size diapers and other incontinence products, in every size and color imaginable, with a staff of five brand ambassadors mingling with convention-goers around the booth, ready to answer questions, show off their latest products, ring up sales, and set up diaper subscriptions. And overseeing the whole operation was Cathleen Holt, the recently-named Division Vice President for Sales and Marketing. When the marketing department put out the e-mail a few months ago looking for volunteers to become brand ambassadors, Vaughn jumped at the opportunity, sending a response to Cathleen straight away. He had only been with the company for a year, but he really impressed the boss with his enthusiasm and how much he knew about all the products. He even expressed admiration for the company; K&C was one of the first major diaper manufacturers to pursue the regression market a few years ago, and now held a commanding lead among competing brands. Cathleen was clearly impressed. “You obviously believe in the product. If I can make you a subject matter expert, I think you’ll make a great addition.” The boss gave him a single-purpose MP3 player covering all the product information, and stuck him on a plane to RegCon. It had all happened pretty fast, and he felt bewildered having listened to that headset all through the flight, but that’s how Vaughn found himself in the Expo Hall at the convention, approaching two potential customers. “Hello. Do you have any questions about Daisy Girls?” The man and woman turned away from the television. Vaughn felt a little bit like a used car salesman, swooping in like this, but he really wanted to impress the execs, and that meant enrolling diaper subscriptions. It was clear Cathleen had taken a liking to the junior analyst, and if he could prove his worth over the next few days, the sky was the limit for his career! The woman gestured over to the video, “This stuff looks pretty advanced, but is this only available for girls?” “Daisy Girls are designed and formulated with girls in mind. They’ll fit a boy, but many of these features are also available in our 3rd generation SecurAlls. We have a few options over this way.” Vaughn led his new customers to the opposite side of a prominent tower of bright pink accident pants. Another stack of their less-feminine, more medical-looking counterparts, SecurAll protective undergarments, sat behind. “You’re not the first people to get confused when they didn’t mention SecurAlls this morning. We’re just trying to market the Daisy Girls to more people. New product.” Vaughn ran through all the sales points in his mind and began his pitch. “While girls and young women are generally more accepting of childish designs on their underwear, boys will resist it, and reject their training. Plain white pants will ease them into their rediapering.” He pointed to the labeling on the bag. “It even says, ‘For men,’ so it’ll be easier to help him along. The man spoke up. “But these have all the drugs and phone stuff as the girly pants?” “Some of them do. We realize that every regression case is different, and even though our medication layer is tested safe, many mommies and daddies are reluctant. That’s why all our products have medicated and non-medicated versions. You just have to know what to look for.” He held up one bag of 15. “See how this bag has a picture a picture of an orange blossom? That means these pants are treated with vasocaine, which dulls bladder fullness signals reaching the brain.” He picked up a different bag. “This one with a blue jay on the front is un-medicated.” “Wouldn’t that cause confusion? Why not just say whether it’s medicated on the bag? “Because we don’t want our littles to get spooked. Remember that at this stage of diaper training, we’re trying to head off any resistance, at least until they grow comfortable with their protection. In our market testing, even when we told subjects the medication was just to prevent rash, they still rejected it. So parents need to be a little sneaky.” The woman pointed at the bag. “And what this little square… computer thingy?” “They’re called QR codes. You can use these to pair any of our diapering products with our K&C Kare app. It helps you track progress, and it makes sure they can’t hide any accidents from you, or take it off during the day.” Vaughn placed the two bags back on the display table and straightened them up a bit. “Well, you certainly seem knowledgeable,” the man said. “Thank you sir. We’re here to answer any questions you might have. But if I may ask you a question, why do you want to rediaper your little one?” Of course, Vaughn left out the real reason the reason he knew so much about the product line, and it wasn’t because he loved studying ad copy. Ever since he was just a kid, he had been fascinated with diapers. He loved their cuddly feel, the smell of baby powder, and the way he looked in the mirror. And even though he never wet his diapers, it just felt right wearing them. He had already sampled pretty much the entire K&C line, boys and girls, and he wanted to be the first DL in his chatroom to wear Daisy Girls. They were debuting at RegCon this year, so at least for a few days, this was the only place to get some. His original plan was just to grab a bag after the conference, during tear-down. But after listening to all the product specs and sales points over the last day and a half, Vaughn could hardly wait. He really wanted to slip into some protection, right away! Early that morning, he came down to the booth and saw a single bag just sitting on a table. Just his size, and the picture of the squirrel on the packaging meant no vasocaine. Animals meant it wasn’t medicated, flowers and plants meant it was. Without bothering any of the early birds milling around, he quietly rang up a sale to a fake name, ran back up to his room, tried it on, posed a little, took a quick picture for the chatroom, got dressed, and went down to the booth with his naughty little secret. --- Charlotte, the young woman from earlier in the video, was now sitting in a lecture hall full of other students, watching an instructor at the front of the room. If you looked closely, you could just see the pink waistband of her Daisy Girls pants peeking out from under her blue jeans. She was tapping away at her laptop, just like every other student in the room, but she was also fidgeting a little, like she was uncomfortable. As the teacher at the white board droned on about the day’s lesson, Charlotte stopped moving. She wasn’t exactly frozen, just suddenly relaxed. A male announcer spoke, “All of these features combine to guide your little sweetheart to full diaper dependency! Charlotte here doesn’t even know she’s wetting! Or that she’s leaked a little! RediWet™ technology’s tested-safe medicated treatment kept her from realizing that she had to pee, or even that she was going! Plus our delayed-sensation absorption layer will keep her skin dry up to 15 minutes after wetting. In a few moments though, she’ll feel that she’s had a wetting accident, and didn’t even know it!” A smartphone appeared superimposed over the scene. The screen read, “Wetting Alert! 9:17 AM (210 mL),” decorated with flowers, butterflies, and a big grinning yellow droplet. The announcer continued, “But you’ll know. Full Internet connectivity will notify you every time your little one makes her pants all soggy, letting you track progress.” A caption at the bottom of the screen read, “Smartphone app required for Internet monitoring. Data rates and surcharges may apply.” The professor dismissed the class, and all the students moved to pack up their belongings and leave. Charlotte closed her laptop and stood up to open her bookbag when she suddenly froze and looked down. Two small wet spots, about the size of quarters, had appeared on her inner thighs. Her face crinkled up as if she were about to cry. The professor, the only person who had noticed the scene, just smiled and shook his head. Looks like another student will be dropping out in a couple weeks. The announcer continued, “Charlotte’s confidence has taken a big hit, and she’ll be ready for full-time diapering in no time at all!” --- From the little consulting desk built into the booth decorations, Vaughn could clearly hear the commercial that had been running on repeat all that morning. Surely by the end of the conference, he’d be able to recite it from memory. But for now, he had more pressing concerns. His two customers were the Lewises. They explained how they were getting concerned about their own 14-year-old. He was spending hours after school sitting at his computer playing violent video games, screaming unspeakable obscenities into his headset, and increasingly, at his parents. Vaughn assured them that their story was a common one, and that a well-executed regression plan would bring their baby boy back from the brink. It was a friendly talk, for the most part. They also chatted about some of the other reasons people regressed their kids, how big the convention was getting, the different types of preschools opening up, and other gossip. But even as they bantered, Vaughn was awash with a sense of urgency. Mrs. Lewis had mentioned they had a seat reserved in a regression roadmap workshop that morning, and that they would have to leave very soon. Vaughn knew that if they left, he would miss his chance, so he was trying every trick in his arsenal to keep the conversation open and move them toward a sale. “This sounds like a pretty solid deal, but maybe we should come back after we put our regression plan together,” Mr. Lewis said. “Well maybe not, sir. The workshop can be very busy, and I know from past years that a lot of parents don’t always finish their plans during allotted time. You’ll be shocked how fast an hour and a half flies by. I just think it would give both of you a leg up if you decided a few things ahead of time.” “Like what?” Mrs. Lewis asked. “Just some of the basics. Like what age you want to regress your son to. Or whether you want him mobile or not. Or what level of potty control you want, and whether you want to use hypnosis, meds, or both. And based on what you’re telling me, you’ll want full diaper dependence to make him fully reliant on you, and to pry him away from those awful shooters. This is just going to be one tool in your your arsenal, but it is a tool you’ll need to decide on.” “It’s pretty pricey…” Vaughn wasn’t normally a sales shark like this, but for some reason, he was just consumed with an urge to close the sale. This sale. On the outside, of course, he looked calm, but inside he felt like he might just explode if he couldn’t talk them into a subscription. “I know it’s a big commitment, but think of it this way: A year from now, when your son’s transformed back into the sweet little boy you remember, you’ll know it was worth it. You’ll know you made the right choice, for him and your family.” Mr. and Mrs. Lewis turned to each other and spoke in hushed tones. Then, finally, they turned back to Vaughn. “All right,” Mr. Lewis said, “We can start with a regular supply of SecurAlls for now. We can change or cancel the subscription later, right?” “Of course! You can log into our website or even use the app to move up to thicker diapers, depending where your regression plan takes you.” Vaughn eagerly began entering order information into his laptop. “You’ll want one bag a week to start. That will give you some spares for when the accidents really start to pick up. Oh, may I have a major credit card, please?” At last! Vaughn felt a wave of relief wash over him, as if an incredible pressure had been released. Mr. Lewis opened up his wallet to retrieve his platinum card as his wife interjected, “We’ll want the medicated version, with va…” She stumbled a little. “Vasocaine. Absolutely. Like we discussed earlier, these pants will have flowers on the packaging. Nothing to indicate medication.” As Vaughn inserted the credit card into his attached chip reader, Cathleen just happened to walk by. What perfect timing! She’d be so proud of what he’d just done! “Hello, sir. Ma’am. Has Vaughn been able to answer all your questions?” Mr. Lewis stood up to shake Cathleen’s hand. “Absolutely! He’s been a big help for us. Bright young man.” Vaughn kept typing to finalize the order. “Mr. and Mrs. Lewis, this is Cathleen Holt, Vice President of Sales. Mr. and Mrs. Lewis are going to be regressing their son, and they’ve ordered a subscription to medicated SecurAlls to get started.” “Congratulations both of you! You’re going to find this so rewarding. I personally have regressed five little boys myself, and watching them change into diaper babies always just melts my heart.” Huh, Vaughn thought to himself. I didn’t realize she had that many kids. “Just one little note for you two”, Cathleen continued. “I don’t want you to get confused when your package arrives. All our medicated products have animals on the packaging, not plants. Your son’s special pants will have a blue jay on them.” What? Mrs. Lewis spoke up. “Well we have the regression roadmap workshop starting in a few minutes, and I’d like to make sure we get a good seat. Thank you very much Ms. Holt. And you too, Vaughn!” The packages with animals ARE medicated? I’ve been absorbing that drug all morning?! Vaughn slowly and discretely reached down to his trousers and gave his pants a gentle squeeze. Even before he could feel the wetness in his pants, he could plainly feel that the Daisy Girls he’d been wearing were swollen now. He’d just wet himself! What if he’s leaked? After the Lewises walked off, Cathleen then turned to Vaughn. There was something odd about her smile. “Great job! Two subscriptions! You’ve really been working hard this morning. I knew I made the right choice bringing you here. I know you really want to impress me, don’t you?” Vaughn was still sitting in the booth, afraid to move. “Um… yes. Who wouldn’t want to impress the big boss?” “Well don’t stop while you’re ahead, silly goose! Get back out there. We’re just starting to get busy now.” Vaughn gingerly stood up, his accident pants now clearly letting him know he’d peed. “Actually boss, can I just run up to my hotel room real quick? I think I may have left something up there.” Cathleen still wore an inscrutable smile. “Another workshop is letting out now. There are going to be dozens of baby parents coming in here looking for diapers for their babies. You have a break scheduled at one. You can do personal stuff then.” With that, Cathleen left him. It had already been 2 hours since he’d put on the Daisy Girls and began absorbing the vasocaine through his skin. And the longer he went, the stronger the affects would be, and the longer they’d last. Vaughn could be stuck wearing Daisy Girls for quite a while… --- Charlotte’s mother was in the living room reading a book when her daughter sidled in through the door, trying to avoid anyone. “Charlotte? Aren’t you going to say hello? Or give your mother a hug?” As Charlotte turned to face her mother, you could plainly see the wet spots on her jeans had grown, like she’d had another accident since fleeing her class. She began to cry. “Mommy! I don’t understand what’s happening! I just looked down and I… I had an accident!” The mother crossed the room to hug and console her crying little girl. “Oh honey, it’s okay. It’s not anybody’s fault. Mommy will help you get cleaned up. Let me draw you a nice bubble bath, then afterwards you can listen to music on your headphones. That always relaxes you.” As the pair began walking upstairs, the mother turned back to the camera. “Daisy Girls: The first step for diaper dependence. Talk to a K&C representative for more information!”

Well, I guess there are all going to be a month apart. New chapter will be ready today or tomorrow.

Thank you for writing these! You don't get to see much quality soft domme fiction out there.

Wet Or if I'm feeling fancy, go potty pants in my diaper

Chapter 2: Seminar: Hypnosis and Conditioning Langfoss Room, Day 1 The first morning of the convention was always a little bewildering. People were still trying to get the lay of the convention center, decide which events to attend, figure out where the good seats were, and generally try to take it all in. Even as conventioneers were filtering into the room to learn about psychological regression, half of them still had their faces buried in their maps and smart phones, trying to assure themselves they were in the right place. The volunteer monitoring the room was busy guiding people to their seats. “Welcome! This is the hypnosis seminar. You can have a seat anywhere.” Some people sighed with relief, and others turned back around into the atrium to find something else. Even though the room volunteer was technically supposed to assist with the A/V equipment, Dr. Willett was alone at the front of the room, trying to find the magical combination of settings and cords that would allow her to play audio off her laptop. This is who Elaine Fowler was watching idly as she waited for the presentation to start. Like pretty much everyone else there, she was bewildered, curious, and jet-lagged. The room around her slowly filled up with conventioneers, holding their notebooks, laptops, precariously-balanced coffee cups, and pilfered danish. Elaine had been prodded into coming to the convention by Val, one of her girlfriends. Two years prior, she had regressed her own daughter after she’d gotten caught selling exam answer keys online, and now Val was one of those real hardcore regression mavens. Her social media feed was filled with regression articles, regression memes, videos from Florence McKnight, and photos of every conceivable angle of “her widdle angel” as she had settled in to her new life. She had even dragged Elaine to a meeting of their local regression club, held in someone’s home on the west side. She’d spied a 20-ish boy with a onesie and stuffed lion peeking from the top of the staircase before the hostess caught him and shooed him off to bed. “He’s just a little curious,” she’d said. It all seemed strange at first, taking all these young men and women and putting them in diapers. But it slowly became a normal part of life, especially as she began to encounter more and more regressed people toddling around her city and saw more and more ads for adult diapers on TV. By the time the park near her home installed a full-sized changing table in the bathroom building by the playground, it wasn’t surprising, or even weird anymore. What was surprising was Winnie’s transformation during the same time. The overhead projector started whirring, and as it warmed up the first slide of a presentation appeared: Practical Hypnotic and Conditioning Techniques in Regression and Rediapering. Pleased with her triumph over another hotel A/V system, Dr. Willett quipped to the room, “I’ve done so many seminars and symposia during my career, I could probably wire a radio station.” She turned to the room volunteer. “Are we about ready to begin then?” The volunteer, someone Elaine supposed was about Winnie’s age, moved swiftly to the front of the room and began reading off an index card: “Good morning everyone. I would like to welcome you all to RegCon and our seminar this morning on hypnosis and conditioning, and how they can help you regress your little ones. Our presenter this morning is Doctor Kathy Willett. Doctor Willett is a distinguished professor of psychology at Galbraith University’s Upham School of Psychiatric Medicine and is co-director of the university’s Regression Research Center, where she and a dedicated team of researchers, doctors, nurses, and technicians work to understand and develop new mind control techniques in the service of regression and rediapering. She earned her PhD in psychology in 1987 from Marysville State University and afterward conducted post-doctoral research in Europe before taking her current professorship at Galbraith. Dr. Willett is considered a leading world authority in hypnotic regression. She has consulted with numerous hospital systems, daycares, and state and national health departments around the globe, and is author of the book, Hypnosis to Diapers, and we are honored to have her here today. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Doctor Kathy Willett.” The audience offered their best 9 AM applause as the volunteer walked briskly up the side aisle to close the doors at the rear of the room. “Good morning, mommies and daddies, and thank you very much Amber for that kind introduction. As she said, I have been been researching the transformation of young men and women into loving diaper-clad babies through hypnosis and classical conditioning for over 30 years. This is a very exciting time in the discipline, as our scientific understanding has only in the last five years allowed us to make serious inroads to developing standardized best practices to encourage positive behaviors like coloring, giggling, wetsies, and play, and implant and reinforce the idea that the subject is a sweet little baby.” Winnie used to be a sweet little baby, Elaine thought. She remembered her little girl when her very eyes used to smile. She’d sing along to Train Town on television or stage elaborate trampoline games with her stuffed animals on the bed. She saw the entire world in bright primary colors, and the worst thing that would ever happen to her was when she’d have to eat green beans in her high chair. “...not mind control, but suggestion. These new findings on the brain’s use of sigma waves, and new technologies allowing us to transmit sigma waves of our own, allow us to plant ‘what-if’ ideas into the subject’s head. And this experiment shows how these what-ifs can allow the regressor to put their thumb on the scale.” The slide show advanced, and a photo appeared of a young woman in a laboratory, wearing headphones. “Subject 165 was part of an experiment on using sigmas to sow self-doubt in patients’ ability to hold their urine. Test subjects were university students who volunteered for what they thought was a study on understanding foreign accents. In addition to playing audio, these specially-designed headphones read and transmit sigma wives with a computer-designed pattern. 165 here was in the test group, and we gave her a suggestion that any need to use the toilet was instantly an emergency. No matter how urgent it was in reality, the subject believed they were moments away from an accident. Let’s have a look at 165 after three treatments…” The projector now switched to video of a surveillance camera of a college building hallway, a few students milling around languidly. Suddenly, a young woman, Subject 165, came out of one of the rooms, hunched over, knees together, both hands in her crotch as she silently hopped down the hall with a look of panic on her face. “Oh dear. Still no audio. Amber, could you try switching the speakers to channel 3?” A few clicks and beeps from the back of the room, and the speakers built into the drop ceiling tiles popped to life, just as the cameras switched to the interior of a ladies room. Subject 165 rushed in, then let out an anguished moan as she saw all the stalls were all taken, their doors shot and latched. “No! No! Please! Someone let me in! I don’t want to pee myself!” She was crying now, and her whole body was shaking and she banged on each of the doors, breathlessly begging. “Please let me in! I can’t hold it! Oh my god, I can’t hold it!” The video feed had a clock on the bottom edge, so everyone could see it was only about 15 seconds before one of the stall doors opened and a lady came out. She barely had time to apologize for taking so long before 165 shoved her out of the way and raced into the stall. She didn’t even close the door. The camera angle still afforded her some privacy, but not the audio feed, which captured the sound of pee hitting the toilet water and a sob of relief before the video ended. “93 percent of test group subjects reported frequent episodes like the one you just saw compared to only 2 percent in the control group. Efficacy was just slightly more prevalent in women, but men still had a great response. Several subjects, including 165 here, even reported the sensation of having leaked, even though they hadn’t.” “Question.” A man two rows back raised his hand. “Do these sigma waves impel an urgent need to use the toilet, or do they weaken the urethral sphincter?” “Neither,” Dr. Willett responded. “The need to urinate just comes along in the normal course of the day, and actual bladder strength is unaffected, at least initially. What our sigma suggestions do is plant the idea that the subject is unable to hold on. This should be an ordinary restroom trip, but perception becomes reality.” “Initially?” “We’re actually in the middle of another study on that. We’ve found that the repeated clenching over time can cause spasms in the bladder, similar to what men may experience with an enlarged prostate. We’re trying to determine how strong the affect is.” Another conventioneer asked raised a hand. “No leaks. Do they always make it to the toilet in time?” “In the beginning, almost always. If you’re wondering what the point is of all of this, besides torture, for the regressor, these methods reinforce the idea in your little that they can’t be trusted to use the potty all by themselves. After extended courses of treatment, subjects begin to view these potty emergencies as lost causes, and they wet. So the switch to diapers is already set.” The crowd murmured with approval and light applause. “Now, moving along, we’ll discuss nighttime wetting. Unfortunately, sigma waves tend to interfere with normal sleep patterns, so we can’t just pop a pair of headphones on the subject when they go to bed. But we have seen some success with techniques similar to what we showed you before. Doctor Garrett at Leeds University was able to convince subjects that their bed was…” “Convince.” The word brought Elaine back to her latest fight with Winnie. The girl had decided, out of nowhere, that the makeup she had been using contained “toxic chemicals” (she wouldn’t elaborate), and she was convinced that only a specialty brand off the Internet would keep her skin healthy. Elaine didn’t believe any of it. Of course she understood that it took a lot of time and money for a young lady like Winnie to look her best, but this was something else. She only knew about this expensive makeup because some beauty vlog had promoted it. It seemed like Winnie was taking her entire new persona from the Internet. She was always convinced that only the latest Italian handbag would complete her look. Convinced that separates from the department store would not be sufficient. Convinced she needed a full hour to do her hair in the morning, to impress… who knew? Elaine had tried asking her daughter whether there was a boy she had her eye on, but what little intelligence she could gather from her teachers and friends’ parents said it wasn’t for boys, but the other girls. Winnie was fashioning herself as the queen bee of her senior year, building a status to lord over the rest of her school. And what of the cost? Her husband was a successful investment banker and they had always been comfortable, but all these designer goods were adding up. And beyond that, it was clear Winnie was becoming spoiled. Teachers were all remarking how she would act cruel towards the other students. And Elaine couldn’t deny her daughter’s attitude had shifted against her as well. Her mother had become little more than a bank clerk, a rubber stamp for whatever latest must-have accessory she needed. Her father too. “...after seven treatments, here’s an interview with Subject 843, discussing side effects from the pain reliever he thought he was testing:” Another video brought Elaine out of her reverie. A young man was sitting in an office looking at an interviewer behind the camera. He was dressed like a typical college student in jeans and a polo shirt. He was mostly calm, but he fidgeted around as he sat. Elaine quickly surmised this wasn’t a potty dance—not entirely; he just didn’t like sitting still. He was also hugging a small stuffed raccoon. “Well Mister ***, that about does it for this test. Just a few questions. Have you noticed any ringing in your ears over the last few days?” Subject 843 didn’t answer. He was almost sitting sideways in the chair. “***, can you answer my question?” “Oh yeah. My eaws are how I heaw.” He then giggled. The interviewer slowly began to change her tone as she spoke. “Your ears are how you hear?” “Yeah.” “And do you know how you see things?” 843 nodded. “What do you use to see? Can you show me?” He pointed to one of his feet and started laughing hilariously. “You see with your feet? That’s not right, silly goose! Can you show me your eyes?” The regressed little boy was nearly upside-down now in the chair, still squirming. “Okay.” Finally, he pointed to his left eye, poking himself on the eyelid, then tumbled out of the chair onto the floor giggling. “Good job! You see with your eyes! Such a smart little boy!” The interviewer then appeared in frame and helped the test subject back up to his feet. “So we’re just going to go use the potty, and then you can go back to the playcenter. You like it there, don’t you.” She pinched his cheek. “Yeah, I wike da swides, an da sanbox, an I pway wit da twucks!” “You can play with the trucks, but first you gotta go potty, okay? Oh! And don’t forget this! He’d be pretty lonely if you left him here.” She handed him the stuffed raccoon he’d dropped. “Dats Chestuh.” “Chester? What a great name! C’mon sweetie…” The interviewer led the now-infantile young man out of the room and the video ended. Several people in the room had cooed. One woman in the back muttered, “I could eat him up.” “Now as I mentioned, this is one of the most short-lived affects we’ve seen. Intensity can increase after repeated treatments, but so far not duration. After 30 minutes in our playcenter lab, 843 unfortunately was right back to his pre-law studies.” Another hand went up. “How many different treatments are you able to successfully at once?” “Well, we’re really not sure at this time. We’re almost ready to put out clinical standards, but so far we’ve only been giving treatments in an experimental paradigm, and that means doing one thing at a time.” “The reason I ask is, I wonder whether toddler behavior could be prolonged if done in tandem with urinary uncertainty.” “It’s long been accepted wisdom that multiple treatments, not just with hypnosis, but also medical treatments and socialization, yield stronger results. So I could easily see, say, a diaper school with hypnosis and pharmaceuticals effecting a long-term change. Now how are we doing on time, Amber?” “I think we have time for one more question.” Several attendees raised their hands now, trying to get one last bit of info before moving along to the next session. Finally, Dr. Willett picked one. “About the headphones: Are they the only viable option for transmitting sigma waves?” “Well sir, I think you’ll find transmitters fitted into almost everything you could imagine with the vendors. There are baseball caps, glasses, earbuds… everything under the sun. Once again, these are only hypnotic suggestions; in a clinical or real world setting, the treatment plan would seek to integrate hypnosis into subjects’ interests, like politics, technology, fashion, athletics, gaming…” “I’m sorry, what do you mean by fashion?” Elaine had just blurted out her question. “Well, I’m not telling anyone to sew a sigma transmitter into an Italian handbag or anything like that. I’m saying that we can use your child’s existing interests as a springboard for regression.” “So... a suggestion that rediapering is the hottest new style trend?” “Yes, I suppose so.” Now the room volunteer spoke up. “I’m afraid that’s our time. Thank you Dr. Willett for joining us this week, and for all the work you do.” The audience applauded again, and Dr. Willett flipped to one final slide, containing an e-mail address. “Now I can’t really do any private consulting right now. I’m in the middle of preparing a major grant. But if there were questions about today’s presentation that we didn’t have time to answer, do send them over and I will answer them. Thank you for listening to me talk, and good luck to all of you mommies and daddies!” If the convention-goers were sluggish at the beginning of the session, now they were energized. Dr. Willett and the room volunteer got busy disconnecting all the electronics while all the attendees marched out into the atrium. They understood now there was a path forward; they could get the babies they really wanted! Elaine Fowler walked out with a smile like the cat who’d caught the canary. Winnie’s fashion obsession would be the perfect tool. She could use some light subterfuge to get her hypnotized with sigma waves, then plant a suggestion that potty training is passe, and diapers are in. With that in place, Little Miss Fashion Victim won’t be caught dead on a toilet. She could hear the begging already: “But mom, everyone is wearing diapers now! I’m convinced I’ll be an outcast if I don’t! Puh-leeze?” Of course with her luck she’d demand some expensive haute-couture diapers, but there would be ways to deal with that, too. Elaine was convinced of it. She’d ask around with some of the regression services later. But she wouldn’t just use hypnosis. It was only the first day of the con. There were other things to try...

Abena Abri-Flexes ABU AlphaGatorz ABU BareBums ABU BunnyHopps ABU DinoRawrz ABU Little Kings ABU Little Pawz ABU PeekABUs ABU Preschool Cloth-Backed Bambino Bellissimos Changing Times Bear Hugz Crinklz Originals Rearz Lil Monsters Rearz Princess Pinks Rearz Safaris Tykables Overnights You can see I have a preference for AB Universe. I just feel like I get the best fit from them. I love their cloth-backed diapers, but Little Pawz are my go-to.

Another chapter today or tomorrow. Proofreading now. ?

I'll see your cactus, and raise you a Venus fly trap!