BabyAnna

"Hi Mom, how are you doing?" "Who are you? Get away from me! Nurse? NURSE!" The nurse came quickly over, stepped between Abigail and her mother. "It's ok Mrs Green, it's just Abigail. You remember Abi don't you? Your lovely daughter?" Mrs Green looked at Abi in confusion. "Abigail? Who's Abigail! Where's Simon? I need to talk to Simon." She started twisting and turning in her seat, knitting falling to the floor as she started to panic. Abi sighed. This was happening more often, despite the medication. She leaned forward, took her mother's hand, held it gently between her own. "It's ok, you're safe." She avoided calling her mother Mom, accepting that her role of daughter had changed now, would never be the same. "Where's Simon? Why isn't he here?" Abi and the nurse exchanged glances. "Dad's dead," said Abi quietly, "You buried him 14 years ago." As her mother subsided, memories perhaps trickling in, Abi leaned forward, gave her a hug. Mrs Green hugged her back, something Abi knew was instinctive, didn't mean she'd remembered who she was hugging, or even why. Something else was wrong though. Abi turned to the nurse, wondered how to phrase it, went with the simple approach. "She smells of wee. Is she getting.." The nurse gestured to stop almost immediately, cutting Abi short. They moved away from Mrs Green, a chance for an adult conversation. "She's been having control issues," said the nurse, "so we've had to start helping her with some protection." "Control issues?" asked Abi, "What sort..Oh!" The nurse nodded. "It's not nice, for her or for us, but we do keep her clean and comfortable. It's about an hour since I last checked her, so it's not really a surprise if she needs some freshening up. Would you like to help?" Abi stared at the nurse in confusion. "Freshening up? I don't know..but yes, of course I'll help." They led Mrs Green back to her room, helped her onto her bed, a flowered throw seeming to glow in the sunlight coming through the window. The nurse drew Mrs Green's skirt up to her waist, revealing a white undergarment, thin cotton distended by something beneath. Undoing three poppers, then a fourth, the nurse pulled that up too, and Abi saw the protection her mother had been given. It too had been white but the plastic exterior was now mottled, something beneath discolouring it between her mother's legs. "That's a diaper!" exclaimed Abi in shock, then put her hand over her mouth. A glare from the nurse was interrupted by Mrs Green. "A diaper? Abi doesn't need diapers. She's been potty trained for months now!" The nurse looked back at Abi, seemed not to know whether to laugh or cry. Abi just blushed and, before she turned and left the room, mouthed, "I'm sorry." Her mother wouldn't notice, wouldn't realise that she was missing a daughter, that her daughter couldn't handle seeing her in that state. Abi knew she'd come back, knew she'd have to. After she'd had time to recover, had a hug from her husband, talked things through over a bottle of wine with her best friend. But today was too much, too quickly. It's never a good day when you discover your mother in diapers.

Brian liked the change he'd made to his penis. The company selling the jellyfish DNA based cellular adaptation had advertised its use for pets and it was popular with dog owners. Traffic accidents involving dogs were down substantially; the glow-in-the-dark solution worked perfectly. It worked perfectly on him too. Too perfectly. Yes, his cock could be seen from two blocks away if he dropped his trousers, but he was law abiding and didn't try to expose himself in the street. Sadly he didn't need to try, and that was why he was in court fighting a prosecution for indecent exposure. The judge was unimpressed. "I accept that your client is not intentionally waving his sizeable manhood around but it is nonetheless in breach of common decency laws and I have no option but to take measures for public protection and modesty. As the process is irreversible and this court will I assure you never demand castration. We have given your client an opportunity to wear thick and opaque garments that block the light shining from his groin but he continually removes and discards this, claiming it is uncomfortable. At this stage I fear I see no option beyond incarceration away from the public gaze. Yes?" Brian's lawyer spoke up. "Incarceration feels excessive Your Honour, my client is innocent of anything other than idiocy and has not intended this unfortunate outcome. Would Your Honour consider the use of a device that prevents removal of a secure cover, holding my clients genitals safe from public view while providing him with an otherwise normal life?" The judge nodded, and Brian perked up. He didn't think he'd walk free from the court this time, and all because they'd fitted him with uncomfortable thick underwear that stopped him walking properly. He waited patiently while his lawyer and the one prosecuting approached the judge and held a quiet conversation. It took longer than he expected, but that wasn't a bad thing. They seemed to reach an agreement and the lawyers returned to their seats, his giving him a smile as he approached. The judge spoke up. "I am delighted that we have found a solution that avoids the expense and imposition of a prison sentence. A short detention will be required I'm afraid while a custom device is fitted, that will not be possible for Brian to remove. As this will prevent normal hygiene and use of the toilet it will be sized to securely fit a diaper beneath. The court will appoint a caregiver to remove the device and change the diaper at intervals of no greater than 6 hours during the day, ten hours overnight, assuring regular cleaning and the comfort of the wearer." Brian gasped. "What the fuck?" he asked, "I think I'd rather be in prison." The judge smiled at him. "That's still an option, but as it would be unfair to expose other prisoners to your indecency I will still require the same device fitted there. Your choice, and do please express it more politely this time." Brian subsided in shock and let himself be led from court. Condemned to diapers, all because his penis was so magnificent and glowed in the dark.

Sylvia looked up at Tristan, his oiled muscles gleaming in the moonlight. She'd wanted time alone with him, a romantic encounter in a secluded spot, a clear night she could share with him. It was why she'd approached the team, asked if she could help, made herself part of the group. She wasn't athletic enough to join the cheerleader squad but they'd invited her to be their mascot. The Bamford Baybes had based their squad name on the team's name, shared by the school and their home town, and their mascot was a Baybe all right. Tristan seemed to like it, noticed her immediately, started paying attention and talking to her. She wasn't sure if it was the short cheerleader skirt, the onesie in the school colours or the intentionally oversized diaper that it held in place, but she could tell he liked what he saw. She'd protested the diaper before even seeing it, then again when it was revealed to her. "But Sylvia, you're our mascot", they'd told her, "and people at both ends of the stadium need to see you're dressed like a baby." She'd gone along with it, hoping it would get her closer to Tristan, and here she was, on the cliffs overlooking the Bay, alone with him at last. "You look so cute like that," he said, "just adorable." Sylvia smiled at him. Compliments were always welcome, especially from Tristan, her crush for the last year. "You like a cute Baybe then?" she asked him teasingly, "Does a helpless girl make you all hot?" Tristan grinned back at her. "Helpless? No. But cute, vulnerable, needing some care.. which man wouldn't respond?" She shivered, realising he thought her vulnerable, liking that idea, wondered what sort of care he had in mind. Her body responded too, nipples pushing against her bra, visible to a man that knew what to look for. Tristan knew what to look for, liked what he saw. "Of course," he said, "a strong caring man wouldn't be afraid to change a diaper. Does Baby Sylvia's diaper need a change?" Sylvia cocked her head in surprise. "No," she said, then realised she was rejecting his offer of intimacy, "I mean.." "That's a shame," said Tristan, "I was hoping you'd be all wet and in need of attention." Sylvia flirted back. "Oh, I'm sure you can help make me wet," she offered, but Tristan seemed to withdraw. "What?" she asked in confusion. Tristan sighed. stood before her. She was sat on the back of his truck, the thick diaper keeping her legs apart, clearly visible below the short skirt and drawing his gaze even as he spoke. "Look, you chose to become the mascot, to dress like that, to wear a big diaper," he said, "and you really are cute like that. I think changing your diaper would be a lot of fun." Sylvia nodded in agreement. "But," said Tristan, "if I just rip your diaper off while it's clean that feels.. wrong. Selfish. If it's soaking wet, you need a change.. well, I'd have to help you out, wipe you clean, be gentle." He paused, put his hands on her waist, made eye contact. "Make sure you enjoyed it." That did the trick, made Sylvia wet immediately. It also made her want to wet her diaper, give Tristan the excuse he seemed to be seeking. "You want me to wet myself?" she asked tentatively. Tristan smiled and nodded. "You're a cute Bamford Baybe, wearing a thick diaper. What else would you do?" he asked, "and the game finished three hours ago, you must be bursting by now." He was right, she'd been holding it for a while already, not wanting to risk going to find a toilet, coming back and finding him gone. She still hesitated, asked him outright, "You want me to do that? It wouldn't gross you out?" Tristan laughed and shook his head. "No, of course not. Why do you think I brought you up here dressed like that? I don't want you in normal clothes, looking like any other girl." He leaned towards her, whispered softly in her ear. "Relax for me. Use that diaper. Make it nice and wet." Sylvia blushed and pushed at him. "Ok," she said, "but not while you're watching." Tristan held up both hands in supplication and agreed immediately. "Ok, that's fine. I need to fetch something from the cab anyway." He walked towards the front of the truck, leaving Sylvia sat alone. She had another thought and called out to him, "You won't tell anyone will you? Not your team, not the cheerleaders, nobody at all?" "I promise not to tell anybody," Tristan replied, "Anyway, it's always you girls that kiss and tell. Us guys just deny anything happened anyway." Sylvia felt affronted by that, even if it was true, but let it slide. Instead she thought about wetting herself, using that thick diaper between her thighs for its intended purpose. Could she do that? Well, she did need badly to go. Sylvia forced herself to relax. Shoulders, chest, stomach, hips, consciously relaxing the muscles in each in turn. She kept going, let muscles lower down relax, felt the pressure in her bladder taking advantage and making a spurt of moisture hit her diaper. In shock she tensed up again, but now it hurt, her body recognising its chance for comfort and insisting she allowed it to finish its release. Sylvia focused once more on relaxing, felt the flow restart, strengthen, become a flood that filled the area with warmth. Looking down she couldn't see anything happening, the thick diaper hiding the evidence, absorbing the liquid, getting wetter by the second. "Oh!" she said, then repeated herself. "Oh!" Tristan smiled as he heard this, gave her another few seconds, then walked back to where she was stood. He said nothing, just walked up to her, smiled at the surprise on her face and put a hand down between her legs, pressing it firmly against her diaper. Sylvia tensed, felt the thick diaper crushed against her, ignored the liquid being squeezed out of the padding and onto her skin. Instead she wriggled towards his hand, enjoying the contact, anticipating his next action. Tristan felt the warmth of the diaper, could tell it was no longer dry, felt surprised by just how wet it was. "Oh baby," he said, "you must be feeling better after that." As she pressed against him he kept his hand there, let her rub herself against it, hid his amusement at her lack of control. "Is Daddy going to change his cute baby now?" asked Sylvia, wondering how Tristan would react to being called 'Daddy'. Tristan stifled a snorting laugh. He had no intention of being 'Daddy' but this wasn't the moment to say that. Instead he turned and sat on the edge of the truck bed next to Sylvia, pulled her towards him, helped her lay on her back across his lap. Sylvia cooperated, swung her legs up, ended up across the rear of the truck with her knees in the air, feet on the sidewall of the truck, her face looking up at the man she was letting take control. "I'll change you in a moment," said Tristan, "but you must be thirsty. Will you let me feed you?" He held a baby's bottle above Sylvia's head, white liquid sloshing inside it. "Look, some special happy milk for my cute baby girl." "Special happy milk?" asked Sylvia suspiciously, "It's not drugged is it? You're not spiking my drinks?" Tristan looked down at her, used his spare hand to pat sodden padding and asked, "Do I look like I need to spike your drink? You're already where I want you. Anyway, we're all athletes, we get regular drug tests. You know I'm clean." Sylvia decided not to point out that Tristan being drug free didn't mean that he couldn't slip something into her drink, but he was right, he didn't need to drug her tonight. She was already his, had wet herself for him, was about to let him feed her then change her diaper. Instead of answering him she just closed her eyes, opened her mouth, waited to be fed. Instead she felt his hand on her diaper, a gentle motion moving it against her, a pleasant feeling that was improving by the second. She squirmed, then felt the rubber nipple of the bottle teasing her lips, adding sensation to a second part of her body. Lifting her head just slightly Sylvia closed her mouth around the rubber teat, gave a big suck, felt her mouth fill with liquid. Immediately she reached up, pushed the bottle away, tried to sit up, swallowed. Tristan held her firmly in place, his athletic strength too much for her to fight, but he didn't hurt her, didn't say anything, just looked at her with a smile. "That's not milk!" Sylvia exclaimed, "What are you giving me?" Tristan laughed, a cruel sound. "You just had a mouth full of man juice," he said, "and you've the rest of the bottle still to go." "Man juice?" asked Sylvia in confusion, "Wait, you've.." She stopped in shock, unwilling to believe what she'd just heard. "Oh, not just me," said Tristan, "The whole team contributed." He raised his voice and called clearly, "Hey guys, come and meet our new Bamford Baybe." Looking to the side Sylvia saw the whole team appear from the darkness, fifteen, maybe twenty young men, all smiling, holding their phones out in front of them. Flashes told her they were taking photographs, a couple seemed to be videoing; none of them were surprised by her infantile posture, the soaked padding between her legs, the bottle poised once more above her mouth. "That's right baby," said Tristan, "You're more than our mascot, you're our team baby. Now, finish the bottle while I tell you what's going to change - before I change you." "No!" said Sylvia, "You'll let me go right now." Tristan let go of her and Sylvia tried to sit up, but the diaper had expanded, something absorbent inside swelling as it got wet, and she couldn't get the leverage to overcome the new bulk. Even as she tried Tristan kept talking. "You're going to waddle home in that wet diaper?" he asked, "You want these photographs on Instatwitface? You want to explain to your parents and the teachers and everybody else in school why you wet yourself on purpose, with nobody in sight? We have that on video, and you're just adorable sitting there, wetting like a baby." Sylvia looked up at him in horror. "No, please," she begged, "What do you want? Don't make me.." Tristan put a finger across her lips."Oh, we won't make you do anything you haven't done already. We just want our team mascot to be our baby. All the time. Nobody else needs to know you're using that thick thirsty diaper, that you're being fed from a bottle every night. No, that'll be between us." Sylvia looked at him in confusion. "Then why..?" she started to ask, but this time was stopped by the nipple of the bottle filling her mouth once more. "It's a power thing," said Tristan, "By treating you as a baby we reinforce our dominance, boost our testosterone; that makes us better on the field, means we'll win more. And all you have to do is be our mascot. Our bottle drinking diaper wearing Bamford Baybe." Sylvia shivered, looked at the silent crowd of men watching her, looked back up at Tristan, reached and took his hand. She'd signed up for this, and with just one small adjustment she could cope. Drawing his hand down towards her diaper she made that adjustment, started his hand rubbing her between her legs, let him take over and started sucking her special happy milk. Maybe her final year before college wasn't going to go how she'd planned, but here she was, looking out onto the bay in the moonlight, Tristan slowly but certainly bringing her to orgasm. Sometimes you take what you can get, and she was getting cared for, by the man she wanted. She could handle that, all year long.

“So George wants to try a diaper.” Linda looked at her friend in surprise. “Gorgeous George? The new grad that joined last month?” “Yep, that’s the one.” replied Suzie, nodding and smiling. “He was struggling with stress so I extolled the benefits of just letting go from time to time.” “Oh, nice. Are you going to help him with fitting?” Linda winked. “Oh, of course,” said Suzie, “a little bit of promise too, so that when he needs a change he’ll welcome the attention.” Linda nodded. “Nice thinking,” she said, “Nothing like a spot of sexual tension to assure compliance.” Suzie grinned and gave an evil chuckle, making Linda look over with a quizzical look. “Oh, I’m going further than that. He’ll be in a nice schoolgirl uniform, lacey petticoats barely hiding… What?” Suzie stopped, looking in confusion at Linda shaking her head. “No, too much too fast,” explained Linda. “Start with a pretty dress, the old ‘trousers won’t fit over that’ line, follow up with ‘you look so lovely’ then when you change him that gives you the opening. ‘Oh Georgie you look so adorable like this. But that’s a woman’s dress and, well, a diaper is for someone younger.’” She paused, smiled nastily and continued, “That’s when you suggest the schoolgirl uniform.” Suzie laughed and shook her head. “Ah, Linda, I like your style but you forget. I’ve been working him for a month already. I can get him straight into the diaper and schoolgirl outfit, then at that first change still go ahead with your ‘but you look so adorable and young’ direction and take him straight back even from there.” Linda asked, “Further? So…?” Suzie nodded. “Yes. Sweet little Georgie is going to finish his first date in a onesie. By the end of the weekend I’ll have him wet, messy and entirely under my control.” Linda sighed at her friend. “I’m so jealous,” she said, “Why can’t you like girls instead?”

That's all there is. I was taking my washing off my clothes racks and wondered how I'd explain the smell if someone came to visit, and captured the ensuing fantasy. Adding further chapters wouldn't be organic, the writing would feel forced, it wouldn't read well.

I folded the diapers neatly, stacked them in the drawer, hid them from sight. The plastic panties went in another drawer, and my envelope fold onesies in a third. Wearing cloth diapers is more comfortable but the laundry is a pain. At least everything was dry before Rebecca arrived. She knocked on the door several hours later, several hours after she said she'd be here. I'd expected that, she always found something to get involved with, never idle, although I'd made sure the laundry was out of sight early, just in case. She bundled noisily into the house, scaring my cats, all hugs and welcomes, a bottle of wine thrust towards me before she ran up the stairs. She'd stayed before, knew where her room was, dropped her bags there and while I made us both tea I heard the toilet flush before she came back down to join me. We gossiped, caught up. I had little news but wanted to hear how her family were doing; two children at university, one well on the way to becoming a doctor. Her husband was in Portugal for the week, allegedly business but she knew the real reason he'd gone there: golf. I commiserated but really it worked well for us, meant we could spend the week together. Shopping, a day at the spa, visit a country house. It meant no diapers for the week but that felt a reasonable trade for a week with a true friend. Dinner was simple, vegetables in a bottled sauce, served with pasta, the wine leading us to giggles as we shared a tub of ice cream after. Rebecca insisted on helping wash up; I could've left the crockery to soak until morning but she's not that type, so I washed, she dried. As I put everything away she held up the now wet dishtowel and asked me where she could hang it to dry. I casually waved her through to the room with my clothes racks in; I didn't like putting diapers and rubbers into a tumble dryer and I certainly wasn't going to hang them outside, so I had ample hanging space indoors. Rebecca came back with an odd expression on her face. "You've been washing diapers," she said, a statement that left behind a question, hanging in the air. She stopped speaking, looked at me, waited for a response. "I what?" I asked, as though she was being silly. She wasn't being silly. "I've had three children, I know the smell after washing diapers," she said, "and you've been washing diapers." I'd thought quickly, used that time to make an excuse. "A friend's washing machine broke so I was helping her out while she waited for the replacement to be delivered." Rebecca might have believed me if I hadn't been blushing in embarrassment throughout. I looked away, another tell she picked up on, and she let me know straight away. "Oh darling, you're so cute when you're telling fibs. You know I can see right through you." She's right, I did. She could. She just had. She continued, "But if you're trying to hide it then you find this embarrassing." Well, that was right too. I stood there unable to speak, knowing I'd stutter and lack credibility anyway, worried that my face was glowing brightly enough to see from the next village. "So that means," said Rebecca, thinking things through, "that it's personal." She stopped, her expression changed, and her voice switched into pure mother mode. "Oh honey, you poor thing." I just winced, decided I wasn't going to get out of this one, tried a different cover story. This one was plausible, explained my embarrassment, didn't try and avoid the issue. "I've been struggling a bit at night," I said, "so I've been making sure the bedding's protected." Rebecca nodded, her maternal pragmatism showing as approval. Then she reverted back to being a friend, tipsy and interested in fun new things, and demanded, "Where are they? I haven't seen diapers in your size before! Let's see them!" Before I could respond she strode from the room and I heard her running upstairs. I followed as quickly as I could, found her in my room, pulling open my wardrobe, a cupboard, my drawers. The diapers were in the bottom drawer, their weight too much to put higher, risk unbalancing the whole chest when the drawer was opened. Rebecca started from the top instead. "Knickers, tights, socks, slips, nighti.. ooh, this is a pretty one, where did you get that?" she asked, throwing a nightdress at me as she opened and closed drawers in turn. Before I could answer the next drawer made her gasp. "Oh! These are adorable!" she said, turning to me and holding up an opaque pink pair of plastic panties. I didn't dare respond, just hoped she wouldn't look deeper into the drawer, find the pairs with ruffles or the one with a pretty infantile pattern on. She didn't, but it didn't matter. Leaving the panties on my bed she'd turned back to the drawers and pulled open the next one down. "Oh, I say young lady," she said, a stern parental tone, "Now would you just look at this." She turned and held up one of my onesies, a favourite that I'd put away just that morning, had worn to bed two nights ago. The thin cotton stretched a little, had four poppers at the wide crotch, a print pattern of baby bottles and pacifiers unsuitable for adult attire. Rebecca didn't mention any of those things. Instead she held it by the shoulders, examined and twisted the folds of fabric between the head opening and the sleeves. "Envelope folds," she said with interest, "you know what those are for." I stood there in shame, didn't answer, started blushing again. Rebecca smiled and nodded, put the onesie on my bed, gave voice to her understanding. "Yes, you know what those are for." I wanted to run away, but it was my house, my bedroom; this is where I would normally run to. The things on the bed were what I'd wear too, when emotions were high, when I needed comfort. Instead I just stood there, weakly leaning against the door frame, frantically trying to think of a way out of this situation. Rebecca closed the drawer, opened the final one, found the diapers inside. She lifted one out, a multi-layered tailored design, a soft fleece inner, towelling outside and thick thirsty material separating the two. It fastened with velcro, something she discovered as she undid it, the noise filling the room, the diaper filling her hands, its bulk apparent as she held it up to show to me. "Oh, this is magnificent," she said, "It's perfect for you too! Where did you find this?" Struggling to stay in emotional control I didn't answer, just looked at her in distress. Rebecca looked up and realised the state I was in. "Oh, darling," she said, "It's ok. Come here." She stepped towards me, arms open for a hug and I couldn't resist, moved towards her, ended up in a close embrace. There were no tears, but she stroked my hair and my back, and I held her close. "I'm sorry," I said, "I.." Rebecca broke from the embrace, took a half step backwards, held me just below my shoulders. It occurred to me that she was still holding my diaper, hadn't put it down, but she ignored that, just looked straight into my face. "There's nothing to apologise for," she said, "Come on, let's sit down and chat." We sat on the edge of my bed, joining the plastic panties and onesie, a diaper held up between us as Rebecca started to speak. "Now, you've been hiding this.." I interrupted, "No, I.." Rebecca stopped speaking, put a finger on my lips to stop me speaking, chastised me, "Hush child, let me finish." As I blushed for the umpteenth time that evening she looked around the room and asked, "I bet you have a pacifier in here, don't you?" My instinctive glance at the bedside table gave her an answer and before I could stop her she leaned over, opened the drawer, laughed at the contents. "Well, you like playing the adult some of the time," she said, holding up something sleek, elegant and battery powered. I rolled my eyes at her; we knew each other too well for that to cause embarrassment. Putting it down she drew out an oversized pacifier, smirked at its size and pushed it towards my mouth. "Open up," she commanded, and I conceded to the inevitable, let her put it in my mouth, my jaw instinctively closing on it and my tongue reflexively starting a sucking motion. Rebecca smiled at that, the look you give to a cute puppy, a playful kitten.. or a small child. I blushed again, felt annoyed at myself for that, but made no attempt to remove the pacifier. "So. overnight problems?" asked Rebecca, "Protecting your bed?" I nodded, looked down and away, tried to avoid further questions. There weren't any; Rebecca had already joined the dots. "Let's see," she said, "if you had an issue you might well find some protection. Incontinence pads, maybe even briefs, but they're disposable. You wouldn't invest in cloth for that. You wouldn't buy onesies designed to accommodate messy diapers. And you certainly wouldn't buy that." She leaned forward, tapped my pacifier, made her point as she reminded me I couldn't reply to it. "So you must want to wear these things." She looked at me, shook her head slightly as I tried to shake my own in denial. "And that laundry smell? That smell now filling your room, coming from these panties?" She poked at the pink plastic, making it crinkle, its odour pleasant but unmistakeable. "That means you don't just wear these things. Oh, no, these get properly used." She smiled, put a hand on each of my shoulders and gently but firmly pushed me back. "You've always been my best friend," she said, "but you've kept this hidden. I don't like that. I think you need to be punished." I looked at her in consternation, but she didn't keep me in suspense. "I think someone needs their adult privileges revoked," she said, "if only I had some way of achieving.." She stopped, picked up the diaper and plastic panties, held them above me and in mock surprise said, "Oh, look at this. I think I have the answer." She put them down, started to undo my jeans, looking at me with a strange smile on her face. We'd been friends long enough that we'd seen each other naked, even on one occasion tried giving each other a Brazilian waxing. So I had no secrets from her there but nonetheless I pushed at her wrists, let the pacifier fall from my mouth, tried to sit up, told her firmly to stop. "I'm an adult," I declared, "and I.." A hand just below my neck pushed me firmly back down, Rebecca's second hand reaching for the pacifier and putting it back in my mouth. "Trust me," she said, "I've just discovered a whole new side to you, and we've got a whole week to explore it." I looked at her in shock, forced myself to relax, waited for her to continue. "Now I've had a long journey," she said, "and too much wine, and I need an early night. So you get one too, and I'm going to make sure your bedding is safe before I turn in. So lie back, relax, remember to enjoy it and we can discuss this more in the morning." She was right, I could trust her. So I let her undress me and for the first time in my adult life had someone put me in a diaper. Three children meant she was well practiced, but I made it easy, lifted my bottom and hips at the right times, let her slide the plastic panties up my legs, held out my arms so she could pull on my onesie and stood up while she crouched down to fasten it below my diaper. "Does my baby need a drink before beddy-byes?" she asked, her tone gentle and sincere, the potential mockery of her words negated by the care in her voice. I reached up and took the pacifier from my mouth to answer. "No, I'm fine thank you," I told her, "Are you sure.." She interrupted me at that point. "Of course I'm sure. I've missed having a baby in the house, and when you invited me here you told me you need some time out and some stress relief." Shopping, a day at the spa, visit a country house; that was what I'd meant. But I had told her that, so I nodded mutely at her, didn't disagree. "Right, so into bed with you," she told me, pulled back my covers, waited for me to sit on the bed, swing my feet around, lie back and look up at her. As she pulled the covers up she smiled, stroked my cheek and tried to reassure me, "Now, my baby's nice and cosy, everything safe and secure. So I don't want to hear you getting out of bed - you won't need to, after all. Don't worry, babies can't help themselves, it's not your concern now. I'll change you in the morning." I looked up at her in shock. This whole time I'd forgotten the consequences of wearing diapers, the obvious outcome, the humiliation of being wet and needing a change. Or worse! "What if I need to.." I started to ask, worry on my face and in my voice. "Oh silly baby," Rebecca said, guessing my question. She ran her hand up my side onto my shoulder, under the onesie's folded cloth. "Diapers get used, and this onesie's designed to cope with anything. So use your diaper, and your onesie will cope, and I'll cope." She took my pacifier from my hand, put it back in my mouth, leaned over me and gave me a quick kiss on my forehead. "Now, night-night, sleep well," she said. I waved weakly, accepted the instruction to try and sleep and watched her switch off the light and leave the room. She pulled the door behind her, not completely closed but blocking my sight, leaving me alone in my infantile state, wondering how I'd let her take control so quickly, so easily. I heard the toilet flush again, her way of assuring she'd wake up with dry bedclothes, and pushed a hand under the covers, ran it over my own bedding's safety measure. I wanted to go to sleep dry and comfortable, even though I knew I wouldn't make it to morning without needing the toilet. I sighed, accepted that I'd be woken during the night, knew I'd obey Rebecca, trusted her to deal with it in the morning. This was going to be an interesting week.

Many of my stories have happy endings This one could've gone either way. The chair actually exists (and was the inspiration): https://www.designboom.com/design/scorpion-gaming-chair-cluvens-09-14-2020/

Ylanya let herself be led across the room, and sat on a strange device. Black, upholstered with padded black leather and long enough to lie on, she was sat on it sideways then Ellen bent down before her, grasped both of Ylanya's ankles and swung them up onto the padding. The device was wider by her feet than where she sat, and narrowed further behind her. Ellen pulled gently on Ylanya's shoulders to make her lie down, revealing that the padding was just the right length for a tall person, still wide enough to support shoulders and head. There seemed to be televisions at the end, strangely facing the ceiling, a confusing configuration. Ylanya tilted her head forward again as she felt something being pulled across the top of her chest, trapping her arms against her side. Ellen was fastening a sturdy strap that snapped into place near her arm. "What is that for? Why are you doing that?" she asked in confusion, trying but unable to sit up. Ellen didn't answer, just leaned down and drew another strap across Ylanya's waist. Ylanya wriggled and tried to escape but with her arms already restrained she could only use her legs for leverage, and Ellen swiftly sat across them both, the slim woman's weight enough to hold Ylanya down. "It's ok," Ellen said, breaking her silence with a gentle tone, "The straps are to keep you safe, stop you falling out and hurting yourself. But since you seem agitated by them, let's give you a sense of security." She reached down below the device and without sitting fully upright, wrapped something around Ylanya's wrist. A loud click and Ylanya realised her arm was now fastened to the waist strap, letting her bend her elbow only a little and forcing her hand to stay by her side. "Ellen, stop!" she demanded, "I don't like where.." She stopped at that point herself. Ellen had taken advantage of the open mouth to fill it, the taste of latex separating her teeth, holding her tongue to the bottom of her mouth. Ylanya could have screamed and made noise but surprise left her speechless, stopped her even resisting as the gag was strapped in place, soft leather bindings on both sides going above and below her ears, more clicks as something locked them into place. Ellen moved around and fastened Ylanya's other wrist, then stepped away briefly. She came back carrying a bag and put it down near Ylanya's feet, then pulled off each of Ylanya's shoes, the slingback heels sliding easily off her nylon clad feet. Stepping forwards Ellen pulled Ylanya's skirt up to her waist, causing a shiver in the supine woman. Ylanya didn't resist as her tights and panties were pulled down, knowing she had little choice, knowing that this had always been likely. The only things she didn't know were whether she wanted it or not, and what specifically was about to happen. She'd known that when she signed up for this a week ago. "Stress relief," promised the advert, "Escape your responsibilities and properly relax." She liked the sound of letting go for a while, letting someone else worry about everything, having someone care for her every need. The advert had hinted at massage, suggested a soothing experience, offered tantalising inferences that a little more than that was part of the deal. Ylanya would never have visited a prostitute, didn't want to pay for sex, hadn't even slept with a woman, but a soothing massage that included intimacy? That was ok. Wasn't it? Her thoughts returned sharply to the present as she felt Ellen's arm reaching below her knees, drawing them up. Ylanya decided she was paying enough for this, may as well co-operate and enjoy it, raised her legs by herself. "Thank you," said Ellen, "You'll enjoy this. Come on, let's see if we can go all the way." She drew Ylanya's knees past her hips, then her waist, kept going until they were above Ylanya's shoulders. By now Ylanya's bottom and hips were in the air, her body in a strange vertical foetal position. "And relax," said Ellen, "Everything else will be easy now." She lowered Ylanya's legs slowly back to the flat surface and smiled at the confusion on her client's face. "Yes, I've put something there," she said, "Let's get it safely fastened and we'll be ready to go." Reaching down Ellen pulled thick padding up between Ylanya's legs, forcing her thighs apart, her feet now needing the full width of the upholstered support below them. She watched Ylanya's face go from confusion to realisation to shock, then back to confusion. By then she'd finished fastening the hefty disposable diaper in place and was already lowering Ylanya's dress to drape over it, the white plastic no longer visible but an unnatural bulge revealing its presence. Stepping back she laughed at the noises Ylanya was now frantically making and made shushing noises of her own. "Oh, I know," said Ellen, "You're an adult, you don't need diapers, you're not incontinent." She smiled nastily, held up a sleek gadget, pressed a button on it. The device supporting Ylanya whirred beneath her and started to move, converting from a couch she was lying on into a chair, raising her from the waist into a reclined seating position. The televisions she'd seen earlier dropped from overhead in front of her, filling her vision, and she felt headphones pressing against her ears, holding her head in position so she couldn't look away. "At least," chuckled Ellen, "not yet. But twelve hours of hypnosis videos will change that. Oh, stop squirming. It's ok, I'll change you. Celebrate, you get to relax now - no more nasty adult responsibilities for you, just like you wanted. Ever." Ylanya tried to scream in horror but the televisions lit up, sound filled her ears and.. it was too late now.

Chapter 4 Julie had spent the rest of dinner in something of a daze, her mind overwhelmed by what she'd just done. Not just wetting herself, but on purpose, and to help someone else. She recalled the others making small talk, going over the next day's activities, discussing the shopping options in a nearby town. None of it seemed real to her, reality was a warm wet feeling around her loins, a constant reminder when she shifted position, embarrassment and shyness when someone caught her eye. As the meal finished the others stood, followed Miriam through to another room. Daphne swivelled the table away from Sandy and helped her stand, then looked across at Julie. "Come on, you'll be fine," she said, "look, Sandy's coping." Sandy gave her a brave looking smile and Julie realised she'd been ignoring the poor girl since taking her seat. She stood up, smiled back and said, "Lets join the others. I suspect they'll be in a similar state soon." Daphne took Sandy's hand and led her from the room, and Julie laughed as she saw Sandy waddle slightly. That laugh stuck in her throat when she started to follow them. The diaper had somehow grown between her legs, swelling to absorb its new contents, and that interrupted her normal smooth gait. Julie gritted her teeth, focussed on walking normally and went through the door. She found Miriam and Alice sat on comfortable looking chairs, Miriam's reclined with a raised footrest. Daphne was already joining them, having led Sandy to where Ellie and Jane were sat on what Julie could only describe as oversized baby recliners. Just as with the changing tables, there were six of them, so she decided to play ball and picked one by her new friends. As she sank into it she felt her feet rise off the floor and realised it wouldn't be easy to stand up again, but it was comfortable and she welcomed the chance to recover from the traumas of the dining room. "Now girls," said Miriam, "We always have two members of staff on duty at all times. Anybody on duty is forbidden alcohol, to protect our babies." Julie nodded to herself, that made sense. Miriam continued, "As you're all new, Alice, Daphne and I are all on duty while you go through your induction period. But you're not, so if you like, we can offer you a bottle of wine as a treat for making it through a difficult first day." All of the girls perked up at that. Only Jane held back, and asked, "You don't mean a bottle of wine do you, you mean a bottle of wine." Julie looked at her in confusion. That didn't make sense! Yet Miriam smiled, and nodded at her, "Very perspicacious Jane," she said, "but would you like one anyway?" Jane thought for a moment, then visibly shrugged. "Sure," she said, "I think you want us all to relax, and this will certainly help." Miriam's smile broadened and she gestured to Daphne, "Could you perhaps help our young ladies with their drinks, save them having to stand?" she asked. Daphne stood and went over to a cabinet, its wood veneer polished and glossy, and pulled a tray from it. Julie realised they must have planned ahead, as there were four bottles on it, each the size of an athletic drinking bottle, their glass sides showing a deep red liquid inside. Daphne passed one to each of the girls, and as Julie received hers she heard a startled gasp from one of the others. Looking at the bottle she immediately understood why, but also comprehended why it didn't matter. Of course it had a rubber teat on it; she should have guessed. Julie put the teat into her mouth, sucked in a mouthful of what she rapidly assessed as rather nice red wine, and paused. Jane had guessed! Julie sighed, and felt strangely naive as she sat there, rocking in an oversized baby chair, damp diaper squidging beneath her, sucking on a baby's bottle. A couple of hours later, the strong wine still leaving her light headed, Julie had been helped from her chair by Alice and they'd all gone through to the changing room. Julie hadn't used her diaper again, and didn't know if the others had. Nobody had said anything, although Sandy was looking a little distressed. "I know it's early," Miriam had said, "but all our babies get a nice early night. So time for you all to get a last change and dressed for bed." Julie welcomed the chance to escape the wet diaper she'd been wearing for a while now, so offered to go first. Alice took her hand and led her to a table. "We'll help you tonight," she said, "as you'll all be tired and maybe a little tipsy. Now, as you'll be going to bed after this we can remove your outfits, change your diapers and then put you straight into your jammies." Ellie helped Alice pull Julie's dress and diaper shirt off her, and Sandy pulled down her tights. Julie stepped out of them, sat on the table and swung her legs up. "Would you like the wrist restraints again Julie?" asked Alice. Julie blushed and shook her head, but reached out to find Ellie's hand, wanting hers held while Jane untaped her diaper. As the front was lowered she expected to be rolled over but was instead asked by Alice to lift her hips. "The approach we took earlier works with all babies, even the uncooperative ones," explained Alice, "but when a baby is well behaved it's much quicker if they help a little. Now, keep those hips raised Julie and we'll wipe you clean." Julie found the position uncomfortable but felt it better to abide. At least she was free from that plastic torment; it had become clammy and uncomfortable, a key factor in her desire for a change. When she did eventually lower her hips she almost raised them again in surprise. It felt like she'd dropped down onto a towel and not a clean new diaper. She looked at Alice in surprise. "No diaper?" she asked. Alice withheld a laugh. "Oh, yes," she said, "it's a cloth diaper. We like using them overnight, that extra padding helps our babies embrace their status and they can last the whole night without a change." Julie gripped Ellie's hand tight and received a quick squeeze in response, followed by a gentle caress across her forehead. She heard Alice talking to the others about the diaper now being fastened around her. "As you can see, we're using a disposable liner. That will help keep any wetness away from Julie's skin, and also makes the diaper easier to clean should she mess overnight." Julie started to sit up at that, alarmed by the suggestion, but Ellie drew her back down. Instead she listened as Alice continued, "Some cloth diapers need folding but we're using tailored ones that have a similar design to the disposables. So you just draw it up here, and then use diaper pins here, here and.. here." At each of the closing words Julie felt the diaper fasten tighter around her and realised she was being pinned into it, something that even after the past few hours seemed to make her feel more infantile. She tried to think why that was but couldn't find a solution. "Why does this make me feel more like a baby than even using that disposable?" she asked Alice, who gave her a serious look but didn't reply. "Now Jane, if you could help with these," asked Alice, and Julie felt her ankles being raised again and something being pulled up her legs. She looked down and saw a large mound of towelling below her waist and a pair of plastic panties being pulled up towards it. "Lift your hips again," requested Alice, so Julie leaned back again and complied. She felt the panties being drawn over the top of her diaper and around her waist, then felt fingers running around the waistband and the leg openings. "A quick check that everything's inside," said Alice, "and we're done. You can relax now Julie. To answer your question it's because diaper pins are inextricably linked to babies and the diapers they're going to use. Incontinent teens and adults almost always use disposables but even when they do wear washables they invariably use pull-ons or Velcro fasteners." "Only babies," she reiterated, looking down and making sure Julie was painfully aware who she meant by that, "get pinned into diapers." Julie had let her hips sink back to the changing table while Alice was speaking. She grimaced but said nothing to that final statement and tried again to sit up. This time Ellie helped her, gave her a quick hug and turned to Daphne who was holding out a new piece of clothing. Julie couldn't see clearly as Ellie took it from Daphne, shook it loose from its folds and showed it to Jane who looked across at Julie and remarked, "Oh, you'll look so cute in that!" They approached the table and started to slide soft cotton up Julie's legs, then took her hands and helped her down from the table. As she stood Julie worried that she was stood on her new clothing, before realising that was intended: it was a footed sleepsuit, which Ellie quickly zipped up her back. Alice called for attention and showed the group a small padlock. "Idle fingers can get into trouble at night," she said, "so we find it best to remove temptation." She stepped in behind Julie, who a moment later heard a small click and guessed her zip would not now come undone. "I'm locked in?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly. She wasn't planning to remove her sleepsuit anyway, but a lock felt strangely oppressive, the element of choice removed, her subservient status subtly stated. "It changes things, doesn't it," said Miriam drily, the question clearly rhetorical. "It's such a tiny thing, but we add it at the end of the first day and give our babies something to think about as they fall asleep." Julie looked at Miriam, for the first time seeing the woman behind the facade. Miriam enjoyed this, she realised, more even than the business success it gave her. There was a power dynamic, and Miriam liked holding all the power. Miriam saw the look, smiled at her, said nothing. They both knew, no words were necessary. Julie shivered and looked away. "Aren't you just lovely," said Alice, "Now, lets who's next." Julie welcomed the distraction, threw her energy into helping with the others. With surprise she discovered Ellie and Jane had both used their diapers at some point; they'd said nothing, drawn no attention to the fact. Before long all four girls were in thick diapers, a warm sleepsuit hiding them from view, the tiny locks holding everything in place. Julie looked at her new colleagues and laughed. "We actually look like we're just having a sleepover," she said, "if you didn't know what's underneath." Alice asked them to come with her and led them down a panelled corridor into a new wing of the house. The girls followed with small steps, the thick padding forcing them all to waddle a little and the sleepsuits offering little grip on the polished wooden floors. They emerged in a large room they hadn't seen before, this one definitely a dormitory. Closed curtains and subdued lighting stopped Julie seeing the room in detail, but it was impossible to miss the beds lining each of the two long walls that stretched away from her. They looked like wooden babies' cribs, painted white, a hint of delicate patterns on the head and tailboards. But they were adult sized, and all four girls stopped as they realised these would be their beds. "Jane?" invited Alice, standing by one of the cribs, the nearest side folded down and open. Jane walked over and lay on the mattress, watching calmly as Alice brought up the side panel, a catch at the top making a loud clunk as it closed. "It's not impossible to open these from inside," revealed Alice, "but we've fitted simple alarms and you really don't want to know what happens if those go off and we don't find an emergency." "What if it opens by itself?" asked Sandy nervously. "That wont happen," assured Alice, "That loud sound as it closed tells us it's locked in place and needs deliberate action to open. Come here, you can see it yourself." Alice had walked to the next crib, and showed Sandy the mechanism at the top before inviting her to lay down. Sandy looked back at Julie as if seeking reassurance, so Julie gestured to her to lay down and let Alice close the side. As she heard the confirming clunk she walked to the next crib herself, and saw Ellie moving to an empty one of her own. The mattress was yielding and comfortable, but felt firm enough to support Julie as she slept. It had crinkled a little as she lay on it, and she assumed a protective cover was there for the unlikely event her thick diapers failed in their job. She looked up at Alice as the side was raised, and a hefty sound confirmed her own crib was now firmly closed, securing her until morning. Looking out she saw Daphne dropping baby style bottles in each of the occupied cribs, their contents a clear liquid. "Daphne is giving you all a bottle of water," said Miriam, who had entered while Julie was being put to bed. "It's entirely optional whether you drink it, but as you're now confined to your cribs for the night we want to be sure you wont dehydrate, so do please have a drink if you get thirsty. "Any questions before we dim the lights and let you get some sleep?" "Uhm," said Sandy, then stopped. "Yes Sandy?" asked Miriam, "It's OK, what do you need?" "Can I have Mr Speckles? He's my bear, he's in my bag," said Sandy, "I mean, I sleep with him normally and if we're babies we should have cuddly toys anyway. Shouldn't we?" Julie had nearly laughed at Sandy's initial request but felt it was a good point. She'd left her soft toys at home when she went to college so hadn't thought of them here, but if they were being treated as babies.. Julie looked through the bars of her crib at Miriam, who frowned. Sandy saw this and panicked. "I'm sorry," she gabbled, "I just wanted.." "Hush child," said Miriam, disregarding Sandy as an unwanted distraction. Julie saw Sandy quail at this put-down, and felt her own dismay. More than anything else that day, Miriam casually dismissing Sandy as any adult treats a noisy child made her realise how Miriam perceived them, revealed their true status during this induction week. "Daphne," said Miriam, "could you come here a moment?" Julie watched as Daphne approached Miriam, looking strangely pale even in the poorly lit room. "I'm sorry," said Daphne, "I forgot. I'll.." Miriam sighed, and cut Daphne short. "We can discuss this tomorrow," she said, "lets not keep our girls up any longer tonight." At this point Julie felt a soft nudge in her back, and turning found Alice poking a scraggy plush sheep through the crib bars at her. Alice winked but said nothing, and Julie realised this wasn't the time for questions. She accepted the cuddly sheep and held it close, turning to look back at Daphne. She'd regained some colour in her cheeks but still looked very concerned. She took another soft toy from Alice and carried it over to Jane while Alice passed one through to Ellie. Miriam had approached Sandy's crib and knelt beside it. "We don't want to go through your belongings," she said, "Will you be OK with this fluffy fellow tonight?" Sandy responded quietly. "Yes," she said, "Thank you. Goodnight." Julie saw Sandy had been given a toy of her own, and was looking shocked by the outcome of her question. "Good girl," said Miriam, standing back up. "Goodnight all of you, and sleep well." She left the room, Daphne and Alice following, and straight after most of the lights turn off, the remaining ones dimming enough to leave only vague outlines of the cribs in the room. Julie thought back to that night, how, exhausted by her morning travelling and an emotionally challenging day, she'd quickly fallen asleep. She remembered waking in the darkness, the evening's wine finally making its demands on her bladder, and taking the gamble that a wet diaper would be easier to sleep with than a full bladder. After all, babies slept in wet diapers all the time. In hindsight she'd made a good decision as, although damp and distressed, she'd drifted off again, and indeed, slept like a baby.

Rachel realised she was crying, a salty taste as her tears reached her mouth, forced inside as she vigorously worked her lips and tongue on his penis. To the two women watching she looked passionately in love, an ardent attempt to give pleasure to her man as he sat there, elbows high, hands behind his head, looking down at her in amusement. Rachel wanted to curse at him, at the two women, but she didn't have time, knew she had to take him over the edge, make him lose control.. before she lost control. "I have two openings," he'd told her, "one for a lover, the other a toy for my boyfriend. He wants a baby." Rachel had looked at him in confusion. She'd applied for a job as a Personal Assistant, turned up in her professional suit, a smart straight skirt that needed the slit at the back to let her walk properly, the matching jacket closed over a lace trimmed camisole. Some men stared at the brief band of lace that was visible in the V of the jacket collars but she ignored them, gave her time and energy to the men that looked higher, held eye contact, treated her as a colleague and not a toy. So why was this man talking to her about toys? And if he had a boyfriend, why would he want a female lover? "I'm sorry, I thought this was a Personal Assistant role," she said, "I wish you luck finding the right people, but.." Her voice stopped abruptly as Rachel felt hands firmly grasping her arms, pushing her forward, making her stumble and drop to her knees. The fall didn't pull her arms free, instead they were wrenched backwards, enough pain to make her cry out. The surprise and pain stopped her from twisting and fighting as her wrists were pulled roughly behind her, a metal ratchet sound explaining why she couldn't then bring them back forward again. He'd wordlessly mocked her then, a condescending smirk as she knelt before him, before looking up and speaking to whoever was behind her. "Get her prepped. I'll be with you in a moment." Pulled to her feet Rachel looked to see who was manhandling her, found out it was two women, both dressed for the office too. One she recognised as the receptionist, she'd shown Rachel into the interview, hadn't gone back to the front desk. Rachel turned and tried to run but their grip on her arms was firm and one of them hooked a leg in front of hers, stiletto heels clashing with her more modest wedges, forcing her off balance and wrenching her shoulders once more. "Now then," said the woman she didn't recognise, auburn curls framing a kind looking face that matched her compassionate tone, "You'll get hurt and that doesn't help anybody." Maybe it was the tone, or just the need to avoid more pain, but Rachel found herself letting them pull her along a corridor and into another room. She started to struggle again when she saw what was in there, unmistakably a gynaecology chair, padded and reclined, straps on the arm rests, a deep basin below the cut-out front edge. Even as her brain marvelled at the leg holders being padded and covered in the same rich purple plastic as the rest of the chair she realised they too had straps on them, and that triggered her flight response, a proper kick at the woman to her right even as she leant her weight into the woman to her left. They seemed to expect it, the kick deftly dodged by one, the other braced to withstand her charge and then twist, forcing Rachel off balance again, then somehow catching her as she fell, using her momentum to swing her back upright and propel her towards the chair. With practiced ease they sat her on it and she found herself leaning backwards against her bound hands, unclenching them to relieve the sudden pressure on her kidneys. Before she could recover her balance and stand, a strap was pulled down over her head, tightened around her neck and drawn taut. Rachel had frozen then, head pushed against the high back of the chair, discovering for the first time her strong fear of strangulation, preferring to let them have the control they'd so effortlessly taken. Their response was silent and efficient, as they raised each of her legs in turn, place it in the holder, fastened the straps to keep it here. Her skirt sagged down her thighs, ruffled below her hips, protecting her modesty from anybody not standing between her now spread and outstretched legs. The pressure on Rachel's neck reduced, enough that they could turn her a little in the chair reach in behind and release her hands. Rachel briefly considered her options but the neck strap pulled taut again, so she relaxed both arms, allowed them to be pulled onto the armrests and fastened securely there. A final strap was drawn around her waist, leaving her entirely unable to move. "I can't breathe," complained Rachel as the women moved behind her, the lie revealed by her heavy breathing, half panic attack, half a result of the physical tension she'd been under. The strap around her neck was released anyway, letting Rachel move her head and see the rest of the room. There wasn't much to see, a dusty empty shelf on one wall, faded paint with a bright square suggesting a recent picture on another. The door she'd come through was closed, a cupboard beside it, doors closed. From behind her the two women reappeared, still in their smart suits with a new addition, white disposable plastic aprons still showing the creases they'd gained while folded and new. They pulled on medical gloves, purple, latex or maybe nitrile, Rachel wasn't sure. "No, please," she begged as a gloved hand reached behind her and brought into sight what looked like scissors. As they opened she almost laughed, the blunt nosed blades weren't safety scissors at all, they were pinking shears. Maybe they'd been unable to find the right thing, or possibly this was just a stylish kidnapping. It made no difference either way, her smart skirt ruined in moments, her jacket cut from sleeve to sleeve across the shoulders, the cream chemise never to be worn again. Seconds later her pantyhose lay tattered below the chair, revealing that she'd worn a matching bra and panties set, never intended to be seen by anybody else but giving her inner confidence, the comfort of being well dressed. A few more snips and she wasn't dressed at all, just vulnerable, open and unable to protect her body, let alone her modesty. Rachel had stopped asking questions by then, the lack of answers or even acknowledgement making it feel futile, her immobility making the answers irrelevant anyway. Instead she watched bemused as a soft cooling cream was spread down her legs. The bowl built into the chair was filled warm water, used to wet and wash a safety razor as it scraped the cream away. Rachel knew that this was unnecessary, she'd done this to herself just yesterday, knowing she wanted her legs looking good for the interview. She'd done her armpits too, and even her arms, but they too received careful ministrations. Rachel hadn't though plucked the few tendrils of fine hair around her nipples and winced as they were removed now by one of the women, the other now lathering the last hair left on her body. "No, not that," she said, then went silent, aware she sounded whiny, knowing that she had no choice anyway. It took longer than she had expected, her electric trimmer a far more effective way of shaping and controlling the morass, but eventually the razors stopped their relentless scraping and a damp cloth wiped her clean. Rachel stared in fascination, the loss of hair making her look younger, making her feel more naked, more vulnerable. Worse, the loss of her clothes showed that this wasn't an idle prank, the loss of her hair even more sinister. Rachel shivered, moaned in distress, watched what was happening around her. While one woman removed the bowl in the chair and took it away the other covered Rachel's eyes with a damp cloth. She shook her head fearfully but stopped when two hands firmly held it in place before one took the cloth and gently wiped her face, removing the streaks of make-up left by her tears. Both hands held her head again as the other woman came back into the room, leaned over Rachel and used tweezers to carefully shape and tidy her eyebrows. Rachel opened her eyes again, the sharp pain of hairs being plucked receding and saw a tube of lipstick just inches from them. Even as she watched the base was turned, the coloured wax emerging, a bright red that demanded attention. She looked up at the woman holding it, shook her head slightly, forced her mouth firmly closed. The woman shook her head in return and pout her lips, mimicking the expression of someone about to apply colour. Rachel shook her head again but stopped as it was shaken for her, a sharp slap that stung, drew her attention, reminded her how vulnerable she was. Another mimicked pout and this time Rachel complied, pouted herself, let them paint her lips that eye catching colour. The women stepped back from the chair, one leaving the room. Rachel found herself tugging at her wrist restraints and trying to close her knees, an instinctive realisation that this had all merely been a prelude and she was about to become the main event. Even as she struggled the woman returned to the room, an effeminate man with her. Dressed in an awful yellow suit, a matching yellow tie with excessive large knot almost obscuring the navy shirt beneath, he cackled with apparent delight. "Oh, she's beautiful," he said, "Can I have her? Oh please let me have her. I'll be so gentle with her and make sure she's really well cared for." Rachel stared at him, her red rimmed mouth dropping wide open in shock as he walked around the chair, stopping between her legs, her attempts to close her knees having failed and the view also wide open. "Look!" exclaimed the young man, "no hair at all, she's a perfect baby girl." He looked at Rachel's face, saw the horrified disbelief, misread it entirely. "Oh, it's ok my sweetheart, you'll get lots of attention and cuddles and a lovely thick diaper. I'll make sure it's changed regularly, we wouldn't want you to leak or get a nasty rash." "But I don't need diapers," said Rachel slowly, trying to find the right tone, "I'm an adult." "No," said the man, "you'll be my little baby and never need a toilet ever again. I've already found the most adorable diapers and I'll make sure your hands are well protected by thick mittens so that you don't hurt yourself trying to do adult things. It's ok, we'll feed you and give you a bottle and I'll pick the prettiest dresses and onesies for you." A deep laugh caught Rachel by surprise, making her turn. The man she'd met earlier had come back into the room, must have heard the younger man's comments. "I'm sure she'd love that, but we need to let her decide." The effeminate man subsided, clearly the junior in the relationship, subservient to his alpha partner who continued, this time speaking to Rachel. "You can be my lover, available when I want, for what I want, whether you want it or not. The rest of the time will be your own, to pursue your hobbies, enjoy an adult but captive lifestyle. Or you can become the baby girl my partner so eagerly desires, incontinent front and back, cared for like an infant, no responsibilities, no decisions, just strapped into any chair you're sat in, knowing every meal you eat will end up in your diaper, life a routine of naps, bottles and diaper changes." He paused, looked at Rachel, gave her a moment to absorb his words, understand the implications of his offer. He held up a finger to her, indicating that he hadn't yet finished, continued his firm measured words, "Now, before I ask you, I think it'll help to give you an idea of just how real this situation is. The man indicated to someone stood behind Rachel and she found the chair she was in being slowly rotated, giving her a chance to see behind it for the first time. A table with a large open plastic crate on it stood in the corner of the room, a door in the wall beside it. One of the two women stood there, the other releasing the chair and stepping back to give Rachel a clear view. From behind Rachel heard the man speak again. "These offices are on a very short term lease, we'll be gone by this evening, anybody pursuing the financial trail will find it petering out in the Cayman Islands; nobody will know who we are, whether you even came here, where we've taken you. Or them." At those words, or possible a gesture made from behind Rachel, the woman by the door leaned across, turned its handle and pushed it open. Rachel sat forward in the chair as much as the waist strap allowed her, arms pulling away from the chair as her legs pushed into their rests, her muscles taut as she stared in shock through the open doorway. Rachel had known she was in trouble anyway but this was a final confirmation, a counter to the slivers of hope she'd been trying to retain. The cages she could see were about waist height, three metal cubes with sturdy bars keeping captive in each a naked woman, all of them turning to stare back at her. They were silent, their ankles and wrists secured to the bars, preventing them removing the painful looking gags in their mouths, fetish style ball gags that distended their jaws. The only communication was a look of raw terror and anguish in their eyes, fearful glances from Rachel to the man behind her, a look back at her with a mix of sympathy and distress. "Two of them are for foreign export," she heard from behind, "my clients in the Gulf like a nice American blonde. The other one will be a fine earner in a New Orleans brothel; it's one of the ones that lets its clientele explore their sadistic side, so they're a good repeat customer for us." It was Rachel's turn to look with sympathy, watch the women's reaction to these statements. They must have not been told this before, their mouths working feverishly at their gags, their eyes doing the screaming for them. That was the last Rachel saw of them, the door closing on the terrible sight, her chair being turned back to face the man she now knew was evil, that for the first time she really feared. "Oh, don't worry," he told her, "You're too good for that. We want you to be part of the family." He crouched down, his face level with her naked vulnerability, looked up past it to her face. "But how will you join us? Baby or lover, adult or infant, taking care of my needs or needing care?" "Neither," said Rachel bravely, "Let me go." She held his stare, not daring to look away, but also not able to hide the turmoil inside her. He waited a few seconds, let her inner tensions mount, then chuckled. "I thought you might say that, so we have a simple test. You're going to get an enema." He paused, tilted his head a little, asked her with a curious tone, "Have you had one before?" "Umm. What? No," said Rachel in surprise. Of course she knew what an enema was but she'd never had one, wasn't sure why people had them, didn't know why she was being given one now. The man didn't keep her in suspense. "Well, it's straightforward. We fill you with warm water through your bottom, a tiny amount of soap in the mix to irritate your bowels, and before long your body will scream to release it. Of course, anything else up there will come out at the same time; it's a very thorough cleansing." Rachel didn't like the sound of that. She hadn't moved her bowels since the previous evening but couldn't see any sensible reasons for needing to be clean inside, and the phrase 'your body will scream' filled her with dread. "As soon as it's administered you'll be secured in a very thick diaper." "Oh yes!" said the effeminate man, a big smile lighting up his face. The man looked across in amusement before turning back to Rachel and continuing. "If you want to become a baby then you'll just have to do what babies do: Relax your muscles and fill your diaper. If you want to be an adult though, you'll have to convince me that you want to be my lover." Rachel stared at him in consternation. Her bad situation was getting worse and she couldn't see a good outcome from this. Her confusion was obvious so the man explained, "It's very simple, you just need to bring me to orgasm. Do that while you have a clean diaper and we'll remove it, you can empty your bowels into a toilet and walk out of here with us. It's that or a pushchair, but you can choose." He stood back up, looked at her, held his hands out to the side and theatrically said, "Let the test begin!" Beckoning to the younger man he turned and they both left the room. Being forcibly given an enema was the most humiliating thing Rachel had ever experienced. Well, for around 15-20 minutes anyway. She'd asked the woman how long it would take to come out and that was the answer; it would be ready sooner but with discipline and determination she could hold it through the pain. Her stomach distended, a bloated feeling making her want to waddle, a newly attached diaper making it impossible not to, Rachel was led to another room, her arms tied behind her once more, already aware that she wanted relief from the torment inside. Wincing in discomfort she looked up and saw the man sat in a chair, his trousers undone, the smile on his lips matching the anticipation shown by his already twitching member. Rachel had already made up her mind, and her decision was to escape. That meant creating the chance, and even being regularly raped was preferable to losing her autonomy, being permanently strapped down or trapped behind a crib's bars, unable to run in a diaper this thick. So she needed to work some magic, make him a happy man before she made his boyfriend a happy father. Gently pushed to her knees, legs forced too far apart by the thick disposable diaper, Rachel edged closer and leaned forward between his thighs, opened her mouth and put to good use four years of experience at college. That had been around ten minutes ago, and with the time it had taken to diaper her and waddle through to here, her 15 minutes were up. Rachel knew it too, her stomach squirming, the pain making the clenching so much more difficult, matched by the aching pain now in her jaw. She was good at this, she knew it, but the man had resisted her clever used of her tongue, the gentle sucking and use of her soft lips, spreading their red brightness down the full length of his shaft. Without warning he suddenly grabbed the back of her head, his fingers intertwined in her hair, pulled it down further onto him. Rachel resisted the urge to fight this, normal etiquette discarded; if he was ready then she might get to the toilet yet. As her teeth painfully trapped her lips against his pelvis she realised she'd gone too far down, couldn't breath, uncontrollably coughed and jerked her head back. Even as she spluttered for breath she realised the cough had broken her control, relaxed her sphincter, allowed a vile mess to start forcefully squirting from her body. With frenzied action Rachel renewed her ministrations, desperate to finish him off before anybody could tell what she'd done. His penis twitched, a sign she knew well, but a horrific smell rose around her, obvious confirmation that she was already too late, that she'd just condemned herself to a life of infancy. Her mind reeling she relaxed her mouth and started to lean back, looking up to see a strange expression on her face. Even before his penis slipped from her mouth it exploded, an acrid taste adding to her humiliation, then the head pulled free of her lips and another twitch gave her a new lipstick, this one white and badly applied, spread on her cheek and chin. Time seemed to stop. Rachel knelt there, letting her body continue its purge, no reason to try and hold back now, feeling the tickle as liquid started to dribble down her cheek, along the edge of her chin. She looked up at the man, watched him regain his composure, look back down at her. "Well now, isn't this an interesting situation," he said, "It smells like you've really put that diaper to good use, just like a baby little girl." Rachel blushed, unable to deny this but unwilling to admit the truth, apparent though the smell was making it. "But then you kept going anyway, didn't you?" asked the man rhetorically, "You didn't stop until you had my seed inside you." He looked at Rachel in amusement and added, "And dripping off you." Rachel's blush deepened and she looked away, turning her head to the side, not wanting to see the penis that she'd put so much effort towards satisfying. "What does that mean?" asked a male voice behind her. The effeminate boyfriend, he must have been watching the whole thing. "She filled her diaper, that makes her my baby!" Rachel felt his hands on her shoulders, pulling her off the man, off balance. She fell backwards, unable to use her arms to steady herself, knees too far apart to provide support, her weight landing instead on the thick padding beneath her bottom and the mess it held, trapped against her skin, squelching up the back and around the top of her legs. "It does indeed," reassured the man, confirming her worse fears, condemning her future, "but your baby has also shown she wants to be my lover too. Don't you my darling," he asked her, not expecting a reply, "I think your baby girl wants a regular feeding. Don't worry," he said, an insincere kindness in his tone as he looked down at her, "we'll make sure you don't get hungry." As she sat there, rank smell and horrid sensations at one end, awful taste and itching face at the other, Rachel realised that this was the plan all along. He'd held back, waited until she'd fouled herself before letting himself go, set her up for a life as a sex slave adult baby. She stared at her new owner in shock, wondering at the cruelty of the man she could still taste, couldn't wipe off her face. He looked back at her, saw her expression, nodded at her and smiled. "Welcome to the family."

As the door crashed open they stumbled into the house, lips already locked together, hands exploring anything in reach. He kicked the door shut, his hands moving from her shoulders, one to her back to hold her snug against him, the other sneaking below her shirt, a first firm grasp of a warm breast, nipple pushing a strong welcome against his finger. She responded by pushing both her arms under his t-shirt, reaching up his back and pulling him even closer, the heat from his body adding to her sexual desire. Her tongue took control of the kiss, pulsing firmly in and out of his mouth, a rapid demanding violation that he hadn't expected. His response was visceral, lifting her and pushing her backwards onto his bed. Leaving her sat up he pulled her shirt, lifted it over her shoulders, her arms rising to let him remove it completely. As he fumbled with her bra she used her nails to tear at his t-shirt, ripples of grazed skin across his back as the fabric ripped. He pulled the remnants of his t-shirt off, threw them to the floor where they landed by her shirt, her bra and her skirt, which she'd slipped off while he was undressing. She leaned forward, undid his belt and yanked at his jeans. Kicking them off he resumed the close embrace, their mouths moving together, lips being nibbled and suckled, saliva exchanged. She reached down, felt his immense excitement, a man clearly ready to give and receive pleasure, and that was exactly what she needed right now. She pulled him closer, her hips rising to meet him and he realised it was time, lifted her slightly and thrust. Their diapers collided, a soft squidge revealing hers was already soaked, swollen padding kept in check by thin leakproof plastic. It was enough to tip him over, a strange expression on his face as he stopped kissing, crushed her body against his, thrust impotently at his own thick absorbent layer, wet his diaper in a different way. She looked at him in disappointment then disgust. "You selfish bastard," she accused, "You're going to have to make that up to me." He looked at her in a post-orgasmic guilt, nodded, let her push his head down with one hand, as with the other she tugged at the tapes holding her diaper closed. She knew he wasn't going to enjoy this but didn't care. She was.

“…and hit Compile, and…” She sat back, watched the text scroll up her screen. As it stopped she leaned forward, copied the output onto a USB key designed to look like a pacifier and stuck it into the mouth of her humanoid robot. “New firmware detected,” said a warm female voice, “Installing. Complete. Testing functions.” She waited patiently as the robot moved its legs, each in turn, then its arms. She’d dressed it as a nanny, or at least how she imagined they’d dressed a hundred years before. “Tests complete,” she heard, “Initiating main program.” The robot stood up, its long grey skirt falling below its knees and hiding the lace beneath. Its head turned and the cameras she’d put where its eyes should be flexed slightly, showing they were adjusting their focus. “Baby identified. Initiating care routine,” said the warm female voice. She sat back in surprise. There were no babies here, just her and the robot. Unless… Quickly she turned to the computer, checked her program. As she scrolled rapidly through she felt the robot take her arm. “No, stop. I’m not a baby,” she told it, but it ignored her, pulled her away from the computer and off her chair. She knew why. She’d been testing its motor functions, its ability to lift and carry a person, whether it was strong enough to cope with an unruly child. The firmware she’d used had a timer, would shut the robot down after just ten minutes, but had infant recognition disabled, so that she could test it herself during that period. She’d removed the timer when she added the care modules, but realised she hadn’t re-enabled its ability to differentiate between babies and adults. The robot didn’t care. It had been programmed to strip, clean, diaper and feed, and it had already laid her on the floor, stripped off her jeans and underwear, used a warm wet sponge to assure she was clean and ready. She saw a glimmer of hope. There were no diapers that could fit her. Even as she saw the robot look around and realise this she remembered the logic she’d included. “No diapers available; placing order,” she heard, as she was picked up. She saw her web browser start up, the robot’s wireless connection successfully controlling her computer, finding an adult diaper site and placing an order. 200 diapers? How long was this going to happen? Carried through to the bathroom she struggled to free herself but the robot was implacable and calm, just held her firmly without hurting her, then pinned her to the floor as it reached for a towel. “Improvising diaper,” she heard as it wrapped the towel around her. She knew it would take her to the kitchen next, cut a bin bag into makeshift waterproof panties, strap her to a chair and feed her some lunch. There was just one thing left to try. She knew it wouldn’t work, trusted in her programming. She had to try through. “Nanny switch off,” she said in a firm clear voice. “Switch off command received,” she heard, and sighed with relief, “Command came from baby. Ignoring command.” She groaned and relaxed in the robot’s arms. She’d done everything she could, it wasn’t her fault now. Someone else would have to rescue her. Hopefully not too quickly.

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There will not be more of this story. It was exploring and subverting the 'kidnapped and put in diapers' trope, as is another I recently posted.

I knew he was going to rape me. I just didn't know what to do about it. I stared at him, determined not to cry, refusing to scream or panic. He ignored the hatred in my eyes, just sat there, actually started cleaning his nails with the large knife he held. "Undress." The command was firm. He didn't shout, the knife blade flashing in the light of the bedside lamp gave his deep gravelly voice the extra weight it needed. I resisted, just stood there, wishing I'd walked away when I had the chance. He was attractive enough, short dark hair not quite matching his stubbly beard, the edges straight, suggesting he'd intended that look rather than being too lazy to shave. Maybe both. It was a cool day but he'd been wearing only a thin knitted jumper, its deep green V neck revealing hair on his chest, narrow arms showing muscle definition you don't get in an office job. Of course I'd reacted warmly to his approach, who wouldn't. Someone sensible is who. Someone that wouldn't get grabbed by the shoulders, wouldn't be thrown into a van, would've avoided the metal cuffs on the wrists, let alone the ankles. They'd pinched, I was still sore, but at least they were off now. Nothing held me now. Just the room, its locked door, a window I couldn't see how to open and him, sat there, his knife stopping its motion as he frowned. "Undress." This time the command was a little louder, enough to be more forceful, but still very controlled. He didn't feel the need to shout, seemed to know he didn't have to bully me, still didn't make an explicit threat with the knife. I was scared of it anyway, wanted to keep him sat there, wished desperately to survive this. I started to take off my sweater. Chunky cable-knit, it hid the shape of my body, only hinted at the curves beneath. I wanted to keep them hidden but there were few options, if I was going to undress. I didn't bother to plead, beg for my freedom, make demands; I'd tried that in the van and he'd ignored me, a small shake of his head showing that he was listening but that it wasn't going to work. No point humiliating myself further now. Not like that anyway. It was humiliating enough lifting the hem of the sweater, revealing how high the waist was on my skirt, the neat buttoned blouse tucked into it. By then the sweater was above my shoulders, blocking my view, letting me hide my face. I paused, fought back the tears. Some victories are tiny, invisible, but still important. Lifting the sweater fully over my head I lowered my arms, pulled it down them, folded it neatly and put it on the table by the bed. He seemed amused that I'd stopped to fold it, or maybe at something else. I hadn't even thought about it until his cruel smile, not wanting to throw it on the floor, not wanting to touch the bed, refusing to go near the chair he was sat in to put it on that. He said nothing, just watched, the knife back at his nails. I hoped he'd get distracted by me, drop it, hurt himself before he could hurt me. Squatting down I pulled the hem of my skirts aside, unzipped one of my boots, the other. Standing I lifted a leg behind me, steadied myself against the table, used the other hand to pull the boot off. I thought about throwing it at him, realised he was thinking the same thing, saw the almost imperceptible shake of his head. I guess he was right, it wouldn't do any damage, just annoy him. I didn't want to annoy him. The other boot came off, both placed neatly below the table, my nylon covered toes sinking into the carpet. It was a nice carpet, better than I had in my own house, suggested he had wealth and taste. I'd picked a good man, except he'd picked me, and my choice had ceased to matter. Normally I'd undo the button on my skirt, slide that and the petticoats beneath over my hips, let them fall to the floor around me. I'd done that in front of other men, sacrificing the sexiness of a slow undress to give them a laugh at the circle of satin, lace and netting, me stood in the middle giving a quick pirouette. I didn't want to make this man laugh, wanted to delay my rape, needed to keep my clothes on as long as I could. But the knife kept flashing, its cruel edge turning towards me from time to time, keeping me tense. But I wasn't going to give him a slow sexy strip, had no music to wriggle and swing my hips to, didn't want to arouse him. I looked at his crotch. I didn't mean to, it just followed naturally from that thought. His slacks were loose, nicely tailored, no belt holding them up. Nothing inside pushing them up either; maybe he had problems. It might be that this was his act of desperation, all I needed to do was keep calm, avoid insulting him, wait for the moment to suggest he just lets me go, that we forget about it. Looking up at his face I realised he'd seen my glance, faint vestiges of a smile showing his amusement, no signs of desperation, instead revealing how relaxed he was. Well, he was the one with the knife. I surprised him with my next move. I almost surprised myself, the speed with which I made the decision and acted on it. Reaching under my skirt I closed my hands, grabbing the petticoats beneath and tugging firmly. They gathered into a single elasticated waistband that stretched and slid down, my skirt folding flat against my thighs as the netting and lace gathered by my feet. I stepped out of it immediately, picking up the petticoats, folding them as much as you can and putting them on my sweater. He seemed shocked by this, but I couldn't tell why. Maybe the pace with which I'd acted, the nonchalant way I'd stepped out of them and folded them up, maybe even that I'd even been wearing them. Certainly they weren't in fashion, hadn't been since my grandmother was out seducing my grandfather, but for a party they still added a lovely shape to a skirt, gave a man something fun to fight through before claiming his prize. Tonight the fight was one-sided, the prize wouldn't be given. It's cheating to bring a knife to a seduction, takes all the fun away. For me, anyway. Maybe it was the only thing that worked for him. Clean his nails, violate a woman, hopefully end the night cutting his own manhood off. Not much of a man, raping a woman. Too much of a man, right now. I sighed, reached behind me and unbuttoned my skirt. It wasn't designed to hang with no petticoats, immediately fell to the floor, a crumpled mess of shocking yellow cotton. Sometimes you want to be bright, stand out, draw attention. I'd drawn attention tonight, found a man, made it home with him. Just not how I'd planned. Bending at the knees I picked it up, folded it, started a new pile. Glancing back I could see he was looking a little confused. Maybe he hadn't anticipated the slip underneath, cream satin still hiding my thighs, obscuring the curve of my hips, stopping him from leering at my body where they all met. I'd worn it to keep the netting from scratching my legs, cheap petticoats less comfortable than they look, becoming downright nasty if they get caught between your legs. I wondered how he'd do it, whether he'd want me on my back looking into his face, sweat dripping into my eyes, or on my front, avoiding my gaze, taking his pleasure on an anonymous object, reducing me to a toy for him to break. I nearly cried then. Instead I closed my eyes, squeezed the tears away, focussed on undoing my blouse. I found my fingers trembling, a physical betrayal of my nerves, the stress I was feeling. If he noticed he said nothing, just holding the knife casually now, watching me, patiently waiting. It seemed to take hours to undo the buttons. There were only seven and two hadn't even been fastened. Each button was another step nearer to nakedness, another protective barrier removed, another reminder why I was taking my clothes off. Bad enough to dragged here, horrible watching that knife, terrible not knowing what he intended to do with it but the worse torture was being made to strip myself, preparing a meal he would consume. That led me to another thought as I folded the blouse, put it on my skirt, started to lift my slip. I'd been assuming he'd rape me, wanted what every man wants. What'd I'd gladly have shared with him, had he flirted, danced with me, whispered the right words late in the evening. Maybe he didn't want that. Maybe he did want me on my front, and wanted his pleasure elsewhere. Or wanted to kneel on my shoulders, pinning me down, a distasteful act leaving an unpleasant taste. What would I do then? Could I let that happen, avoid the desire to bite down, hard, cause him the pain his knife would surely then give to me? As my slip lifted over my face I looked at where I was thinking of biting, realised it looked different, that he'd woken up. With a sinking feeling deep inside, I knew that I'd just given him full sight of my nearly naked body, just underwear protecting my modesty but my raised arms stretching me slimmer, breasts rising a little, womanly curves no doubt exactly as he'd fantasised. I wished I'd worn stockings instead of tights, a garter belt and stocking tops might have finished him off, given me a reprieve instead of getting him firmly prepared. I sighed, put the slip on the table, stood there, covering my face with my hands. No point hiding my body, he'd already seen that, I just didn't want to look at him, didn't want him to see my expression, used my elbows to hide my cleavage. I would've turned away but didn't want him behind me, didn't trust that vicious blade at my back. He waited a few moments, I'm not sure why, then spoke for the third time. "Undress." This time I couldn't help myself. I begged, stamped my foot, picked up my skirt and blouse and threw them at him. As they flared out in the air then fluttered to the floor between us I sank down to my knees, started swearing at him, stared fearfully at the knife as he lifted it. "Undress." One track mind this guy, but it's a track I couldn't escape. I wanted to attack him, hurt him, force him to end this, but I was too scared. I could still get through this, make it out alive, go through nothing I hadn't already enjoyed in the past, even if I wasn't going to enjoy it this time. Steeling myself I stood up, turned side on to him, slid my tights and undies down in one quick motion, kicked them off my feet. Turning back I pulled my bra straps off my shoulders, pulled it down to my waist, rotated it so the back fastening was in front and removed it completely. I'm not pert and lithe any more but I'm not ashamed of my body. My hips have broadened, giving me the classic hourglass look despite the extra inches on my waist. My breasts have grown a little larger too, enough to offset the small sag, small enough still to be pretty. I knew he'd like what he could see but there was no point hiding it, no need to risk him getting cross at my modesty. So I just stood there, arms by my side, glared at him and waited for him to get his fill. It was his turn to surprise me. He barely glanced at my body, just lifted his knife, pointed it at me. As I shuddered he flicked the point towards the bed, an obvious unspoken command. I chose to obey; it would happen anyway, this option didn't require initial pain. I showed my displeasure by lying down with my legs straight, ankles crossed, then crossed my arms and kept glaring at him. He stood up, stretched awkwardly, his jumper lifting slightly to reveal a firm narrow waist. Definitely a waste of a man, this, and wouldn't he be a popular little boy in prison. Walking to the foot of the bed he took one of my ankles, the gentle but firm hold of a confident man, and drew it away from the other. I let it happen, he'd win any contest of strength even without the knife, and that was still in his other hand. He put it down now, by my foot, the first time since the cuffs came off that he'd been without it. Not that it made a difference, a second later something cold was around my ankle, a loud click breaking the silence. While I looked down and mentally processed the leather cuff that held my leg in place, realising it had a rope leading off the back of the bed, my other ankle was gently taken and pulled in the other direction. Another click, another cuff. At least I was on my back, that closed off one bad option. I hadn't expected to be tied, wasn't into bondage, didn't think I liked it. Knew I didn't want it now, but inside my head a rogue thought suggested that this might make things easier, the chance to resist removed. While I berated myself for that thought he come up the bed, took a wrist and fastened it above my head. Too late now to resist even if I wanted to, and he ignored my glare as he moved back around the bed and finished fastening me spreadeagle, naked on the bed, vulnerable to his whim. Given the state of his trousers as he leaned over to tie my wrists his whim wasn't lacking either. As he stepped away from the bed I closed my eyes. This was going to be nasty, however it went, but at least the waiting was over. Maybe he'd let me go, maybe he wouldn't. I wanted to know, didn't dare ask, couldn't see a good way through that conversation anyway. Not that there'd be a conversation, he'd only said one word the entire time; limited vocabulary this guy. Maybe he put his tongue to other uses? I finally screamed, a curse at myself for that thought, strangely more angry with my reaction than what he was doing. He turned quickly, reached over, placed a finger against my lips. An admonishment you'd give to a child, strangely empathetic, as though he knew my distress, regretted it. Better I guess than the knife being used, but he'd taken that off the bed, put it on the table, ignored it now I was fastened tight. Instead he knelt, reached under the bed. I closed my eyes, I didn't want to see what he was retrieving, it couldn't be good. He was into restraints, was he also into sadism? Was he getting a whip, a paddle, something to beat me with, or a sex toy, something to insert into me. Maybe it was just lubricant, a desire to make things more comfortable. More comfortable for him anyway, I wasn't going to be finding this comfortable at all. It was indeed something to stick inside me. I'm not sure what, because he put his hand over my eyes, pushed my head back, flat on the bed, applied enough pressure to make me know to stay there. I behaved, let him use a finger to open my jaw, felt something being inserted. Well, I'd made a noise, he'd responded with a gag. Something plastic, filling my mouth, narrower as it passed my lips, letting me almost close my mouth. I could have spit it out, but he could have tied it in place; we compromised with me leaving it where he'd put it. That gave me the other answer. While the gag wasn't pleasant it didn't taste bad, which meant I'd escaped the two worse options already. Of course, legs spread asunder was a clue in itself; he could proceed now at his leisure, and he'd certainly be the only one getting any pleasure even there. Indeed, moments later he climbed onto the bed, kneeled between my thighs. I didn't want to look, even when I felt the material of his trousers rubbing against my naked legs. Great, I was going to be raped by a man that couldn't even be bothered to undress first. I turned my head to the side so that I wouldn't have to look into his face, kept my eyes shut, kept the gag in place. He caressed my face, brushed hair away from my ear, leaned over me and gave me a gentle kiss on my cheek. I trembled and froze in place, probably made him smile, a vibrating statue beneath him. When he sat back up, reached beneath my bottom and lifted my hips from the bed I tensed up. I couldn't stop this, but I didn't want it; I just had no choice. He'd been gentle up to now but I didn't expect that to continue. How can rape be gentle? He was gentle, but it wasn't rape. Instead he lowered my hips again, my body otherwise untouched. I would say my dignity intact but that was shattered by his next action, pulling material up between my legs, then up around my waist. I turned to look and see what was happening, the gag falling from my mouth as I gasped in shock and watched, speechless, as he fastened a cloth diaper onto me. Looking up he saw me, smiled, and leaned forward again. I watched him reach beside my head, saw him pick up the gag, realised it was an oversized pacifier, ideal for keeping an adult quiet. He put it back in my mouth to keep me quiet, used his thumb to softly squeeze the tip of my nose then leaned back again. Aghast I saw him retrieve a sheet of folded plastic, felt him lift my hips again and slide it beneath, watched as he unfolded it into waterproof panties, poppers securing them around my diaper, around me. As he switched off the light, unlocked the door and left the room I realised I might not be getting raped after all. I didn't know what I was getting, but unless he came back soon, the list would include "wet". Somehow, I think he intended that. He'd better. It was what I'd paid him for. It was going to be a fun weekend; I relaxed, smiled around my pacifier, sought welcome sleep.

He applied the safety by releasing the trigger and assuring it returned to its non-firing position. That was a conscious action by him, as he's well trained and knows that validating correct function of a firearm is essential for firearms safety and he had no wish to cause any issues for the police. This story is complete; you are welcome to choose your own interpretation of the motives of the deceased and their relationship to the potential victim, and the subsequent consequences of this episode.

Frank applied the safety, ejected the magazine, cleared the chamber and put his pistol on the table. The Glock 26 looked like a toy gun, its compressed form stumpy and ugly, but he was glad he'd had it on him. Hearing someone enter the house he stepped away from the table, turned to face the door and raised his hands. "Police! Stop there. Hands up, keep them where I can see them. Don't move!" The police officer was young, frightened, his service weapon pointing at Frank, the shouted commands all unnecessary. Frank stood patiently, his heart rate only slightly elevated, his breathing steady and a calm expression on his face. When the officer stopped for breath he spoke, a clear neutral tone. "My weapon is on the table, unloaded. I have a concealed carry permit which I can show to you. The body is in the kitchen." A second police officer entering the room heard the words, took control from her younger partner. "Thank you sir, but we're going to have to detain you while we validate this. Turn around slowly, place your hands against the wall." Frank sighed but did as he was asked. Tensions were high, cooperation merely inconvenient. He anticipated his wrists being brought down behind his back, didn't resist, allowed the cuffs to go on. He knew he could remove them if he wanted to, but why upset these two. They were just doing their job. Paperwork checked, an apology from the female police officer, an apology from her lieutenant, an apology even from the DA who had inexplicably arrived on the scene, Frank sat in the back on an ambulance he hadn't called, reassuring a paramedic that he was fine, the contusions were just grazes, no they weren't from the police. Moments later a police detective climbed into the ambulance, the DA following him, pointed stares encouraging the paramedic to find it important to be elsewhere. "You're claiming it's self defence?" asked the detective. Frank didn't want to repeat his story, knew it would be necessary. The attack from behind, a needle skittering across the kitchen floor, some sort of blunt club swinging for his head, realising the door was locked and he couldn't run. He'd drawn his weapon and shot immediately, no warning; if he'd had time for that he wouldn't have needed to shoot at all. The DA nodded. She'd worked enough concealed carry cases, knew how rarely those weapons were misused, how reluctant the bearers were to even draw them. She'd also been shown the syringe, retrieved from beneath a counter, in an evidence bag, its contents already heading to the lab. She'd been shown something else too, and waved to someone outside the ambulance to bring it over. "Is this your bag?" she asked, pointing at the black canvas hold-all. Frank shook his head. "Not one of mine," he said, "I don't have any that look like that." "Well," said the DA, "it contains leather restraints, some sort of harness, mittens that lock to the wrist. If I didn't know better I'd say it's bondage gear - or a kidnap kit. Any reason you can think someone might want to kidnap you?" Frank's eyes widened as he looked up at the DA, looked across at the bag, stared in confusion at the detective. "No," he replied, "who.. why.. what?" The detective smiled at his confusion, cruelly added to it. "So you can confirm that the clothing in the bag isn't yours?" "What clothing?" asked Frank, "What was in the bag?" "Hard to describe," said the detective, "but if I had to I'd call it a baby's romper suit. In your size." Frank went white, his expression changing, then closed his eyes as in deep thought. The detective and DA looked at each other, raised eyebrows, realising this wasn't a random attack. "So Frank," asked the DA, "tell us about the other thing in the bag. The adult sized disposable diaper."

Thank you for the constructive feedback. I'm not sure I set out to write a horror story, but this will be helpful should I try a more considered entry in that genre.

Thank you Cute_Kitten, you've got it. Authors take pride in causing an emotional response in their readers, and in a story as short as this there's very little time and opportunity to achieve that. Announcing up front that this story has a twist or that it's horror would be a pointless spoiler that destroys the whole emotional impact of the story. Similarly adding a tag gives away the whole plot, takes that surprise away, makes reading the story entirely pointless - even for those that will enjoy the twist. I'm one of those. My 'first person' stories are frequently fictional autobiography; this is a curious inversion in that I identify with the wife rather than the protagonist. To me this is a horror story, but the horror is not in the twist or the ending. The horror is the use of infantile language, the selfishness of the protagonist, the situation the poor wife finds herself in. The outcome of the story is my natural response to that horror. That others interpret it otherwise is the privilege of the reader, and I thoroughly support their choice to empathise with the protagonist and go through what for him (and them) is an emotional betrayal. As an author I can only consider this a writing success. Adding spoilers would damage my own and also others' interpretation of this short sordid tale, and eliminate the emotional reaction to the story. Why would I do that?

Chapter 3 Julie looked wide eyed at Ellie, wondering how she'd respond to the new moniker. Ellie, sitting up on the table, just shrugged and waited patiently for Sandy. They rapidly dressed her, thick white tights, a simple cotton diaper shirt with four snaps at the crotch, and what turned out to be a pinafore dress, a pretty baby blue, barely reaching the top of Ellie's thighs when she stood. "Those are toddler clothes," commented Julie, "I thought we'd get dressed like babies." Miriam grinned before replying. "You want the full baby treatment?" She didn't wait for Julie's horrified denial before continuing, "As with the simple diaper and, as you'll find later, keeping you on adult food, this is part of helping our babies adjust. We found that too much too soon scared them and led to behavioural challenges." Sandy used hair bands to add two pony tails to Ellie, the little girl hairstyle making the other three girls all go, "Awww." Alice clapped her hands, drawing their attention, and said, "OK, you've now seen how it's done. Who's next?" "I'll go last," declared Jane, "Let's get these two baby girls diapered and dressed first." Julie and Sandy both blushed and stood there, unwilling to volunteer but lacking the confidence to challenge Jane. Ellie belied her appearance by moving decisively behind Sandy, reaching around to the front and drawing Julie's jacket from her. "Add that jacket to Julie's pile", requested Miriam, "I don't think Sandy will need it any more." Julie stared at her in amazement, surprised Miriam had noticed the loan. "Come on," demanded Jane, taking Julie's hand and leading her towards Sandy, "we should give Ellie some help." Before long Sandy was fully transformed, her pinafore a pale green but still allowing glimpses of the padding beneath. She stood there tugging down on it, not realising she kept going, "Oh. Oh! Oh." Julie wanted to laugh but knew it was her turn, and wasn't sure she'd take it any better. She decided to make it easy for her new friends and faced Jane, held her arms out to the sides and put on a little girl voice. "Please Jane, make me a baby." Jane, Ellie and Sandy laughed, stepped forward and started to remove her blouse and skirt. Miriam and Alice just looked at each other, smiled and said nothing. Julie stepped out of her heels, allowed the girls to remove her underwear and sat on the edge of the table, trying to show a confidence she didn't feel. As Daphne brought over a fresh bowl of warm water Julie looked down and saw Jane pick up the shaving foam. Her confidence failed, and, feeling vulnerable, she found herself reaching down with both hands, covering her crotch. "I.. I'm.." she stuttered, before feeling her wrists being firmly drawn away. She managed not to resist and quickly found her arms above her head, held in place by Ellie, a curious compassionate implacability on her face. "Good, Ellie," complimented Miriam, "Although perhaps you'd like some help with that." Alice walked around the table and Julie heard a sound from underneath it, a creak and a slither, then something cold wrapped around her wrist. She looked up and saw a leather band being fastened in place, shock stopping her resisting as a second was fixed to her other wrist. "We find this helps some of our babies relax," explained Alice, "a firm restraint quells their desire to struggle and removes any sense of guilt about the process." Indeed, Julie had subsided the moment the wrist restraints were in place. She now had no choice, and that lack of agency made it easier to accept her fate, allow Jane to shave away her adulthood. Instead she stretched back with her hands, keen to reach out to Ellie, show that she didn't resent the control imposed on her. Ellie took one of her hands between her own, held it tight, offered warm human contact that provided surprising comfort. A cold damp feeling as she was wiped clean let Julie know that Jane had finished, so she allowed herself to be turned onto her side before being returned to her back. She could feel the padding beneath her, knew she was now lying on a diaper, and generously spread her thighs a little to allow it to be pulled taut between her legs. Looking down she saw Sandy taking charge, taping her securely in place, the incongruous sight of an adult dressed like a toddler turning her into one herself. She sighed, flexed her thighs, felt the bulk between them and wondered why she felt so calm. "No," she heard Alice tell Ellie, "Don't release her yet." Julie looked up, saw the uncertainty on Ellie's face and turned her own to Alice, fear and confusion in her expression even before she said anything. Alice put a finger on her lips, silencing the questions before they came, and explained to the other three, "Sometimes the babies throw tantrums, so you'll need to be able to control and care for them even when they're uncooperative. I'm sure Julie will behave.." Alice paused and gave a quick look at Julie which let her know that she had better behave. "..but this is a lovely opportunity for you to try dressing someone in restraints." Ellie's comforting had helped Julie feel relaxed, and Alice's look didn't leave her feeling threatened. She wriggled on the table, making sure not to kick out, and flapped her hands. In a calm voice she begged, "No! Please don't dress me as a baby. I'll be good! You don't have to do this." Jane laughed, tickled her tummy just above the diaper and replied, "But Julie, you asked me to turn you into a baby. You can't change your mind now!" Sandy burst into giggles and wheeled away, laughing too hard to help, but Jane and Ellie, holding the clothing Daphne offered them, took an ankle each and were soon pulling childish thick tights up Julie's smooth legs. Julie had intended to bend her knees and drum her feet on the table once the tights were pulled up, simulate a toddler's tantrum and make the others laugh some more. Instead she was distracted by the sensations as the tights compressed her diaper against her, a frightening reinforcement of the confinement around her crotch. "We'll need to release her wrists to get the diaper shirt on her," said Sandy, moving to the head of the table. "No," said Jane, "look, there are poppers here." Julie looked and saw Jane holding the diaper shirt she would soon be wearing, unfastening poppers at each shoulder. "Oh, that's clever," she blurted, before remembering the clever design merely meant she would be wearing it even sooner. Jane smiled, lifted both ankles and tugged on the garment. It took all three girls rolling Julie on the table, lifting limbs and tugging on the diaper shirt to pull it onto her, but she was soon snugly dressed, the poppers refastened, and aware that it would all soon repeat with the pinafore dress. "Good work," said Miriam, "but if Julie agrees to cooperate I think it will be quicker and more comfortable for her if we release her wrists and let her sit up while you pull her dress on." The others agreed that this would be easier, and Julie had no intention of delaying her release. "I'll be a good girl," she promised, only to be challenged by Jane. "Oh, no Julie," she said, "Promise me you'll be a good baby." Miriam and Alice laughed, and Julie realised they weren't going to help her out here. "I'll be a good baby girl," she said, then to show she wasn't upset fluttered her eyelashes at Jane. Even Ellie let out a guffaw at that, and the girls soon had Julie's wrists out of the restraints before getting her into a pale yellow pinafore that unsurprisingly was rather shorter than she'd prefer. She stood up, gave a twirl and stopped, facing Jane. "Now then, just one baby left," she declared. Jane nodded, shrugged and invited them to go ahead. *** Thinking back on that first day, Julie thought that getting Jane ready had been the hardest part. Jane had cooperated, made it easy for her, but she'd never had to shave someone else before, let alone so sensitive an area. She'd hesitated, stopped and started 2-3 times, missed a bit and had to redo that area, but finally finished without cutting Jane or causing her pain. Julie wondered if she was more relieved about that than Jane, but they'd never discussed it afterwards. The rest of the afternoon had gone quickly. Miriam and her team had shown the girls to a sitting room, soft furnishings and a trolley with drinks, then left them alone, knowing it had been an intense few hours and that they'd need some time. The girls had sat quietly chatting, discussing what they'd learned, the curious situation, their new attire. Unspoken was the one thing they all knew would come: Someone would need the toilet. Only Sandy had taken a drink from the trolley, seemingly oblivious to the obvious consequences, or perhaps accepting that it was going to happen anyway. Even without a drink Julie knew she'd soon need to go, but she could hold it for the moment and was unwilling to be first to gain this new experience. Before long Daphne and Alice joined them. "Dinner time," said Daphne cheerfully, "but before we go through, does anybody need a change?" Each of the girls shook her head, and stood up, but Alice stopped them. "This might seem silly,", she said, "but we can't trust babies to know when they need a change." She approached Jane, pulled up the pretty pink pinafore and reached down into Jane's tights. Jane stood there, hands on hips, refusing to be embarrassed. "Nope, dry and clean," proclaimed Alice, then checked Sandy before approaching Julie. "Come on sweetheart, lets see how you are," she said. Julie glowered but pulled up her own hem and held it clear from the probing hand. Alice had warm fingers but as they slipped into Julie's diaper she flinched anyway, the intimate intrusion putting her on edge. "Lovely and dry," said Alice, confirming what Julie already knew, and moved on to Ellie who proved equally clean. "Would you like to follow me," suggested Daphne and started towards a door they hadn't been through. Most of the group followed her, looking forward to some food. Sandy however moved towards another door, and asked, "I just need to pop to the loo before dinner. Is there a toilet nearby or should I return to my room?" Alice intercepted her, blocking her passage. "Oh silly, babies don't use the toilet," she said kindly. Sandy didn't respond well. "But I need to go!" she said loudly, "Would you please step aside." Daphne stepped in behind her and took one of her arms firmly, saying nothing. Alice focussed on Sandy's eyes, an imposing stare, before stepping forward and taking the other arm. "Sandy, you agreed to this induction process. This is part of the learning experience. Now, lets go to dinner." Julie saw Sandy stiffen but the reminder that this was part of their training seemed to have helped, and she let the two ladies walk her into the dining room. Julie and the others followed, and found a large wooden table already laid out, simple cutlery identifying the seating spots on each side. Everybody chose a seat, except Sandy, who was walked over to a strange looking chair at one end. Julie peered at it with curiosity, it was the same size as theirs but had high arm rests and its own built-in table. Daphne pulled that to one side as Alice helped Sandy sit in the chair, then swivelled it back in front of her. "Should I apply the straps?" she asked Alice, who shook her head. "No," she replied, "I think Sandy understands now." Sandy nodded, then looked up as Miriam entered through another door. "Ah, I see we have someone at the head of the table," said Miriam, "I'll sit by you Sandy and if you need I can help you with your food." Sandy looked shocked but kept her manners. "Uhm, no. Thank you. I think I can cope," she said, "Can't I sit with the others?" Miriam looked at Alice who shook her head. "Sorry Sandy," she said, "the first baby to misbehave always gets to sit at the head of the table. We find this a useful reminder to the whole group." Julie felt sorry for Sandy so piped up herself, "Hey, it's OK Sandy. I'm sure we'll all get a go." She offered a wan smile, hoping Sandy didn't realise how worried she was herself. Dinner progressed well after that. As promised the new girls enjoyed the same meals as their mentors, and the good food raised spirits. Julie had wondered if they'd get wine, but it seemed a teetotal table and she didn't want to be the only one to ask. Just as desserts were coming out, things took a dark turn. Sandy had been fidgeting for a while, ignored by Miriam but watched with amusement by Alice and concern by the other three girls. They all knew what was causing it, and were struggling with a mix of empathy, disgust and anticipated dread for when they'd join her. "I.. I can't hold it any more," sobbed Sandy quietly. "Then let it go," advised Jane, "we'll all experience this soon." "I know," acknowledged Sandy, "I just don't want to be first. I'm frightened." Her hands gripped the end of her chair's small table, white knuckles showing the physical tension she was under. Julie felt sorry for her, stood up and walked to the head of the table. She crouched by Sandy, took one of her hands and spoke softly to her. "I need to go too. Shall we both pop our cherries together?" The unlikely turn of phrase raised smiles around the table, but Sandy was too far gone to see the humour. "You'd do that for me?" she asked. "Sure," said Julie, projecting bravado she didn't feel, "as Jane said, we're all going to eventually. Shall I count us down? Three.. Two.. One.." Julie closed her eyes and forced herself to relax. She had no idea how she looked, whether Sandy was joining her, what the others thought. She just knew that she could feel her bladder emptying, wetting herself for the first time she could remember. She hoped the diaper wouldn't leak, wondered how it would feel, tried not to think about the walk back to her chair or what would happen when she sat down. She missed Sandy's face switching to an expression of relief, Miriam's quiet smile, Daphne and Alice sharing a knowing look and Jane winking at Ellie. Julie felt Sandy's increased grip on her hand relax, opened her eyes, met Sandy's gaze. "Thank you Julie," said Sandy, "I'm so sorry." Julie smiled. "It's fine. I needed that too," she said, and stood up. "Umm. Should we change before dessert or..?" Her voice trailed off as she saw Miriam's face. "Oh, no. Those diapers can survive more than that," assured Miriam, "take your seat and lets enjoy the rest of our meal."

"Ok," said my wife, "You win. You can call me Mommy and I'll put you in diapers." I follow her into the bedroom where a disposable diaper is opened out on the bed, a promise that sends shivers through me. Mommy strips me and makes me lie naked on the diaper. Reaching to the side she takes a bottle of baby oil and pours it into her hand, letting it overflow and dribble down between my legs. She lifts those, giving her access to my bare bottom and rubs the oil in, one of her fingers getting me all excited as it strays near my poop hole. I can't help it, my peepee rises by itself, a rigid signal to Mommy that I'm enjoying this. She smiles at me, reaches up and tickles me under my chin. "Is my baby all excited?" she asks rhetorically, "Your didi will never fit properly with that there. We'll have to take care of it won't we now." I gurgled at her in enthusiasm, anticipating my fantasy of being masturbated then wrapped in a diaper finally becoming reality. "Yes Mommy, please help, I don't want my didi to leak," I tell her. She takes it in an oil covered hand, "Now, close your eyes little one, and Mommy will make you a happy baby girl." I shut my eyes and enjoyed the sensation of her hand rubbing up and down, the oil lubricating its passage. In a pre-orgasmic haze I idly thought, "Baby girl?" At that point my body lit up with agony, searing pain making me scream wide eyed and look at its source. My crotch was covered in blood, smearing my thighs and dripped from the shears Mommy now held in her hand. The oil covered hand still held my peepee, but only until she threw it through the window. "There," she said, "No more unsightly bulges in my baby girl's didi."

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She walks through to the bedroom, unzips her skirt, tilts her head and watches his face as it slides slowly down her smooth tanned legs. Eyes wide, he looks up at her face and asks, "But.. silk?" She doesn't smile, just looks back at him, speaks softly. "I've been a naughty girl. Very naughty." -- He comes back into the room, looks at her lying there naked. The expensive Italian lace, torn and ripped, lay on the floor by the bed, and he gestures to it as he speaks. "You can't wear that any more. And you're starting to leak onto the sheets." "That's not wee!" she protests, but he already knows. He'd greatly enjoyed assuring it wouldn't be her fluids leaving her. "So," he asks, holding up the thick thirsty disposable, "Are you going to be a good girl now?"

As Halloween approaches, minds turn to the more traditional forms of securing a loved one. While those of a nautical bent tend to favour irons and there's always that section of the community that enjoy stocks or even a pillory, many people will instead recommend a shrew's fiddle. Requiring less space than a yoke yet imposing greater vulnerability than shackles this option is portable and draws the arms well clear of the diaper being used or changed. Seldom considered is a rare and marvellous option that, while in no way portable, imposes a complete and inescapable level of restraint that also provides a superb topic of conversation for visitors, whether in use or not. Indeed, far more than any other device mentioned, visitors will often demand the opportunity to experience the delights of this device in person, a terrible but welcome mistake. The historic name for this superior option is of course the Iron Maiden. Although the use of these fiendish torture devices has never been entirely confirmed examples exist from medieval and Victorian times, with more modern replicas easier to acquire. Staunch traditionalists insist of course that one must use a genuine medieval iron maiden, stating with certainty that modern replicas lack authenticity, greatly devaluing their ability to impose dread. This is a strong argument, the old school iron aesthetic a powerful visual aid to the underlying function, albeit somewhat undermined by the elegance and beauty of a unique Italian steel specimen converted for diaper use. That conversion is very necessary: the medieval era devices (whether iron or steel) included sharp spikes that would damage anybody inside, and would also puncture a diaper and its cover, causing unwanted leakage. It would be unfortunate to lose so divine a device to rust! Instead the spikes should be cut out, or filed down. Retaining small nubs is optional, depending whether the intended use is uncomfortable punishment or to merely silence and restrain, but if kept they should be softly rounded to avoid damage. Now take a large hammer and beat the metal from the inside at waist height. The objective is to create enough space inside to accommodate a well used diaper so the larger the bulge the better, as this allows use of thicker and more effective diapers. Note that this precludes the use of cast iron Victorian maidens, as they will respond poorly to beating. A well made iron maiden will include very little space at its closure for the ingress of fresh air; the purported use was not historically concerned with the survival of the person within. For this reason a breathing hole must be drilled. Measure and correctly position this at mouth height, as that allows use for feeding too. To prevent unwanted noise from this new orifice take inspiration from the sadly underused medieval brank, and attach at the base of the hole a metal bit that can hold in place the tongue of the wearer, keeping them suitably quiet. Use of the feeding hole can be achieved through insertion of a traditional bottle nipple, a simple feeding hose or use of a small spoon. While the brank plate will complicate swallowing, lucky recipients of a carer's tasty nutrition rapidly learn the needed technique. One need not be concerned with overfeeding as the beneficiary of such generous care will of course be well equipped to appropriately handle any subsequent consequences. Sadly the bona fide pieces are too rare, very expensive and lose their authenticity when adapted for diaper use - assuming one can be found of a size appropriate to the modern frame, boosted as it is by nutrition. Instead the superior option is a pre-made or hand crafted modern replica. Avoid the ones in plastic; a suitcase would be as elegant and last longer. Instead look for manufacturers offering designs in cast or worked metal. Modern iron has a certain look but as steel is easier to work it is often cheaper, while retaining necessary strength and rigidity. The occasional brass piece comes available, a distinct and interesting look but more suited to a steampunk setting than a historic medieval scene. Inside the device the metal can be polished smooth, avoiding irritation and anything that might snag skin or waterproof coverings. Most modern designs come lined, with the expense of the device reflected through properly treated wool fleece or even a natural fur to offer a luxurious interior. As these can lead to overheating, instead consider a very thin layer of velvet covered padding that assures the comfort of the unfortunate internee while demonstrating to admirers the taste and pragmatism of the designer. A common fear is that the hands, forced down to waist level by the design of the device, may naughtily wander. Internal straps can be fitted but a far more amusing option is to fit an oversized diaper, completely filling the cavity in the device and forcing fingers immobile at the sides. Any expansion resulting from diaper use merely adds to the discomfort of the wearer, a pleasing outcome. For the connoisseur a custom design in cast iron requires planning, substantial funds and access to fine craft workers, but allows the correct size and shape from the outset with the finished product delivering the perfect brooding aesthetic. Achieving the optimal size is easier if intended to contain only ever the same individual but more flexible designs are possible and invariably superior. The historic design of the iron maiden constrains the spread of the legs, preventing use of the optimal levels of posterior padding. A custom design can adopt a flared base, allowing the legs to be held further apart. This also provides the space to fit a small height adjustable bench, allowing extended use without debilitating cramps. Use is then simple. Diaper the unwilling victim and stand them inside the main unit, astride the internal bench. Raise this until it lifts their mouth level with the metal brank plate, and close the device. A well designed modern maiden will allow the internal bench to be raised while closed, so raise further until the metal plate pushing down on the tongue forces the mouth open, preventing lips or teeth from impeding the feeding hole. While this will leave feet dangling within this just adds to the sense of helplessness, precisely the effect desired. Mount in a suitable room for the admiration of visitors, or place in the bedroom to enjoy during sleep. Now, who's going to put me in theirs...

Announcing Supersoft Lifestyles, the protection that gives you the lifestyle you deserve. The choice is no longer whether to have comfort, discretion or protection: Enjoy all three by wearing Supersoft Lifestyles, truly putting control back into your hands. Giving you access to technologies never before seen in adult comfort Supersoft Lifestyles don't compromise on the advanced features customers demand from Supersoft, incorporating new versions of Supersoft's proven wearable electronics and introducing advanced materials so unique that Supersoft Engineers created a whole new branch of Materials Science to invent them. Using Supersoft Lifestyles couldn't be simpler, just pull on instead of your normal underwear and pull back down when your body tells you it's toilet time. No barriers, no complications, just you in full control over when and where you go. Designed for Discretion(R) your new Supersoft Lifestyles will be so thin you'll forget you're wearing them, yet they'll stay comfortably in place providing that secure protection Supersoft customers know and love. That protection starts with our new soft cloth covering: Impermeablon[TM], a natural fibre material developed to allow the skin beneath to breathe naturally yet prevent all moisture from passing will stretch with you yet looks like normal cotton, cut in a modern sporting brief design. Nobody will be able to detect the extremely thin layer of highly hygroscopic padding that lines the inside but you'll know it's there, giving you confidence that any inadvertent leaks will be quickly and efficiently absorbed. Delivering on the ethos of giving you control the padding is not restricted to the crotch area, letting you enjoy active lifestyles other products couldn't handle. The wearable electronics remain dormant until powered, using the same chemical energy conversions so effective in Supersoft Fluffies. Once enacted they respond to the presence of body fluids by alerting the wearer, giving you direct feedback that will help you exert control and also find a toilet in time. These alerts are through our Fluffies SuperApp on your phone but we've also incorporated the vibrating feedback that's been so popular in our Supersoft Sleepwells line. A small modification to assure you have control means that by default these vibrations will not induce further bladder or bowel release, although in deference to customer choice we have enabled an override in the Fluffies SuperApp. It's unlikely that this will ever be required as in addition to the feedback Supersoft Lifestyles will respond to body fluids by discharging across the crotch area a swift release topical muscle relaxant that assures your visit to the toilet will be worthwhile, fully emptying your bladder. The built-in electronics work with sensors to calculate the size of the wearer and dispense a carefully computed volume of relaxant to guarantee release exactly 300 seconds (five minutes) after the initial feedback is provided. Our testers have expressed delight in the unexpected side-effect of temporarily relaxing the bowel, telling us this offers positive reinforcement that makes each trip to the toilet feel truly worthwhile, never needing to sit there wondering why they bothered. Of course, sometimes a tiny leak becomes a bit larger. This is where Supersoft Lifestyles combine protection with discretion and afford you total confidence that wherever you are, you'll retain your dignity. Natural stretch at the waistband and leg openings mean no uncomfortable elastic will pinch or irritate the wearer, making Supersoft Lifestyles more comfortable than most underwear but means an internal reconfiguration is required should the padding reach its absorbency levels. This is managed through both traditional means and an innovative capability possible only with Impermeablon[TM]. The padding will expand on contact with moisture, giving Supersoft Lifestyles remarkable capacity that belies their ultra slim design. Although this can result in a gentle bulge below tight clothing you will agree that this is preferable to wet clothes and an obvious puddle! Even that capacity can of course be overwhelmed. On determining that volume has exceeding safe minimums encoded electrical impulses will be sent to the waist and leg openings, causing them to close down to a watertight fit with the wearer's skin. Only Impermeablon[TM] can achieve this fluid holding closeness without fusing to the skin or causing unwanted discomfort or damage. This closure is also triggered immediately on detection of any faecal matter, assuring retention of absolute discretion even in demanding (and smelly) circumstances. As the closure will prevent normal removal of the garment the electronics will enable hidden Eletabs(R) that allow the Supersoft Lifestyles to be unfastened at the front and removed, just as Supersoft Fluffies. Indeed, we've ported the same Eletabs(R) technology, giving you all of the protection and features that provides including carer support and DNA validation. Supersoft Lifestyles give you back your own life and let you lead a lifestyle that you control! Order now at all major adult medical suppliers (and a few minor ones) or read our customer testimonials to find out how they feel about Supersoft Lifestyles. Customer Testimonials An early eager customer is Grant from Hawaii who told us, "The excitement of skydiving sometimes causes me a little loss of control so I wore Supersoft Lifestyles for my last jump. I'd tested them on ground and they're so discreet they were ideal under my jumpsuit! Unfortunately as I left the aircraft I received that telltale vibration and in panic pulled my parachute cord far too early. By the time I landed I was thoroughly empty inside, although I must say I had no leaks and falling onto my bottom didn't hurt at all with the now enhanced padding." We were delighted to hear from Fatima in Arizona who revealed, "I convinced my room mate I needed to be allowed to try and regain control so she relented and bought me some Supersoft Lifestyles. After I pulled them on she checked that they'd synced with her phone, but I assured her it wouldn't be needed. Coming straight out of Supersoft Fluffies I still wasn't free of their chemicals so it didn't take long before her phone beeped to let us know I'd had a tiny accident. I ran straight for the bathroom but these strange vibrations kicked in, just like the Supersoft Sleepwells I have to wear at night, and by the time I reached it I was waddling and could no longer remove the Supersoft Lifestyles. My roommate insisted I go back into Supersoft Fluffies but has promised me I can try the Supersoft Lifestyles once a week" Surprising feedback came from the Mu Omega Mu Sorority in Kansas, who have been impressively innovative. "We worked a deal with our partner Frat to give their pledges a test. Pull on a Supersoft Lifestyles, and take it off again four hours later. Easy, right? Of course, if one of our Sisters takes a liking to one of them a quick syringe of her urine squirted inside means he'll have five minutes to work out whether to fail the task or REALLY fail the task. You don't want to know what we then make them do to earn a change - and of course, with no clean underwear for them and a proven need for protection, they all accept our generous offer to safely fasten them into Supersoft Fluffies to get them home safe ;)" (We've since made a job offer to three members of the Mu Omega Mu Sorority, and look forward to them joining us after graduation.) However, we think Alison from Florida said it best of all, "OMIGOD! I asked you for these and you've done them! Thank you! Oh, thank you!" So order yours online today at http://SupersoftFluffiesForLife.com or Like us on InstaTwitFace for a free sample pack.