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My work week just dragged on and on and on, like it would never end. But, finally, Friday was here and I was on my way home and ready for a weeks vacation. I was both extremely excited and nervous at the same time. This would be the first time ever trying something like this. An ABDL camp that offers just about everything someone could want. I stopped and gassed up my truck, grabbed a few bags of ice and headed home. I got home and backed up to my camper, put the truck in park and ran into the house and put on a Crinklz Astronaut diaper. I put some shorts on and headed back outside to get everything ready. I grabbed my RTIC cooler out of the shed and put it into the back of my pickup and then loaded the ice into it. Back into the house and I cracked open a beer and chugged it down. At the same time, I wet my diaper. It felt soo good. I went down the basement and grabbed a couple cases of beer out of the spare fridge and carried them outside and put them into the cooler. Back down to the basement and grabbed two more cases of beer and hauled them out to the cooler. One more trip for the last case of beer. Also grabbed a couple jars of shine and got everything loaded in the cooler. Then, back down the basement, I grabbed two packs of Rearz Daydreamer disposable diapers, two packs of ABU Tiny Tails disposable diapers and a package of Crinklz Astronaut diapers. I put them in a big cardboard box and hauled them out to the truck. Plenty of diapers, way more than I should need for a week at camp. The camp offers some skeet shooting and has a rifle range, so I grabbed some guns and plenty of ammo. Also grabbed my skeet vest. Then, I started to pack my suitcase. I went to put some underwear in there then thought, wait a minute, I'm not going to need these this week. I packed a few plastic pants, some socks, a few shirts and a pair of jeans. I also packed my big paddle, my hairbrush paddle and my giant wooden spoon. I started to get a little bit nervous about what my butt cheeks would be enduring this coming week. I cracked open another beer and took a big swig. I got my shave bag and my medicine and loaded that into my suitcase. I almost forgot about booster pads. I tossed a few into my suitcase and loaded it into the backseat of the truck. I paused a second and peed my diaper again. I loaded the ammo and gun cases into the back seat of my truck and locked it up. I took another swig of beer and then went back to the shed and got my fishing rods, tackle box and chairs and loaded them in the back of the truck and closed it up. I finished up my second beer and cracked open a third and took a big swig. Then I put the receiver hitch in my truck. I jumped in the truck and backed up the rest of the way to the camper and got it all hitched up. As I was hooking up the safety chains, I peed again and pooped in my diaper. It felt soo good. I really love the feeling of a messy diaper. I fired the truck back up checked the trailer lights. They were all good. I shut the truck off and locked it back up. All ready to go in the morning. I headed back into the house, grabbed another beer and sat down at the kitchen table and felt the load in my diaper squish all over my butt and up between my legs. I checked my phone for any new emails and then headed outside again. I got the mower out of the shed and mowed the lawn. My diaper felt soooo good walking back and forth with a big load in it and swelling up more and more while adding more pee to it. About half way through the yard, I stopped and grabbed another beer and then finished up the mowing. I put the mower away and headed back to the house. I lit the grill on my way in. My diaper was swelling up pretty big and I was wondering if any of the neighbors noticed my diaper bulge under my shorts. I washed my hands and then threw a few burgers on the grill for dinner. After I ate, and wet myself a few more times, I got an ABU Tiny Tails disposable diaper ready for bed with a thick Rearz booster pad in it. I took my shorts off and jumped into the shower and took my dirty diaper off and got cleaned all up and showered. I got out and dried off and put on my boosed Tiny Tails disposable diaper. I took a shot of Crown Royal, set my alarm for 3 am, wet my diaper and then went to bed early, ready for my big trip to my first time at a diaper camp.

Chapter 1: Mikey sat in the passenger seat of Emily's car, his mind racing with a chaotic swirl of fear and confusion. The drive to her apartment was a silent torment, the only sound the low hum of the engine and the rustle of leaves that seemed to whisper ominous secrets outside. He couldn't believe how quickly his life had spiraled out of control. One moment he was a confident college student, and in the next, he found himself blackmailed into a bizarre and unsettling situation. As they pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex, Mikey’s heart pounded violently in his chest. “What’s going to happen when we get inside?” he thought, his stomach churning with dread. He reluctantly followed Emily up the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. She unlocked the door and it creaked open, revealing a cozy apartment bursting with whimsical décor that only intensified his anxiety. “Welcome to my little sanctuary!” Emily chirped, a wide grin plastered across her face, but there was something unsettling in her cheerfulness. Mikey grimaced, trying to mask his discomfort. “Sanctuary?” he echoed nervously, scanning the room for an escape. She led him through the living room, past a kitchenette adorned with colorful, childlike magnets, and into a dim hallway. Pausing at the door to a room that felt distinctly different, she turned to him, her expression almost predatory. “Are you ready for this, Mikey? I promise it’ll be… unforgettable,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a mix of sweetness and something darker. Mikey’s eyes widened in horror as he took in the sight of the door painted a soft pastel blue, a small, childish doorknob gracing the handle. A strange blend of curiosity and dread washed over him, his instincts screaming that he should run. “What lies behind that door?” he thought, a shiver creeping down his spine. "Come in, Mikey," Emily said, her voice soft but firm, an unsettling sweetness lacing her words. She pushed the door open, revealing a room that felt like a haunting dreamscape. The walls were adorned in pastel hues that whispered innocence, while the furniture, all scaled down to a child’s size, created an unsettling atmosphere. Toys lay scattered like forgotten memories, and in the corner stood a crib that seemed to loom larger than life. The most chilling sight, however, was the array of adult baby items neatly arranged on shelves and tucked away in drawers, each object a stark reminder of the reality he was being pulled into. Mikey's eyes widened in shock, his stomach knotting. "Emily, what is this place?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as dread settled heavily in his chest. Emily turned to him, her expression shifting to something more serious, almost predatory. "This is my special room, Mikey. It's where I come to be myself," she stated, a strange delight flickering in her eyes. "And now, it's where you're going to learn to be my baby boy." His mind raced, battling disbelief and fear. "Emily, I can’t do this! I can't be your... your baby boy. This is insane!" The word slipped from his lips, desperation creeping into his tone. Emily's expression hardened, her gaze narrowing like a hawk sizing up its prey. "You don't have a choice, Mikey," she said, her voice cold and unyielding. "You cheated on that exam, and if I tell anyone, your life will be ruined. Expelled. Your future, gone. But if you do as I say," she leaned in closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, "I'll keep your secret safe." Mikey felt a surge of anger and frustration boiling within him, a scream rising in his throat. Yet, deep down, the fear of losing everything choked him. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself against the whirlwind of emotions. "What... what do I have to do?" he asked, his voice trembling, the weight of his fate hanging in the air between them. Emily's face softened slightly, her voice low and soothing. "It's simple, Mikey. You just need to embrace this new identity. You'll wear diapers, and I'll take care of you like a baby. You’ll learn to trust me, and in time, you’ll see that this is the best thing for you." Mikey's stomach churned at the thought, his heart racing in his chest. "But Emily, I don’t—" he started, a tremor of panic creeping into his voice. He had always been independent and self-reliant; the idea of regressing to a baby-like state was terrifying, an abyss he felt himself teetering on. But he knew he had no choice. He nodded, his eyes downcast, a lump forming in his throat. Emily smiled, her eyes glinting with a mix of satisfaction and excitement. "Good boy," she cooed, her tone unmistakably manipulative. "Now, let’s get you changed." As she led him to a small changing table, Mikey's heart raced. "Please, Emily... I can’t do this," he whimpered, feeling a suffocating wave of humiliation wash over him. "Shh, Mikey," she said firmly, her grip unyielding as she began to undress him, peeling away his clothes like layers of a carefully constructed facade. With each garment that fell away, his sense of control slipped further into the shadows. He cried out softly, "Stop! I don’t want this!" Emily's response was calm and collected, her hands steady as she removed his last shred of independence—his underwear. "You need to accept this," she insisted, gently slipping a diaper around his waist. The soft fabric enveloped him, and with it came a strange, conflicting mix of shame and something he loathed to admit: relief. "Emily… please," he begged, his voice breaking as she fastened the diaper in place with a practiced touch. When she helped him into a onesie, the soft fabric clung to his skin, and he felt utterly exposed, as if he had lost all control over his body and his life. Emily stepped back, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "There you go, Mikey," she said sweetly, a cruel smile spreading across her face. "You look perfect." Mikey looked down at himself, his mind racing. A tumultuous tide of shame crashed over him, mingling with an unsettling fear and a perverse sense of relief. He felt trapped, utterly bound to Emily's whims, yet there was an inevitable pull that compelled him to submit to her plan. Emily's voice sliced through his turmoil as she led him toward the small crib nestled in the corner of the room. "It’s time for your nap, baby boy. You need to rest and get used to your new life," she said, her tone deceptively sweet. Panic surged in Mikey’s chest. "No, Emily, please! I can’t—" he stammered, his heart pounding wildly. He didn’t want to be in this room, in this diaper, in this crib. Her eyes, unwavering and cold, met his. "You don’t have a choice, Mikey. You’re mine now. Just relax." With that, he lay down, his body trembling with fear and humiliation. Emily's hands, gentle yet resolute, tucked him in. The soft fabric of the sheets felt heavy against his skin, a tangible reminder of his helplessness. As she turned to leave, Mikey's heart sank into despair. "Emily, don't leave me!" he cried out, his voice barely a whisper. The door clicked shut, sealing him in darkness. A wave of despair washed over him as he grappled with the reality of his situation. He was trapped in a world devoid of control, where his very existence hinged on Emily's desires. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to block out the terror that enveloped him. But the soft hum of the room and the rustle of the sheets only amplified his dread. As he drifted into an uneasy sleep, Mikey's mind raced with haunting questions. What awaited him in this unfamiliar life? Would he ever reclaim his old self? He knew the journey ahead was fraught with fear, but there was no turning back. He was Emily’s baby boy now, and he was inextricably tied to her whims. Emily, watching from the doorway, saw an opportunity for mischief. She had always been a meticulous planner, and this was no exception. Armed with her camera, she tiptoed into the room, her eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and malice. “This is going to be perfect,” she whispered to herself, a wicked grin stretching across her face. She snapped playful photos of Mikey in the crib, capturing every detail of his vulnerable state. The soft click of the camera shutter was barely audible, yet it echoed ominously in Mikey's subconscious, stirring a deep sense of unease. With a gentle but deliberate touch, Emily placed a blue pacifier in Mikey's mouth. “Sleep tight, baby boy,” she cooed softly, her voice dripping with mock tenderness. He stirred slightly, his lips parting instinctively to accept the foreign object, but he remained blissfully unaware of her presence. “Just a little longer…” she murmured, her heart swelling with twisted satisfaction. This was her moment, her triumph. She had him exactly where she wanted him. Hours passed, and the room grew darker as the sun began to set. Mikey eventually stirred awake, his eyes fluttering open to the dim light filtering through the curtains. The first thing he noticed was the pacifier in his mouth, and a surge of frustration and embarrassment washed over him. “What the...?” he exclaimed, his voice trembling with disbelief and fury as he spat it out, his eyes wide with a mix of confusion and anger. “Emily! What did you do?!” "Emily, I’m done with these baby games!" Mikey shot back, his voice trembling with a blend of fear and determination. He sat up rigidly in the crib, gripping the colorful rails as if they were his only anchor. Emily, lurking just outside the door, sauntered into the room with a slow, smug smile that sent chills down his spine. With a flourish, she whipped out her phone, her fingers gliding over the screen as she thumbed through a gruesome gallery of their shared secrets. "Oh really?" she mused, her voice playful yet laced with an unmistakable edge. "Because if you keep this up, I might just have to share these delightful snapshots—like the one where you were caught cheating on that test,” she warned, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. Mikey felt his heart thunder in his chest, the walls of the room closing in like a trap. Each image on her phone was a haunting reminder of his powerlessness, igniting a storm of despair within him. The vibrant colors of the nursery, with their cheerful innocence, felt like cruel taunts against his fragile dignity. "Emily, please… don’t,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath, knowing full well the stakes of his defiance. Emily's eyes glimmered with a twisted mixture of satisfaction and disdain. "You know, Mikey," she taunted, her voice dripping with mockery, "you have no choice but to do as I say. Embrace this new life, or... well, let's just say the consequences won't be pretty. The choice is all yours, darling." Mikey's mind whirled, a tempest of fear, anger, and desperation crashing within him. The walls seemed to close in, suffocating him with dread. He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to summon some semblance of resolve. "What do you want from me, Emily?" he asked, his voice barely piercing the thick tension, trembling on the edge of anxiety. Emily leaned closer, her smile widening into something predatory, her eyes sparkling with a sinister excitement. "I want you to be my baby boy, Mikey," she purred, her tone syrupy sweet yet laced with malice. "I want you to trust me, to surrender yourself to me... Let me take care of you, and I promise," she leaned in even closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I'll keep your little secret safe, hidden away from the world." Mikey felt the weight of her words pressing down on him, anger surging within him like a storm. His heart pounded, desperate to rebel, to fight back against this twisted demand, but he could see the iron grip she had on his life. Defeated, he nodded, his gaze falling to the floor. "What do I have to do?" he asked, his voice barely a murmur, filled with a mixture of resignation and dread. Emily's face softened slightly, a mixture of warmth and something else—was it possessiveness? "It's simple, Mikey," she said, her voice low and persuasive. "You just need to embrace this new identity. You'll wear diapers, and I'll take care of you like a baby. Picture it—no worries, no responsibilities. Just let go of everything." Mikey's stomach churned at the thought. "But I... I don't want to be a baby, Emily!" His voice trembled, a mix of defiance and fear. The idea of regression felt like a dark cloud looming over him. He had always been independent and self-reliant, and the thought of surrendering to this terrifying fate left him breathless. Emily leaned closer, her eyes locking onto his with an unsettling intensity. "You don’t have to fight it, Mikey. You can trust me. Just think about how safe you’ll feel, how loved. In time, you'll see this is the best thing for you." He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but every word she spoke sank deeper into his mind, registering the conflict of submission versus his desperate need for survival. "What if I don't want to?" he whispered, his voice barely above a tremor. Chapter 2: Mikey's heart pounded violently in his chest as Emily approached the crib, her eyes glinting like dark jewels filled with excitement and determination. She lowered the rail, her fingers brushing against his as she gently helped him out, guiding him like a toddler. Mikey’s face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and simmering anger, but deep down, he knew he had no choice; defiance was futile. Emily's grip was unyielding, and the warning in her eyes felt like a storm looming on the horizon. As she helped him onto the changing table, her movements were slow and deliberate, as if she relished this control. She began by checking his diaper, her fingers sliding into the leg holes with an unsettling familiarity. Mikey clenched his legs together, panic rising in his chest as he realized the urgent pressure building inside him. He had been holding it in for too long, and now it felt like a volcano ready to erupt. “Mikey, you’re all dry,” Emily said, her voice dripping with a sickly sweetness that made his stomach churn. “You know, it’s much easier to use your diaper than to go to the bathroom. You can trust me on this.” Mikey’s eyes widened in disbelief, his voice a desperate whisper. “Emily, I can’t do this! I can’t just... use a diaper like a baby. I’m not a baby!” But Emily’s smile remained unwavering, her gaze piercing into him like a drill. “You can and you will, Mikey. It’s for your own good. You need to learn to trust me and let go of your old habits. This is the first step in becoming my baby boy.” The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating, while Mikey felt his heart race in horror. Mikey's heart pounded in his chest, his mind frantically searching for an escape from this humiliating situation. He attempted to defy her, but Emily, with her cunning and mischievous nature, had already anticipated his every move. She caressed his thighs, her touch a mixture of tenderness and authority. "Shh, my sweet boy. It's time to let go, to embrace your new identity. Wet the diaper, my little one, and become my baby." "Please, Emily," Mikey pleaded, his voice cracking with shame. "I can't... I won't do this." He tried to pull away, but his efforts were futile against her unwavering control. Emily's eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned closer, her breath warm on his cheek. "Oh, but you will, my dear Mikey. You'll learn to love it, just as you've learned to love your new mommy." Her fingers trailed up and down his legs, sending shivers through his body. "Sing with me, baby. 'Diaper change time, diaper change time, Mikey's got to pee, pee, pee...'" Mikey's cheeks burned, his resistance crumbling under the weight of her words and touch. The nursery rhyme echoed in his mind, mocking his struggle. He clenched his teeth, desperately trying to maintain control. Emily's voice rose in intensity, her delicate fingers meticulously tracing patterns along his thighs. "Let it go, Mikey. It's okay. You can do it. Just be a good baby for me." Her gaze was unwavering, as if she could see right through his disguise. Mikey's heart raced, tears of frustration and embarrassment pooling in his eyes. "I... I can't, Emily!" he stammered, his voice trembling. The weight of his shame felt unbearable as he clutched the fabric of his shorts. But despite his desperate attempt to hold back, his body betrayed him. With a final, agonizing struggle, his bladder released, warmth spreading and filling the confines of the diaper. A crushing wave of shame washed over him as reality settled in—he couldn’t stop it. Emily’s smile transformed into a triumphant grin, her eyes sparkling with delight. "See, Mikey? You really are my baby that needs his diaper. Wasn’t that easy? Just trust me, and I promise I’ll take such good care of you." Her voice dripped with condescension, each word a reminder of his vulnerability. Mikey blushed deeply, his face turning a bright crimson as the weight of his humiliation washed over him. “No! This can’t be happening!” he gasped, his voice trembling. He couldn’t believe what had just unfolded. He had lost control, and Emily had effortlessly claimed victory over him. “You… you wouldn’t!” he stammered, his heart racing with a mix of anger and deep embarrassment. “Oh, sweetie,” Emily cooed, her tone dripping with playful mockery, “this is just the beginning. You’re my little baby now. Isn’t that exciting?” Mikey’s eyes widened, his breath hitching at her words. A strange sense of relief mingled with dread filled him; he was trapped in this twisted new reality, a world where he was reduced to a helpless infant, utterly under Emily's thumb. “I-I can’t do this…” he whispered, feeling the walls of his pride closing in. “Oh, but you can—just look at you!” she teased, a wicked smile spreading across her face. “And you’re going to love it, my little one.” He swallowed hard, knowing he had no idea what else she had in store for him, but the thrill of submission both scared and exhilarated him. Mikey's heart pounded in his chest as he lay there, the wetness between his legs betraying him. "N-no, Emily, p-please..." he stammered, his voice weak and childlike. "I... I don't wanna be a baby no more. P-please let me go." But his pleas fell on deaf ears. Emily's smirk widened, her eyes sparkling with a cruel delight. "Aww, poor baby Mikey is all wet. Does he need his mommy to change him?" She leaned close, her breath hot on his ear. "Or maybe you like this, huh? Maybe you want to feel the shame of peeing yourself, all warm and wet. Is that it, baby?" With each word, she tightened the restraints, ensuring his helplessness. "You're my little baby boy now, and I decide when you get to feel good. And right now, I want you to squirm and blush, knowing that I can make you cum in your diaper, and there's nothing you can do to stop it." As she spoke, she trailed the tip of the wand along his body, avoiding any pleasure points, just teasing and tantalizing. "You're so cute when you're blushing, Mikey. Such a pretty baby. And soon, you'll be all sticky and sweet, just like a good little abdl." Mikey's eyes bulged with sheer panic, his breath catching in his throat as the impending mortification dawned on him. "Emily, stop, please!" he pleaded, his voice cracking under the weight of his dread. He struggled frantically against the unyielding bonds, his efforts only serving to heighten his sense of helplessness. "You can't do this, I—I can't bear it!" Emily's smirk remained fixed, her eyes sparkling with mischievous delight. She leaned closer, her voice adopting a playful, maternal tone. "Hush now, little one. Mommy's here to take care of you." With a calculated move, she positioned the vibrating massager against the front of his diaper, the intense vibrations reverberating through his most sensitive areas. Mikey's cheeks burned with shame as his body betrayed him, responding instinctively. His manhood stiffened, the evidence of his arousal becoming painfully obvious within the damp confines of his diaper. The conflicting sensations of degradation and pleasure left him utterly disoriented, reducing him to a blubbering infant in his mind. "Aww, is my little Mikey getting all big and strong down there? Does my baby enjoy the feeling of his special diaper?" Emily cooed, her fingers gently caressing his thighs, her mockery laced with feigned maternal affection. Mikey's frustration was palpable, his breath catching in his throat as the wand's relentless vibrations sent shivers through his body. He fought against the rising tide of pleasure, but his efforts were in vain. The sensations were too much, and he could feel his control slipping away. "Oh, Mikey, you know you can't hold back," Emily whispered, her voice laced with a teasing tone. She knew his breaking point was near. With a swift move, she produced a pacifier from her pocket, the sight of it causing Mikey's heart to skip a beat. "N-no..." Mikey stammered, his eyes pleading as she moved closer, her gaze intense. "I—I can't... Emily, please..." "Hush now, my sweet baby," she cooed, her voice soothing yet firm. With a swift motion, she pressed the pacifier between his lips, silencing his protests. "Mommy knows what you need." Mikey's face contorted, his eyes reflecting the shame and desire that battled within him. He attempted to push the pacifier away, but Emily's grip was firm, her touch both gentle and commanding. "Y-you... I... I don't want this... "Oh, but you do, my little one," she whispered, her breath warm on his cheek. "Let go, Mikey. Let Mommy take control." As her words washed over him, Mikey's resistance crumbled. His body arched, every muscle tensing as the climax hit him like a storm. He cried out, the sound muffled by the pacifier, his release a mixture of ecstasy and humiliation. Emily's eyes gleamed with a mischievous delight as she caressed Mikey's blushing face. "My, my, look at my little baby boy all flushed and cute," she purred, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Did you enjoy that, sweetheart? Was it as good for you as it was for Mommy?" Mikey squirmed under her touch, his voice cracking with embarrassment. "Y-yes, Mommy," he whispered, his eyes downcast. "I... I mean, it was different, but..." "Shh, it's okay, my dear," Emily interrupted, her tone turning soothing. "You don't have to explain. I know this is all new and exciting for you. And guess what? We're just getting started. Oh, the things we'll explore together, my sweet, obedient baby." Mikey's heart raced, a mixture of fear and anticipation coursing through his veins. He tried to speak, but his words failed him, leaving him at the mercy of this dominant woman who had turned his world upside down. Chapter 3: Mikey lay motionless, his small body quivering from the overwhelming release, the pacifier in his mouth serving as a permanent marker of his newfound role. Emily's delicate touch caressed his flushed cheek, her gaze radiating a blend of triumph and mischief. She relished the power she held over him, rendering him utterly helpless and dependent. "That's my good boy," she whispered, her tone tender and soothing. "Mommy's little angel has been such a good listener. You've made Mommy so happy." As she leaned closer, her warm breath tickled his ear. "Now, it's time to share with Mommy what you've done in your nappy, my sweet baby." Mikey's eyes darted open in sheer panic as the implication of her words hit him. He attempted to protest, but the pacifier rendered him speechless, allowing only incoherent mumbles to escape. Emily's thumb gently pushed the pacifier further, silencing any potential resistance. "Hush now, my darling," she whispered, her voice lulling him into submission. "It's alright, baby. Mommy just wants to know your secret. Tell Mommy, what did you do in your nappy?" Her free hand wandered to his crotch, caressing the damp diaper, soaked with his pee and release. The sensation sent a rush of conflicting feelings through him, a blend of shame and excitement, reinforcing his infantile state. "N-no... I... I can't..." Mikey stammered, his face flushing crimson. "Oh, but you will, my sweet boy," Emily purred, her voice dripping with authority. "Mommy knows you want to please her. And Mommy always gets what she wants." Mikey's cheeks burned with shame as Emily's touch sent a jolt of awareness through his body, betraying him. He squirmed, desperate to escape the overwhelming sensations, but his efforts were futile. Pleasure engulfed him, causing his limbs to shake uncontrollably. "Come on, sweetie, confess to mommy," Emily coaxed, her tone a mixture of authority and tenderness. "You know the rules." Mikey's thoughts whirled in panic, searching for an escape. But resistance was futile. He inhaled sharply, his voice cracking with embarrassment. "I-I wetted... and m-made a mess, mommy. I'm s-sorry." A triumphant gleam lit up Emily's eyes, and her smile grew. "That's my good boy. Now, tell mommy again, with all the details. Let me hear your sweet, little voice." Mikey's cheeks burned, a blend of shame and relief painting his face crimson. His body quivered, still reeling from the intensity of his release. This was only the start, he realized, and the thought of what Emily might have planned next sent a shiver down his spine. He was trapped in this strange, new world where he was reduced to a mere infant, and Emily held the reins as his caretaker. "Oh, my sweet baby," Emily cooed, her fingers gently massaging his groin through the damp diaper. "You're all wet, aren't you? Just like a little one." She leaned closer, her breath warm on his ear. "Tell mommy, did you make a mess in your diaper?" Mikey's voice cracked as he whispered, his eyes downcast, "Y-yes, mommy. I... I wetted and... and dirtied my diaper." He sucked on the pacifier, the childish sound accentuating his humiliation. "That's my good boy," Emily praised, her tone both soothing and commanding. "Mommy's so proud of her baby. Now, let's get you all cleaned up, shall we?" Emily's eyes sparkled with mischief as she took a step back, her phone in hand. She captured Mikey's image, his cheeks crimson with shame, his body quivering from the recent release of his passion. The damp diaper, a testament to his infantile state, hugged his form, leaving no room for denial. With a tap on the screen, she zoomed in on the telltale wetness indicator, its transformation from yellow to a vibrant blue serving as undeniable proof. "Oh, my sweet baby," Emily cooed, her words dripping with playful malice. "See this little blue patch here? It's like a magic marker, telling Mommy that you've been a very wet boy. No more hiding it, my dear. You wanted to be a baby, and now you are." Mikey's eyes grew wide as the realization dawned upon him. He attempted a protest, but the pacifier, a silent guardian in his mouth, rendered him speechless. Emily's delicate touch pushed it further, silencing any potential pleas. "Hush now, my little one," she whispered, her tone softening. "Mommy's here to take care of you. No more worries, no more struggles. It's time for a fresh diaper, my darling baby boy." With a gentle grace, she moved to the changing table, gathering the necessary tools for her motherly duties—a fresh, soft diaper and a pack of baby wipes, all laid out within his view. Mikey struggled, attempting to expel the pacifier from his mouth, but Emily's reflexes were swift. She halted his rebellion, her gaze sharp as she swiftly secured a fresh pacifier around his head this one a gag he couldn't get off, leaving him no chance to escape her infantilizing grasp. Mikey's eyes betrayed his surprise, yet he understood any further defiance would be futile. With calculated slowness, Emily proceeded with the diaper change, deliberately intensifying Mikey's mortification. She delicately lowered the damp diaper, exposing the entirety of his soiled state. The diaper, saturated with urine and cum, emitted a potent odor that permeated the air. Emily lifted it, her smirk triumphant. "Oh, my poor baby, what a mess you've created," she cooed, her tone a blend of sternness and tenderness. "Mommy will take care of it, but you must learn to behave. Now, let's get you all nice and clean." Her fingers, gentle yet resolute, worked the wipe across his skin, meticulously eradicating every trace of his accident. Mikey's cheeks burned, a blend of shame and relief painting his features as his body continued to shudder from the residual pleasure. This was only the commencement of his journey, he realized, and the unknown path ahead, orchestrated by Emily, both terrified and intrigued him. He had been reduced to a mere infant, and Emily, his doting mother. "There, all clean," Emily cooed, her eyes sparkling with delight as she finished tending to him. She reached for a fresh diaper, the vibrant Elmo print catching Mikey's attention. This one was significantly bulkier, a fact Emily relished. "My sweet boy requires a super-absorbent diaper, for he's such a heavy wetter," she teased, her tone playful yet authoritative. With gentle precision, she positioned the diaper beneath him, ensuring a snug fit around his waist. Mikey's eyes betrayed his surprise as the weight of his situation truly sank in. Chapter 4: Mikey's heart raced as the diaper's crinkling sound echoed in the room, a symphony of embarrassment. "Oh, my, this diaper is quite the attention-seeker, isn't it, my dear Mikey?" Emily's voice was a mix of amusement and motherly affection. As she undid the ankle straps, Mikey's breath hitched, the cold plastic a stark contrast to his skin. "There we go, my little one," she whispered, her touch sending shivers down his spine. "Now, lift those legs, baby. Let's get you all cozy." Mikey obeyed, his eyes widening at the sight of the vibrant red plastic pants. "Higher, my little Mikey, let's make sure you're nice and snug." The pants enveloped him, and with a decisive click, Emily locked them in place. "Perfect! All secure, just like my little prisoner." Mikey's panic rose as he realized his limited mobility. He tried to move, but the wrist restraints and the rustling diaper kept him in place. "Oh, the struggle is adorable, sweetie. Don't fight it, embrace your new look." Emily's words were like a taunt, her eyes gleaming with mischievous joy. Approaching the bed, she held up the Elmo onesie, its redness a bold statement. "Story time, Mikey! Let's get you dressed for the occasion." She carefully dressed him, her movements slow and calculated, ensuring the restraints remained in place. "There we go, arm by arm, nice and snug. Oh, look at that, the pants are jealous of all the attention you're getting!" The crinkle of the plastic accompanied her playful banter. "Bib time!" Emily's voice took on a singsong quality. "This will catch any drool or spills, my little drooly baby." She fastened the bib, her touch gentle yet firm. Stepping back, she admired her handiwork. "Oh, Mikey, you look absolutely precious. My little baby boy, all dressed up and nowhere to go." Her mock-sweet tone sent shivers down his spine. "Now, let's moisturize that delicate skin, shall we?" She applied the lotion, her fingers massaging it into his skin, her touch both comforting and strangely arousing, leaving Mikey's emotions in a tumultuous state. Emily's fingers then traced the outline of the plastic pants, the sound of the crinkling plastic filling the room. "You're all locked up tight, baby boy. No escaping now," she said, her voice firm yet gentle. Emily unstrapped Mikey from the table, her movements efficient and practiced, a chilling precision that made his stomach churn. As she helped him off, her grip on his wrist was ironclad. He recoiled, a surge of resistance flooding through him, "No! Stop! I won't!" But Emily’s grip only tightened, her smile unsettlingly sweet as she led him into the kitchen, where a highchair loomed in the corner like a dark sentinel. Mikey's heart raced, each beat echoing his rising panic. “Please, Emily, don't put me in there!” he pleaded, desperately digging in his heels, but a sharp spank on his diapered backside made him gasp, heat flooding his cheeks. The humiliation crashed over him like a tidal wave as he stumbled forward, trembling with a cocktail of fear and shame. “Get in, baby boy,” Emily commanded, her voice silky yet firm, devoid of any trace of compassion. Each word was an order etched in stone, leaving no room for debate. Reluctantly, Mikey climbed into the highchair, the plastic seat biting into his skin like an unwelcome embrace. As she strapped him in, the click of the buckles resonated in the stillness, sending an icy shiver cascading down his spine. He barely had time to lift his hands before she slid the tray into place, locking his wrists beneath it. Trapped. Completely at her mercy. With a deliberate turn to the counter, Emily moved with the grace of a predator. Mikey’s breath quickened as he glanced away in desperation; she mixed baby food with something sinister in a bowl, the clattering of utensils a sharp reminder of his helplessness. The rhythmic sound of the bottle being shaken filled the room—a chilling prelude to what awaited him. “Just relax, sweetheart,” she cooed mockingly, as if she reveled in the power she held over him. “This is going to be a fun little treat.” Emily turned back to him, a smirk playing on her lips. "Time to eat, baby boy," she taunted, her voice dripping with amusement. With a flick of her wrist, she removed the pacifier gag, revealing his frustrated expression. Then, she scooped a spoonful of baby food, feeding him with a slow, deliberate motion, letting some droop onto his Elmo bib. "Oh dear, look at you! Such a messy little boy," she teased, using her fingers to wipe the excess from his chin, relishing the power she held over him. "Please, Emily, I can’t—" Mikey gasped, his words falling short as she stuffed another spoonful into his mouth. He instinctively opened and closed like a baby bird, the irony of his situation not lost on him. The gurgling in his belly intensified, the laxatives already wreaking havoc. As he swallowed the last of the baby food, Emily produced a bottle, the sight of it sending a jolt of panic through him. She held it to his lips, tilting it with an insistent smile. "Drink up, baby boy. You need your milk," she cooed, though there was an unmistakable edge of command in her tone. Every swallow felt like it was filling him with more dread, the pain in his stomach escalating. "No, please, I—" he protested weakly, attempting to pull away, but her grip was unyielding, her eyes fixed on him with an unsettling mix of control and delight. "Just a little more for you, darling," she said, her voice honeyed yet sharp, as if she took pleasure in his struggle. His belly churned violently, pain coursing through him as he squirmed in the highchair, a primal instinct to escape rising within him. Emily, unfazed, patted his back soothingly, the condescension clear in her tone. "There you go, baby boy. All better now,” she sang, her satisfaction evident as he fought back tears, humiliation and physical agony galloping hand in hand through his mind. To be continued……

This is a story about how I fantasize my little to be. Come on Joshua, it's time to get your diaper changed before we go over to Grandma's and Grandpa's for spaghetti dinner, Mom said. Oookaay. I reluctantly march upstairs to my room for a diaper change and my spanking. I turn down the hall and into my bedroom with my Mom right behind me. She lays out a fresh diaper and her wooden spoon on the changing table, pulls down my pants and then sets me up on the changing table. You know the drill young man! She says, sternly. You know that you can start using the potty and avoid these spankings. I'll never use the potty! I blurt out. Okay then. It's your choice, lay down. You're going to start school in the fall and you'll have to be potty trained by then. You'll have to start trying soon. I lay down on my back. NO! I'll just wear diapers! I say. Mom unfolds and readies my fresh diaper, picks my legs up and slides it under my butt. She sets my legs down and unfastens my wet diaper and slides it out from under me. At least you're only wet. She said. Then she pulls my legs back up into the air again and grabs her wooden spoon. Are you sure that you don't want to try the potty? She asks one more time. NO! I say as I cringe for my spanking. Fine, then. It's your decision. Your butt's looking kinda rough, but this is the way you want it. WACK! WACK! She gives me a swat on each cheek, alternating back and forth. WACK WACK! WACK WACK! WACK WACK! My butt was on fire as she set my legs back down and set the wooden spoon over onto my dresser. She pulled the diaper up between my legs and fastened the tapes and pulled my pants back up. Now sit in the corner mister and stop crying, we're leaving for your Grandparents in a few minutes. We'll have to stop by the store on the way home and get you some more diapers. Just try not to poop yourself over their house, please. I sat down on the wooden stool in the corner of my bedroom. My butt was really sore, but I knew that I would get more if I didn't sit in the corner as told.

18-year-old Benjamin has just been evicted from the college dorms after he has failed out of college for the semester. He sits in the student lounge with his bags while he figures out his next moves. His former professor Megan is talking to her faculty friend and sees him sitting alone. She is confused because he is supposed to be in her class for the semester. "Hi Ben. I missed you in my class this semester. Are you okay?"

Microfiction (noun) A complete story told in 300 words or less. Multi-chapter novellas like Weekend in the Mechanical Nursery or Bella's New Punishment both started as 2,000 word shorts, and I wanted the chance to push myself to be more concise with microfiction. Follow along as I aim to tell complete and compelling stories of discipline, humiliation, and regression in less than 300 words. If you want to support my writing and get access to exclusive stories and works in progress, come and hang out with us on Ream. -------------------------------------------- She sat in her playpen in his office that normally smelled of mahogany and bourbon, but now carried the sweet, lingering scent of baby powder. Jess needed a change, but would need to wait on her friend Morgan for that. Mr. Franklin was old-fashioned and thought it improper to have an intimate connection with an employee. But he was into weird shit. That was undeniable. After the audit exposed her embezzlement, Jess tried to blackmail her boss with the weird diaper shit she found on his computer, but the older man surprised her with a proposal. That’s how Jess found herself doing office work in pull-ups and sucking on a pacifier. For weeks, they were pleased with the arrangement. Then both wanted more. For an extra $3,000, Jess agreed to ask permission before going to the potty and stand in the corner for any sub-par work. For $3,000 more, she stopped wearing pants altogether and occasionally had ‘accidents’ earning herself a few sad faces on her new potty-training chart. It was weird, but had effectively doubled her salary. Diapers were the next obvious step, but Jess struggled with diapering herself and recommended her friend for the new part-time assistant role. That role quickly grew to full-time nanny status until the blonde’s job description consisted only of filling diapers and looking cute, for which Jess had received a bonus in her latest performance review. Mr. Franklin looked at his pigtailed and pacified manager and she smiled and waved from her playpen. Today was Morgan’s quarterly evaluation and she was late. Again. Overhearing the woman’s financial troubles, Mr. Franklin wondered what it might be like to have two adorable playthings at his office and made a note to hire a contractor for the new office nursery and find a new assistant. -------------------------------------------- Get instant access to most of my stories with new exclusive chapters every week and at least three new stories each month on Ream.

This is my first story posting on here. I would love to hear your comments on what you liked and future ideas! Let me know if you have any critiques or suggestions. I'm still figuring out the formatting here. Also, AI helped me write this story. Humiliation at Walmart Chapter 1 of 8 Bradley’s heart pounded as he walked in the kitchen, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows and casting a warm glow on the tiled floor. The air smelled faintly of coffee and toast, but all he could focus on was the dampness between his legs and the way his diaper sagged uncomfortably under his pajama pants. Bradley was 18 years old and a senior in high school. He lived with his stepmother and stepsister. Bradley was a very short and scrawny teenager. Puberty has yet to come to Bradley, he had no hair other than the hair on his head. He was small down there, something he was very embarrassed about. His stepsister and stepmother were much taller and stronger than him. His stepmother, Michelle, stood there in her perfectly pressed summer dress, her arms crossed. Katie, his stepsister was in the same grade as him in school. Katie loved to tease Bradley. She loved to joke about letting his bedwetting secret slip to the whole school. There were already rumors floating around about his bedwetting chart. Katie was much more mature than he was. Bradley always seemed to show a strong lack of responsibility and obedience. The opposite of Katie. Katie leaned lazily against the counter, her long legs stretched out in her usual nighttime attire—cute high-cut panties that showed off her butt and a top that clung to her slender body. Bradley hated how she loved to flaunt her lack of need for diapers by showing off her mature panties. A constant reminder of his own humiliating need for diapers at night. She smirked at him, her eyes flicking down toward his waistline. “Good morning, Bradley,” Michelle said in that tone—the one that always made him feel like he was five years old. Her voice was sweet but laced with authority, the kind that brooked no argument. “Come here, let me check your diaper.” Bradley hesitated, his cheeks burning. God, why does she have to do this? Why can’t I just take it off in my bedroom and tell her? But he knew better than to do that. Ever since he’d lied about being dry, Michelle had insisted on checking his diaper every morning herself. No matter what she was in the middle of doing, where she was, or who was there. He had to find her and let her check him before he was allowed to remove his diaper. And in the kitchen, with Katie standing there, it felt even more humiliating. They were in the same grade and he was treated so much differently than her. Bradley’s stomach dropped. He hated this routine. His feet dragged as he approached her. Katie’s eyes followed him, a smirk playing on her lips. He could already hear the teasing remarks forming in her mind. He was lucky she hasn't gone around school telling everyone about his embarrassing secret. At least not that he knows of. Michelle knelt down, and sighed impatiently gesturing for him to turn around. He did, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Katie let out a little laugh, and he shot her a glare, but she just giggled. “Relax, Brad,” she teased, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you in diapers before.” Michelle ignored her and tugged at the waistband of Bradley’s pajama pants, pulling them down just enough to reveal the white diaper underneath. Bradley’s entire body tensed, his breath catching in his throat. Her fingers moved quickly, pressing against the diaper to check for wetness. When she found it, she clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Wet again,”Michelle sighed heavily, pulling his pajama bottoms back up before straightening up and wiping her hands on a nearby dish towel. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with you, Bradley. You’re 18 years old. This is ridiculous! Maybe I should just give up and start putting you to bed right after dinner in your diaper like the baby you are acting like” The threat made Bradley plead, “I’m trying,” he stammered, his voice strained. “I really am.” “Well, trying clearly isn’t enough,” Michelle replied, her tone hardening. “You’re 18 years old, Bradley. This is embarrassing for all of us.” Michelle marked the potty chart with a big red frowny face sticker on today's date. The chart was covered in red frowny faces for accidents. There were a few green happy faces scattered here and there, but they were rare. Too rare. Katie let out a quiet laugh, stepping closer, peering over Michelle’s shoulder at the chart. “Wow, Brad,” she said, her voice teasing. “Another frowny face for the bed-wetter. You’re really on a roll this week.” Bradleys face turned hot, “Shut up, Katie,” he muttered, though his voice lacked any real force. He hated the stupid potty chart that had been hanging there for months now, a constant reminder of his failures. It was bad enough that Michelle recorded every accident, but knowing that anyone who walked into their kitchen could see it—would see it—was unbearable. He was sure one of Katies friends saw it and blabbed to someone at his school. How else would the rumors at school got started? Bradley’s eyes flicked to Katie, who was now openly smirking at him. He hated her. He hated the the way Katie always seemed to be standing there, watching, smirking, like she enjoyed seeing him humiliated. He hated the diapers, the checks, the way Michelle treated him like he was still a little child, like he was incapable of doing anything on his own. “Michelle,” he started, his voice trembling. “Can’t I just tell you, do you really have to check me every morning? I’m not a baby.” Michelle turned to him, her eyes narrowed, for a moment, he thought she might yell at him. But instead, she set the stickers down and put her hands on her hips. “Bradley, we’ve been over this before, you know the rules. No taking off your diaper until I’ve checked you. . You lied to me before, remember? I have to make sure you’re being honest.” He wanted to argue, to scream that he was an adult and didn’t need this kind of treatment, but the threat of a spanking hung over him like a dark cloud. Michelle didn’t tolerate backtalk, and she had no problem carrying through on her threats. Bradley had learned that the hard way. “Go change out of your soaked diaper, shower quickly, then put on your big boy underwear,” Michelle instructed, “We’re going grocery shopping soon.” Bradley’s heart sank. He hated grocery shopping with Michelle. It was just another opportunity for her to treat him like a child in public. He glanced at Katie, who was clearly interested in his plight. “Can’t I just stay home?” he asked, his voice wavering slightly. He hated how desperate he sounded, but the thought of spending hours in the store with Michelle was unbearable. Michelle’s gaze hardened. “No, you can’t stay home. I don’t trust you alone, and Katie has plans with her friend. You’re coming with me.” Katie walked over to the dishwasher, showing off her big girl underwear, as she bent low to load her plate. “Yeah, I’m meeting Ashley at the mall. We’re going to try on new dresses, then come back here and tan. Prom is just around the corner” she said, shooting Bradley a sly grin. “But don’t worry, baby brother. I’m sure you’ll have fun picking out cereal and diapers.” Bradley glared at her, his fists trembling at his sides. “I’m not a baby, I don't want to go,” he plead. Michelle placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip firm. “Bradley, do I need to remind you what happens when you argue?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous. Bradley swallowed hard, his defiance crumbling. “No, ma’am,” he muttered, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Good,” Michelle said, her tone softening slightly. “Now go take a shower and change into your big boy underwear ,” she ordered. “We need to leave soon and don’t forget to go potty before we leave I don't need you embarrassing me and having accident again.” Katie burst out laughing, her amusement clear. “Go potty,” she mimicked in a high-pitched voice, her laughter echoing in the kitchen. Bradley’s face burned. He hated when they brought that up and winced at the memory. He was so embarrassed when he’d had an accident during the day a month ago, right in the middle of the living room. Katie had teased him mercilessly for weeks afterward, and Michelle had made him wear pull ups during the day as a “precaution” until the whole package was gone. He didn’t think he’d ever live it down. Bradley glared at her, but there was nothing he could say. He turned left the kitchen, the weight of his humiliation pressing down on him. As he reached the stairs, he heard Katie call after him, her voice sing-song and cruel. “Don’t forget to rinse really well, baby boy! You wouldn’t want to smell of pee at the store!” Upstairs, Bradley slammed the bathroom door shut behind him, leaning against it for a moment as he tried to steady his breathing. The mirror across the room reflected his red-faced frustration, and he looked away, unable to meet his own gaze. Stripping off the wet diaper, he tossed it into the trash bin with more force than necessary before stepping into the shower. The water was lukewarm, doing little to soothe his anger. He scrubbed at his skin as if he could wash away the shame, the helplessness. But no matter how hard he tried, he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Not as long as Michelle insisted on treating him like this. Not as long as Katie kept mocking him. By the time he stepped out of the shower, his skin was red and raw, but he still didn’t feel clean. He didn’t want to go grocery shopping. But he didn’t have a choice. Michelle had made that clear. Dressing quickly, he pulled on a pair of his briefs. They were a little small on him and had cartoon characters all over them. They were very juvenile, but that's all Michelle would buy him, another thing Bradley hated. He put on his jeans, his hands trembling as he buttoned them, and grabbed a plain T-shirt, avoiding anything that might draw attention. As he put it on, the memory of Katie’s laughter echoed in his mind, fueling his resentment. Bradley shuffled downstairs, his heart heavy with dread. Michelle was already waiting by the door, her summer dress perfectly pressed, her hair brushed to a flawless shine, and her purse slung over one shoulder. As he approached, she gave him a stern look and reached into her bag, pulling out her hairbrush. Bradley froze mid-step, his eyes locked on the offending object. “Just a reminder,” Michelle said, her voice calm but edged with warning. “If you act up at the store, I will use this. Do you understand?” Bradley nodded quickly, his cheeks burning. “Yes, ma’am,” he groaned. Katie was at the top of the stairs behind him laughing at the threat, Michelle never spanked her. She leaned against the banister with a smirk. She was still in her bedtime outfit—nothing but a top and a pair of revealing panties—and she looked far too pleased with herself. "Don’t forget to go potty before you leave, Bradley," she called, her voice dripping with mock concern. "We wouldn’t want another accident, would we?" She said as she passed him, flaunting her panties. “I already went,” he lied quickly, desperate to avoid another humiliation. Katie leaned against the kitchen counter, grinning wickedly. “Sure you did, baby. Just like you ‘went’ last time, right before you peed your pants.” Bradley clenched his fists at his sides, but he didn’t say anything. Arguing with Katie only ever made things worse. Michelle raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Are you sure?” Her tone sounded like she was asking a toddler who was doing the potty dance. “I’m sure,” Bradley stammered, trying to get the embarrassing conversation over with. His cheeks were burning. Why did she have to ask him that? He wasn’t a child. Katie giggled, the sound grating on his nerves. “Mom, maybe you should just put him in one of his nighttime diapers before you go out. You know, just in case.” Michelle tilted her head considering it for a moment, “that's not a bad idea.” Bradley's jaw dropped, his eyes wide, he couldn't believe she was actually considering it. “No, he can wear his big boy underwear today. But Bradley,” she added, turning her full attention back to him, “if you have an accident at the store, you’ll be in big trouble. Do you understand?” “I’m not going to have an accident,” he snapped, his frustration boiling over. “I’m not a baby!” Katie snickered and Michelle’s eyes narrowed, she stepped closer, her presence looming. “Don’t talk back, young man. Now are you going to be a good boy for me on our shopping trip and not embarrass me?” Bradley’s face flushed crimson. He wanted to argue, to scream that he was eighteen, for God’s sake, but he knew better. Michelle didn’t tolerate defiance. Instead, he clenched his fists and nodded his head, his jaw tight. “Good,” she said, smoothing her dress. “Now, let’s go. And remember, Bradley, if you misbehave, I’ve got my hairbrush right here.” She patted her purse for emphasis, and Bradley’s stomach twisted.

Chapter 1: In the digital age, where connections are often forged through the flick of a finger, it was a typical evening spent browsing through a dating app that set the stage for an unexpected adventure. My name is Mikey; like many others navigating the world of online dating, I was searching for that elusive spark, a connection that might just lead to something more meaningful. As I lazily swiped left and right, profiles blurred into one another, each promising something unique yet often feeling the same. Just as I was about to call it a night, a profile caught my eye. Her name was Morgan. Her profile picture radiated warmth and kindness, a vibrant smile that seemed to leap off the screen. Her eyes, a captivating blend of green and gold, held a spark that was both inviting and mysterious. Morgan owned a daycare, a detail that made her even more intriguing. There was something incredibly attractive about a woman who cared for children, who had the patience and kindness to nurture young minds. Her bio was simple yet profound: "Looking for someone who appreciates the simple things in life. Loves kids, adventures, and genuine connections." I swiped right without a second thought. To my surprise, it was a match. A rush of excitement coursed through me as I quickly typed out a message, "Hey Morgan, loved your profile. Daycare owner, huh? That's amazing. What's the most rewarding part of your job?" Her response came sooner than I expected. "Hey Mikey, thanks! The most rewarding part is seeing the kids grow and learn. It's like watching little miracles every day. What about you? What do you do?" I smiled, feeling a connection already forming. "I'm a software developer. Not as glamorous as shaping young minds, but it pays the bills. What do you like to do for fun?" Morgan's reply was playful and flirtatious. "I love hiking, reading, and trying new recipes. But lately, I've been exploring something a bit more... adventurous." Intrigued, I asked, "Oh yeah? Like what?" Her next message made my heart race. "Well, let's just say I've been exploring some new... fantasies. Ever tried anything a bit out of the ordinary?" I felt a thrill run down my spine. This conversation was taking a turn I hadn't expected, but I was more than willing to go along for the ride. "I'm always up for an adventure. What did you have in mind?" Morgan's response was coy yet inviting. "Why don't we meet up and find out? There's a great little café downtown. How about tomorrow afternoon?" I agreed without hesitation. "Sounds perfect. I'll see you there." As I put my phone down, I couldn't wipe the grin off my face. This was shaping up to be more than just another swipe right. This felt like the start of something exciting, something real. Little did I know, this was just the beginning of a journey that would challenge my perceptions and push the boundaries of my desires. Chapter 2: Curiosity piqued by Morgan's intriguing offer, I found myself eagerly accepting the chance to see her daycare in action. The building was nestled in a serene neighborhood, its exterior painted in cheerful hues that promised warmth and joy within. As we approached, the sounds of laughter and playful chatter spilled out, creating a welcoming atmosphere. Morgan led me inside, and I was immediately struck by the vibrant energy of the place. The walls were adorned with colorful murals depicting whimsical scenes of forests, oceans, and outer space, each corner designed to spark imagination and creativity. Toys of every kind were neatly arranged, ready to be explored by eager little hands. "Welcome to Little Miracles," Morgan said with a proud smile. "This is where the magic happens." I followed her as she walked through the daycare, introducing me to the different areas. There was a cozy nook filled with books, a play area with a giant wooden castle, and a quiet corner with soft mats and pillows for nap time. The atmosphere was electric, filled with the boundless energy of children at play. "This place is amazing," I said, genuinely impressed. "You've really created something special here." Morgan beamed at the compliment. "Thanks. I've always believed that every child deserves a place where they can be themselves, explore, and grow. That's what I try to provide here." As we walked, a little girl with pigtails and a mischievous grin ran up to Morgan, tugging at her hand. "Morgan, Morgan! Look what I made!" She held up a drawing of what looked like a purple dinosaur wearing a tutu. Morgan knelt down, her eyes lighting up with genuine interest. "Wow, Lily! That's incredible. Is that a dancing dinosaur?" Lily nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! She's going to the ballet." Morgan laughed softly. "That's wonderful. I bet she'll be the star of the show." Lily grinned and ran off, her imagination already pulling her in a new direction. I watched the interaction, feeling a warmth spread through me. "You're really good with them," I said. Morgan stood up, her eyes shining. "They make it easy. There's something so pure and honest about kids. They haven't learned to hide their feelings or put up walls. It's refreshing." As we continued our tour, I noticed a door at the end of a hallway, slightly ajar. The room inside was dark, unlike the bright and cheerful spaces we'd seen so far. "What's in there?" I asked, nodding towards the door. Morgan's smile took on a mysterious edge. "That's the quiet room. It's where the kids go when they need a break from all the excitement. It's also where I explore some of my... other interests." I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Other interests?" Morgan leaned in, her voice low. "Remember when I mentioned exploring new fantasies? That room plays a big part in that." I felt a jolt of excitement mixed with curiosity. This woman was full of surprises, and I was eager to uncover more. But before I could ask anything else, a loud crash came from the other room, followed by a chorus of giggles. Morgan laughed, shaking her head. "Sounds like someone's building a fort again. I should go check on them. Feel free to look around more if you like." As she walked away, I couldn't help but feel drawn to that dark room at the end of the hallway. What kind of fantasies did Morgan explore in there? I was dying to find out, but that would have to wait. For now, I was content to soak in the joyful atmosphere of Little Miracles, a place where magic and reality seemed to coexist in harmony. I walked back into the main play area, watching as Morgan helped the kids build a fort out of blankets and chairs. She looked up and caught my eye, smiling warmly. I smiled back, feeling a sense of anticipation. This daycare was more than just a business; it was a labor of love, a testament to Morgan's nurturing spirit. And as I watched her interact with the kids, I knew I wanted to explore more of her world, whatever that might entail. Little did I know, that dark room held secrets that would challenge my perceptions and draw me into a world of desire and discovery. But for now, I was content to be drawn into the magic of Little Miracles, one step at a time. Chapter 3: As Morgan busied herself with the kids in the main play area, I found myself drawn back to that dark, mysterious room at the end of the hallway. The door was still slightly ajar, beckoning me to explore its secrets. I glanced over my shoulder, seeing Morgan occupied with a group of giggling children, and decided to take my chance. I slipped into the room, the air inside cool and still. I fumbled along the wall, searching for a light switch. Suddenly, the door clicked shut behind me, enclosing me in total darkness. Before I could react, the lights flicked on, blinding me momentarily. As my vision adjusted, I saw Morgan standing there, holding a wooden paddle. Her expression was stern, but there was a playful glint in her eyes. "You've been a bad boy, Mikey," she said, her voice a mix of reprimand and amusement. Before I could protest, she grabbed me by the arm, her grip surprisingly strong. She led me to a table in the center of the room, which I now realized was equipped with restraints. My heart pounded in my chest as she bent me over, my butt facing her. I felt a rush of adrenaline, a mix of excitement and nervousness. "You shouldn't be exploring rooms that aren't authorized, Mikey," she said, her voice taking on a teasing tone. "That's very naughty of you." With that, she brought the paddle down, smacking it against my butt. I let out a yelp, more from surprise than pain. She spanked me again, each smack punctuated by her playful scolding. The Paddle: "Bad boys need to be disciplined, Mikey," she said, her voice laced with amusement. "You've been very curious, haven't you? Poking your nose where it doesn't belong." I squirmed under her grip, but there was no escaping her playful punishment. The room echoed with the sound of the paddle meeting my flesh, each smack sending a jolt through me. It was a strange sensation, the line between pleasure and pain blurring with each strike. Morgan continued her playful scolding, her voice taking on a singsong quality. "You're just a baby, aren't you? Exploring where you shouldn't be. Well, maybe next time you'll think twice before snooping around." As suddenly as it had begun, the spanking stopped. Morgan released her grip, and I stood up, my face flushed and my heart racing. She looked at me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "There," she said, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "Now you've had a taste of what happens to bad boys who can't follow the rules." Chapter 4: Once I was secured on the table, a primal instinct kicked in, and I tried to break free. "Morgan, please," I begged, my voice trembling as I strained against the restraints. "Please don't diaper me. Don't take my clothes away." The Nursery: The Changing Table: Morgan chuckled, a sound that was both sweet and wicked. "Oh, Mikey," she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement and determination. "You don't have a choice, sweetheart. You're going to enjoy being diapered like a baby. I promise you that." She reached for a pair of scissors, the blades glinting in the soft light of the room. I watched in horror as she began to cut away my clothes, the sound of fabric tearing filling the air. I squirmed and bucked, trying futilely to escape, but the restraints held fast. "Please, Morgan," I pleaded, feeling a flush of embarrassment as she stripped me bare. "Don't do this. I can't be naked in front of you." She smiled gently, her eyes never leaving mine as she continued to cut away my clothes. "There's no room for shame here, Mikey," she said softly. "This is about trust, about letting go. You're safe with me." As the last of my clothes fell away, I was left naked and vulnerable, like a baby ready to be diapered. I felt a rush of embarrassment, a hot blush spreading across my cheeks. Morgan paused, her eyes roaming over my naked body, her gaze appreciative and loving. "You're beautiful, Mikey," she said softly, her voice filled with warmth. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about." She reached for a dinosaur-printed diaper, and I felt a surge of panic. "No, Morgan, please," I begged, trying to wriggle away. "Not that. I can't wear that." The Diaper: She laughed, a sound that was both comforting and firm. "Oh, Mikey," she said, shaking her head. "You don't get to make that decision, sweetheart. I'm in charge here, and I say you're wearing this adorable dinosaur diaper." I tried to fight her, bucking and straining against the restraints, but Morgan was undeterred. She gently but firmly lifted my hips, sliding the diaper beneath me. I begged and pleaded, but she didn't care what I had to say. Her touch was gentle and sure as she fastened the diaper around me, securing it tightly in place. As she finished, she leaned down, her face inches from mine. "There you go, sweetheart," she said softly, her voice filled with love. "All diapered and ready to go. You're my baby now, Mikey. And I'm going to take such good care of you." I looked up into her eyes, seeing the warmth and love reflected there, and felt a strange sense of calm wash over me. Despite my embarrassment, despite my struggles, there was a part of me that felt...content. Safe. Loved. And as Morgan smiled down at me, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together. Chapter 5: Morgan stood back, admiring her handiwork as I lay there, now fully diapered and feeling a mix of humiliation and intrigue. She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and began to pace around the table, her fingers tracing patterns on the smooth surface. "Now, Mikey," she began, her voice taking on a more authoritative tone. "There are a few rules you should know about. Fifteen, to be exact. These rules will help you understand your new role as my baby. And don't worry, I'll make sure you remember each and every one." I watched her warily, my eyes following her as she moved. "Rules?" I asked, my voice small and uncertain. She nodded, holding up a single finger. "Rule number one: Morgan is always right. You will listen to me and obey me in all things. Understood?" I hesitated, then nodded, feeling a strange flutter in my stomach. A second finger joined the first. "Rule number two: Diapers are the bathroom now. You will use them for all your needs, and I will change you when I see fit." My eyes widened in horror. "Morgan, please—" I started, but she cut me off with a sharp look. "Rule number three," she continued, adding a third finger. "You will ask permission for all things. Want to play with a toy? Ask permission. Want to eat? Ask permission. Want to speak? You get the idea." I swallowed hard, feeling a sense of dread washing over me. Morgan continued, her voice steady and calm as she listed each rule. "Rule number four: No walking. You'll crawl or be carried like a good little baby. Rule number five: You'll drink from a bottle or sippy cup. Rule number six: No swearing or bad language. Rule number seven: Naptime is when I say it is. Rule number eight: You'll eat what I give you, when I give it to you." She paused, looking down at me with a soft smile. "Rule number nine: You will always tell Morgan the truth. Rule number ten: You will not touch your diaper or try to remove it. Rule number eleven: You will not try to escape or leave the daycare. Rule number twelve: You will not harm yourself or others." I listened, my mind reeling as I tried to take in each rule. Morgan's voice was soothing, almost hypnotic, and I found myself nodding along despite the growing unease in my stomach. "Rule number thirteen: You will not hide your feelings from Morgan. Rule number fourteen: You will accept and embrace your role as my baby. And finally, rule number fifteen: You will love and trust Morgan, always." She finished, looking down at me with a warm smile. "And that's it, sweetheart," she said softly. "Those are the rules. Follow them, and we'll get along just fine." I looked up at her, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. I felt overwhelmed, scared, and yet...there was a part of me that felt cared for, seen. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm within me. Morgan reached out, her hand gently stroking my cheek. "Good boy, Mikey," she murmured. "You're doing so well. I'm proud of you." And with those words, I felt a strange sense of pride, of accomplishment. I was hers, completely and utterly. And as I lay there, diapered and helpless, I knew that this was just the beginning of my new life as Morgan's baby. The rules were clear, the path laid out before me. All I had to do was follow. Chapter 6: Morgan's eyes narrowed as she looked down at me, her expression stern. "Now, Mikey," she began, her voice firm. "You were a bad boy during your diaper change. You argued with Mommy about using your diaper as your potty. Bad boys need to be punished, isn't that right?" I felt a shiver run down my spine as I looked up at her, my eyes wide with apprehension. "Morgan, please—" I started, but she cut me off with a sharp look. "Ah, ah, ah," she chided, wagging her finger. "What did I tell you about asking permission? And it's 'Mommy', not 'Morgan'. You've already earned yourself a punishment. Don't make it worse." With that, she grabbed my arm and pulled me towards a nearby chair. She sat down, her grip firm as she tugged me over her lap. I struggled, a wave of panic washing over me as I realized what she intended to do. "Morgan, I mean, Mommy, please don't—" I begged, but she hushed me with a firm pat on my diapered bottom. "Hush now, Mikey," she said, her voice calm and collected. "You're getting fifty good spankings on your diaper bottom. And if you keep squirming, it'll be more." I tried to get free, my heart pounding in my chest, but she held me firmly in place. "That's another fifteen, Mikey," she said, her voice tinged with disappointment. "Now, let's begin." And with that, she started to spank me, her hand landing firmly on my diapered bottom. I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me as I was spanked like a naughty baby, the padding of my diaper doing little to protect me from the sting of her hand. "Say it, Mikey," she commanded, her voice steady and firm. "Say 'I will use my diaper like a good baby'." I hesitated, my cheeks burning with humiliation. She spanked me again, harder this time. "Say it, Mikey," she repeated. "I-I will use my diaper like a good baby," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. She nodded, satisfied. "Again." "I will use my diaper like a good baby," I repeated, my voice louder this time. She continued to spank me, each smack punctuated by a babyish line that she made me repeat. "I am a baby who uses his diaper." "I will ask Mommy to change my diaper when I need it." "I will not argue with Mommy about using my diaper." With each spank, I felt myself sinking deeper into the role she had chosen for me. I was her baby, her little Mikey, and I was being punished for my disobedience. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she finished. I lay there, my diapered bottom stinging and sore, as she gently rubbed my back. "There, there, Mikey," she cooed, her voice soft and soothing. "You took your punishment so well. Mommy's proud of you." I felt a strange sense of pride, of accomplishment, at her words. I had pleased her, had done as she asked. She helped me up, her hands gentle as she steadied me on my feet. She looked down at me, her eyes soft and warm. "Now, Mikey," she said, her voice gentle. "Can you tell Mommy what you've learned today?" I looked up at her, my eyes filled with unshed tears. "I-I will use my diaper like a good baby," I said, my voice small and uncertain. She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "That's right, Mikey," she said, her voice filled with pride. "You're Mommy's good little baby. Now, can you say one more thing for Mommy?" I hesitated, then nodded. "Say 'Mommy, I love you'," she said, her voice soft. I looked up at her, my heart pounding in my chest. "Mommy," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I love you." With that she helped me into my new clothes and plastic pants. And with those words, I felt something shift within me. I was hers, completely and utterly. Her baby, her little Mikey. And as I looked up at her, my eyes filled with love and adoration, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together. Chapter 7: I stood in front of the mirror, my cheeks flushed a bright red as I took in my new attire. The black t-shirt with Blue's Clues cartoons splashed across the front, the shiny blue plastic pants that crinkled loudly with every slight movement—it was all too much. I felt like a oversized toddler, a grotesque parody of childhood. Morgan, however, seemed thrilled. The outfit: "Aww, look at my little baby Mikey," she cooed, clapping her hands together. "All cute and snug in your new outfit. Now, let's get you all settled in your highchair for your yummy food and drinks, okay?" I wanted to protest, to scream and shout and demand to be let go, but something held me back. A strange, twisted sense of curiosity, perhaps, or maybe just the lingering sting of my spanking, reminding me of what happened when I disobeyed. She led me to the kitchen, where a highchair sat waiting. It was larger than a normal highchair, clearly modified to accommodate an adult. I balked at the sight of it, but Morgan was having none of it. With a firm hand, she guided me to the chair and helped me climb in, securing the tray in front of me and locking me in place. I tested the restraints, rattling them slightly, but they held fast. I was stuck. The Highchair: Morgan hummed a cheerful tune as she tied a large bib around my neck, securing it tightly before turning to prepare my food. I watched her warily, my eyes never leaving her as she bustled about the kitchen, gathering ingredients and mixing them together. The bib: She returned with a bowl of mushy, unidentifiable food and a large bottle filled with a clear liquid. She set them down on the tray in front of me, then pulled up a chair for herself, sitting down with an expectant look. "Eat up, Mikey," she said, her voice firm yet gentle. "You need to keep up your strength. And drink all of your ba-ba, okay? Mommy made it special, just for you." The food: The Bottle: I eyed the bowl warily, poking at the strange concoction with the spoon she'd given me. It smelled vaguely like oatmeal, but with an underlying tang that I couldn't quite place. The bottle, meanwhile, seemed to be filled with nothing more than water, but something about the way Morgan was looking at me made me wonder if there was more to it than that. As I hesitantly took a bite of the food, Morgan watched me closely, her eyes never leaving my face. I felt a strange sensation in my stomach, a warmth that spread through me, making me feel slightly dizzy. I shook it off, attributing it to nerves, and took a sip from the bottle. The water tasted slightly sweet, with a strange aftertaste that I couldn't quite place. Morgan smiled encouragingly, urging me to drink more. I complied, not wanting to upset her, but with each sip, the strange sensation in my stomach grew stronger. I began to feel cramps, my intestines twisting and churning uncomfortably. I squirmed in my seat, trying to alleviate the discomfort, but it only grew stronger. As I finished the last of the bottle, I realized with a sudden, horrifying clarity what Morgan had done. The food, the drink—they'd been spiked, filled with something designed to make me use my diaper. I looked up at her, my eyes wide with betrayal, but she simply smiled, her eyes filled with a sickening, twisted love. "There, there, Mikey," she said, her voice soft and soothing. "You'll feel better soon, I promise. Just let it happen, okay? Let Mommy take care of you." I felt a wave of panic wash over me as I realized what was about to happen. I had to escape, had to find a way out of this twisted nightmare. But with the tray locked in front of me and the restraints holding me firmly in place, I was trapped, helpless to do anything but wait for the inevitable. As the cramps grew stronger, I knew that I had to act fast. I had to find a way out of this highchair, out of this house, out of this twisted game that Morgan was playing. But with each passing moment, as the pressure in my bowels grew stronger, I knew that time was running out. I had to escape, and I had to do it soon. But how? Chapter 8: As I sat in the highchair, I begged Morgan to let me go potty in the toilet. "Please, Morgan," I pleaded, my voice strained with desperation. "I can't hold it in much longer. Just let me use the bathroom like a normal person." She turned to me, her eyes narrowing as she wagged a disapproving finger. "Now, Mikey, you know better than that. Mommy said you're to use your diaper like a good baby. If you ask again, you'll get another spanking." I squirmed in my seat, the pressure in my bowels building to an unbearable level. I tried to hold it in, to will my body into submission, but it was a losing battle. Morgan watched me, her expression growing more and more irritated as she saw my resistance. "Fine," she snapped, her voice sharp and cold. "If you won't listen to Mommy, then Mommy will make you listen. You will use that diaper like a baby, Mikey. And after your dinner, I'll give you a spanking to remind you who's in charge here." "Please, Morgan," I begged, tears stinging my eyes. "Please, don't make me do this. I can't—I won't—" She cut me off with a harsh laugh, her eyes gleaming with a twisted delight. "You can and you will, Mikey. You're my baby now, and babies use diapers. Now, be a good little boy and let it out. The sooner you do, the sooner we can get on with our night." I shook my head, my body trembling with the effort of holding back. But Morgan was relentless. She stood over me, her eyes boring into mine, her voice a constant, nagging reminder of what she wanted, what she demanded. "Come on, Mikey," she coaxed, her voice a sickening sing-song. "Let it out for Mommy. Let me see my baby boy use his diaper like a good little boy." Chapter 9: I looked up at her, my eyes filled with defiance and desperation. I clenched my muscles tight, trying to hold back the inevitable, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "No, Morgan," I grunted, my voice strained. "I won't do it. I won't use the diaper. You can't make me." Morgan's eyes flashed, her smile fading, replaced by a look of cold determination. "Oh, Mikey," she said, her voice like ice. "You really think you can defy Mommy? You think you can win this battle?" I squirmed in the highchair, my body tense, my muscles cramping with the effort of holding back. I shook my head, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "No," I panted. "You can't make me. I won't." Morgan's lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing as she looked down at me. "Fine, Mikey," she said, her voice sharp and cold. "You want to play it that way? Then Mommy will make you go. And then, my dear, you'll get a spanking you'll never forget, right there in your nice, full diaper." She turned away, her heels clicking sharply on the kitchen floor as she walked to the counter. I watched her warily, my heart pounding in my chest as she opened a drawer and pulled out a small, dark bottle. She turned back to me, her eyes glinting with a twisted delight as she held up the bottle, shaking it gently. "You know what this is, Mikey?" she asked, her voice soft and dangerous. "This is Mommy's little helper. A few drops of this in your ba-ba, and you'll be filling that diaper in no time." I shook my head, my eyes wide with horror. "No, Morgan," I begged, my voice trembling. "Please, don't. You can't—" She cut me off with a sharp laugh, her eyes gleaming with a sickening triumph. "Oh, Mikey," she said, her voice a twisted parody of gentle concern. "Mommy can do whatever she wants. And right now, Mommy wants you to use that diaper like a good little baby. And you will, Mikey. One way or another." With that, she unscrewed the cap of the bottle, her eyes never leaving mine as she tipped it over, letting a few drops of the dark liquid fall into my bottle. She swirled it gently, her eyes gleaming with a twisted delight as she watched the liquid mix with the water. I looked up at her, my heart pounding in my chest, my body trembling with a mix of fear and desperation. I knew I had to hold out, had to resist, but as she held the bottle up to my lips, her eyes gleaming with a sickening triumph, I knew that this was one battle I couldn't win. But even so, I wouldn't go down without a fight. I pursed my lips shut, refusing to drink. Morgan simply smiled, pinching my nose until I gasped for air, and she poured the contents down my throat. The twisted game continued, and I was her unwilling pawn, trapped in a highchair, trapped in a body that was quickly betraying me. The liquid burned as it slid down my throat, a bitter, acrid taste that made me want to gag. I tried to spit it out, but Morgan's grip was tight, her fingers pinching my nose, forcing me to swallow. I coughed, my eyes watering as the last of the tainted water slid down my throat. Within seconds, my stomach began to cramp, a sharp, insistent pain that doubled me over in the highchair. I looked up at Morgan, my eyes wide with panic. "What... what did you do to me?" I gasped, my body trembling with the sudden, violent onslaught of discomfort. Morgan smiled, her eyes gleaming with a sickening delight. "Just a little something to help Mommy's baby use his diaper," she cooed, her voice a twisted parody of gentle concern. "It won't be long now, sweetie. Just a few more minutes, and you'll be filling that diaper like a good little baby." I shook my head, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps as I tried to hold back the inevitable. I squirmed in the highchair, my body tense, my muscles cramping with the effort of maintaining control. "No," I panted. "I won't. I won't do it." Morgan's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with a twisted triumph as she began to coo, her voice a soft, singsong sound that made my stomach churn. "Oh, come on, Mikey," she cooed. "Don't be shy, sweetie. Just let it out. Let Mommy's little baby use his diaper like a good little boy." I shook my head, my body trembling with the effort of holding back. "Please," I begged, my voice trembling. "Please, Morgan, stop. I can't... I can't hold it much longer." Morgan's smile never wavered, her eyes never leaving mine as she began to massage my tummy, her fingers gentle but insistent. "Oh, don't be silly, Mikey," she cooed. "Just relax, sweetie. Just let it out. Let Mommy's little baby use his diaper like he's supposed to." I shook my head, my body trembling, my muscles cramping as I tried to hold back the inevitable. But it was no use. I could feel it coming, a wet, messy betrayal that I couldn't stop. "Please," I begged, my voice a broken whisper. "Please, Morgan, don't make me do this." But Morgan just smiled, her eyes gleaming with a sickening triumph as she continued to coo, her voice a soft, singsong sound that filled my ears, blocking out everything but the inevitable betrayal of my own body. "That's it, Mikey," she cooed. "Just let it out, sweetie. Just let Mommy's little baby use his diaper like a good little boy..." I clenched my fists, my body trembling as I tried to hold back, but it was no use. I could feel it coming, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I looked up at Morgan, my eyes filled with a mix of desperation and defeat as I felt my body betray me, the inevitable mess filling my diaper as Morgan cooed and clapped, her eyes gleaming with a twisted, victorious delight. Chapter 10: With her coos becoming worse, my body gave into release and couldn't stop it. She rubbed my tummy and cooed at me as everything emptied into the diaper. I started to cry, but she just cooed more, her voice a sickeningly sweet symphony to my humiliation. I could feel every release loading into my diaper, the warmth spreading, the mess engulfing me. I couldn't stop pooping, and once it finally came to an end, I felt the pee just release into my diaper, the final insult to my dignity. Morgan's eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction as she looked down at me, her baby. "Good baby, Mikey," she cooed, her voice a soft, singsong sound that made my stomach churn. "But you still need to be punished for resisting using it." I looked up at her, my eyes filled with tears, my body trembling with humiliation and defeat. "Please," I begged, my voice a broken whisper. "Please, Morgan, no more. I can't take any more." But Morgan just smiled, her eyes gleaming with a sickening delight as she began to speak to me like a baby. "Oh, come on, Mikey," she cooed. "Don't be silly, sweetie. You know you deserve to be punished, don't you?" I shook my head, my body trembling, but Morgan just smiled, her eyes never leaving mine as she began to speak to me in baby talk, her voice a soft, singsong sound that filled my ears, blocking out everything but my humiliation. "Now, Mikey, repeat after Mommy," she cooed, her eyes gleaming with a twisted delight. "I am a little baby who pooped in his diaper." I shook my head, my body trembling, but Morgan's grip tightened, her fingers pinching my chin, forcing me to look up at her. "Say it, Mikey," she demanded, her voice a soft, singsong sound that belied the steel in her eyes. I took a deep breath, my body trembling as I forced the words out, my voice a broken whisper. "I... I am a little baby who pooped in his diaper." Morgan's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with a twisted triumph as she continued to coo, her voice a soft, singsong sound that filled my ears, blocking out everything but my humiliation. "Good baby, Mikey," she cooed. "Now say, 'I am a little baby who peed in his diaper.'" I took a deep breath, my body trembling as I forced the words out, my voice a broken whisper. "I... I am a little baby who peed in his diaper." Morgan's smile was a sickeningly sweet sight, her eyes gleaming with a twisted triumph as she continued to coo, her voice a soft, singsong sound that filled my ears, blocking out everything but my humiliation. "Good baby, Mikey," she cooed. "Now say, 'I am a little baby who needs to be changed by his Mommy.'" I took a deep breath, my body trembling as I forced the words out, my voice a broken whisper. "I... I am a little baby who needs to be changed by his Mommy." Morgan's smile was a sickeningly sweet sight, her eyes gleaming with a twisted triumph as she looked down at me, her baby. "Good baby, Mikey," she cooed. "Now, let's get you cleaned up, sweetie. Mommy's got a nice, warm bath ready for you." I looked up at her, my eyes filled with tears, my body trembling with humiliation and defeat as she began to undo the straps of the highchair, her eyes never leaving mine, her voice a soft, singsong sound that filled my ears, blocking out everything but my humiliation and the inevitable punishment to come. Chapter 11: Morgan led me by the hand, her grip firm yet gentle, as if she were guiding a toddler taking their first steps. Every time I took a step, I could feel my accident squishing in the diaper, a grim reminder of my humiliation. The smell was overwhelming, a constant assault on my senses, but Morgan didn't seem to mind. She hummed a soft, sweet tune as she led me back to the chair from earlier—the one where she had spanked me. She sat down and put me over her lap, her hand rubbing gentle circles on my back. "Now, Mikey," she cooed, her voice a sickeningly sweet symphony. "It's time for your punishment, sweetie. You get 75 spankings for being such a naughty baby." I whimpered, my body trembling in anticipation of the pain. Morgan's hand came down hard on my diapered bottom, the sound of the impact filling the room. I gasped, my body jerking from the sting. "Count them, Mikey," she demanded, her voice still soft and singsong. "And repeat after me, 'I am a naughty baby who needs to be punished.'" I took a deep breath, my voice shaking as I forced the words out. "O-one. I... I am a naughty baby who needs to be punished." Her hand came down again, another hard spank. I gasped, the words tumbling from my lips. "T-two. I am a naughty baby who needs to be punished." Morgan continued to spank me, her hand coming down in a steady rhythm, each impact sending a jolt of pain through my body. I counted each one, repeating the humiliating words after every spank. The tears streamed down my face, my body trembling with each impact. At spank number 50, Morgan paused, her hand rubbing gentle circles on my back again. "You're doing so well, Mikey," she cooed. "Now, let's change it up a bit. Repeat after me, 'I am a naughty baby who needs his Mommy to spank him.'" I took a deep, shuddering breath, my body aching from the spanking. I forced the words out, my voice broken and defeated. "I... I am a naughty baby who needs his Mommy to spank him." Morgan's hand came down again, another hard spank. I gasped, the count and the words tumbling from my lips. "F-fifty-one. I am a naughty baby who needs his Mommy to spank him." She continued the spanking, her hand coming down in the same steady rhythm. I counted each one, repeating the humiliating words after every spank. My body was a mess of pain and humiliation, my mind a fog of defeat. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the 75th spank came down. I gasped out the count and the words, my body shaking with sobs. Morgan's hand rubbed gentle circles on my back again, her voice soft and soothing. "There, there, Mikey," she cooed. "All done, sweetie. You took your punishment so well. Mommy's proud of you." She helped me up, her eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction as she looked down at me, her baby. "Now, let's get you cleaned up, sweetie," she said, her voice a soft, singsong sound. "Mommy's got a nice, warm bath ready for you." I looked up at her, my eyes filled with tears, my body aching and throbbing. I knew better than to protest, to beg for mercy. I was her baby, her plaything, and she was far from done with me. As she led me to the bathroom, I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread, wondering what fresh humiliation awaited me in the bath as the stench of my accident wafted through the air. Chapter 12: The tears still stung my eyes, and the sting of the spanking still throbbed on my bottom. Morgan led me back to the changing table, her grip as gentle as ever, as if she hadn't just turned my ass a fiery red. She lifted me onto the table, her eyes gleaming with that twisted satisfaction as she looked down at my soiled diaper. "Let's get you cleaned up, sweetie," she cooed, her voice a soft, sickeningly sweet symphony. She peeled off the diaper, her nose not even wrinkling at the sight and smell. I looked away, my face burning with humiliation as she wiped me clean, her hands gentle yet firm. She wrapped a fluffy towel around me, her eyes never leaving mine as she lifted me into her arms. I felt like a fucking toddler, carried off to the bathroom, the warm, bubbly water waiting for me. She lowered me into the bath, the warmth enveloping me, the bubbles tickling my skin. Morgan grabbed a soft cloth, soaping it up as she began to wash me. She hummed that same soft, sweet tune, her hands rubbing the cloth over my body, cleaning every inch of me. I sat there, my body aching, my mind a fog of humiliation, as she bathed me like a baby. She lifted me out of the bath, wrapping me back up in the towel. She carried me back to the nursery, laying me down on the changing table. She dried me off, her hands rubbing gently over my skin. She grabbed a booster pad and a safari print diaper, her eyes never leaving mine as she slid the booster pad into the diaper. The Safari Diaper: "So my little baby doesn't have a leak when he sleeps tonight," she said, her voice a soft, singsong sound. She powdered me, the cool powder a stark contrast to the warmth of the bath. She lifted my legs, sliding the thick diaper underneath me, fastening it tightly around my waist. It was way thicker than the one from earlier, the crinkle of the plastic loud and humiliating. I lay there, my body aching, my mind a mess of defeat and humiliation. Morgan leaned down, her lips brushing softly against my forehead. "All clean and ready for bed, sweetie," she cooed, her voice a soft, sickeningly sweet symphony. She lifted me into her arms, carrying me over to the crib. She laid me down, her eyes never leaving mine as she pulled a soft, fluffy blanket over me. I looked up at her, my eyes filled with tears, my body aching and throbbing. I knew better than to protest, to beg for mercy. I was her baby, her plaything, and she was far from done with me. As she turned off the light, the room plunging into darkness, I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread, wondering what fresh humiliation awaited me in the morning. As the darkness of the nursery enveloped me, I lay there in the crib, my heart racing and my mind swirling with thoughts of escape. The soft blanket cocooned me, but it felt more like a trap than a comfort. I could still feel the sting of humiliation from earlier, the overwhelming sensation of being utterly powerless. My body ached, but it was the emotional turmoil that truly gnawed at me, a relentless reminder of my situation. I stared at the bars of the crib, a prison of my own making. Thoughts raced through my mind, each one more desperate than the last. If I could just slide the latch down and make a run for it, I could escape this twisted nightmare. I could make it home, back to a life where I had control, where I wasn’t treated like a helpless child. The idea of freedom ignited a flicker of hope within me, a small flame that I clung to as I plotted my escape. Just as I began to gather my resolve, the door creaked open, and Morgan stepped back into the nursery. My heart sank as I caught sight of her. She was holding something in her hands, and I could feel the dread pooling in my stomach. I had barely managed to convince myself that I could escape when she approached the crib with a smile that sent shivers down my spine. “Look what I have for you, sweetie!” she chirped, her voice dripping with that sickly-sweet affection that made my skin crawl. In her hands were a pair of footed pajamas adorned with cheerful Elmo prints and a pair of shiny plastic pants that crinkled as she moved. I felt my heart drop further into my stomach. There was no escaping now. The Plastic Pants: The Feet Pjs: Before I could even voice my protests, she leaned over the crib, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Time to get you all snug and cozy for bed!” she exclaimed. I wanted to scream, to fight back, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I lay there, frozen, as she slid the plastic pants over my already thick diaper. The sound of the crinkling fabric filled the air, an unmistakable reminder of my current state. “Such a cute little baby!” Morgan cooed, her fingers dancing over the soft fabric of the pajamas. I squirmed as she pulled them over my legs, zipping them up the back with a swift motion. I felt the fabric hug my body tightly, the snug fit a constant reminder of my helplessness. But it was the gloves that truly sent my heart racing. They were attached to the zipper, preventing me from using my hands to escape or fight back. I was utterly trapped. The gloves: As if sensing my growing panic, Morgan leaned in closer, her face just inches from mine. “Don’t worry, darling. This is all part of the fun! You’ll be safe and sound in your crib, and I’ll be right here to take care of you,” she said, her voice a soothing lullaby that did nothing to calm my racing heart. I wanted to scream, to tell her that I wasn’t her baby, that I didn’t want this, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, a mixture of frustration and despair. With a gentle hand, Morgan turned on the mobile that hung above my crib. The soft, twinkling lights danced across the walls, and a sweet melody began to play, filling the room with a lullaby that felt both enchanting and suffocating. I lay there, my heart pounding in my chest, as the mobile spun slowly above me, casting shadows that flickered like my hopes of escape. “Just relax, baby,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Let the music soothe you to sleep.” I could see the satisfaction in her eyes, the way she reveled in my helplessness. It was as if she took pleasure in my despair, and I could feel the weight of her gaze pressing down on me. I turned my head away from her, focusing on the mobile as it spun above me. Each note of the lullaby felt like a cruel reminder of my situation, a melody designed to lull me into submission. I fought against the urge to close my eyes, to give in to the soft embrace of sleep, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. The exhaustion from the day weighed heavily on me, and the warmth of the pajamas wrapped around me like a cocoon. “Goodnight, sweetie,” Morgan said, her voice a soft whisper as she leaned down to kiss my forehead. I felt her breath against my skin, and I shivered at the intimacy of the gesture. It was a reminder that I was hers, that I belonged to her in this twisted game. I wanted to push her away, to tell her to leave me alone, but the words felt trapped in my throat. As she stepped back, the nursery fell into a heavy silence, the only sound the gentle lull of the mobile and the soft crinkle of my diaper. I lay there, my heart racing as I fought against the urge to fall asleep. I needed to stay awake, to keep my mind sharp, to remember my plan. If I could just hold on a little longer, I could find a way out. Minutes turned into what felt like hours as I tossed and turned in the crib, the pajamas and plastic pants feeling like a second skin, suffocating and constricting. I could still hear the faint echo of Morgan’s voice in my mind, her sweet coos and gentle reassurances. But I was determined not to let her win. I couldn’t allow myself to become the baby she wanted. Just as I began to drift into a restless sleep, the door creaked open again. My heart raced as I turned to see Morgan standing in the doorway, a shadowy figure against the light from the hallway. She stepped inside, her eyes glinting with a predatory gleam. “Did I hear my little one stirring?” she asked, her voice low and teasing. I felt a jolt of panic surge through me. I had to act fast. I had to find a way to escape. But as she approached the crib, I realized that my time was running out. The moment of freedom I had envisioned was slipping further away, and all I could do was lie there, trapped in a world of her making, waiting for the next move in this twisted game. Chapter 13: As Morgan approached the crib, I could see the silhouette of a bottle in her hand. She wasn't here to just check on me; she had another twisted plan in mind. I wanted to curl up and disappear, but I was trapped in the open, a captive audience to her perverse delight. "I see you're still awake, sweetie," she cooed, her voice grating on my nerves. "Morgan has something to help you sleep tight." She revealed the bottle, filled with a strange, pink liquid. I eyed it warily, knowing that whatever it was, it couldn't be good. Before I could protest, she deftly uncapped the bottle and brought it to my lips. "Drink up, baby," she insisted, tipping the bottle so that the liquid dripped into my mouth. I tried to spit it out, but she held my chin firmly, forcing me to swallow. The medicine had a sickly-sweet taste that made my stomach churn. "What is this?" I demanded, my voice hoarse with exhaustion and fear. Morgan smiled, her eyes glinting with a malicious glee. "Just a little something to help you sleep and... well, you'll see in the morning." Her vagueness sent a shiver down my spine. I wanted to fight back, to demand answers, but the medicine was already taking effect. My limbs felt heavy, and my eyelids began to droop. But Morgan wasn't done yet. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pacifier, the kind meant for babies much younger than the age she was trying to force me into. I shook my head weakly, trying to refuse, but she simply grinned and popped it into my mouth. Before I could spit it out, she had secured it around my head with a fastening strap. I was helpless, utterly at her mercy. "There you go, sweetie," she murmured, her voice dripping with false affection. "Now you look just like a little angel." Through the haze of the medicine, I saw her reach for the top of the crib. With a clicking sound, she locked it in place, ensuring that I couldn't escape even if I managed to fight off the drug-induced sleep. I was well and truly trapped. "Night-night, baby," she sang softly, her voice fading as my eyes grew heavier. I tried to fight it, to keep my wits about me, but it was no use. The medicine pulled me under, and I found myself drifting off to sleep, the pacifier bobbing gently in my mouth. As I succumbed to the darkness, I could have sworn I heard Morgan whisper, "Sweet dreams, my little bedwetter." But I couldn't be sure, not as the world faded away and I was left alone with my dreams, unaware of what the morning would bring. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. It was a warm, inviting light, but it felt wrong in this context. I blinked against the brightness, my mind still foggy from the effects of the pink liquid Morgan had forced upon me. As my eyes adjusted, I realized I was still in the crib, the bars looming around me like the bars of a prison cell. A shiver ran through me as I remembered the events of the previous night. I shifted slightly, and that’s when I felt it—a thick, uncomfortable sensation between my legs. My heart raced as I instinctively reached down, feeling the bulkiness of what I now recognized as a diaper. Panic surged within me. Had I really... wet the bed? My mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of my memory from last night. I couldn’t recall anything after Morgan had forced the medicine on me. Just then, I heard the soft click of the crib’s latch. Morgan appeared, her expression one of feigned sweetness, as if she were a caregiver tending to a child. “Good morning, sleepyhead!” she chirped, her voice dripping with that same tone of false affection that made my skin crawl. “Did you sleep well?” I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, I felt a knot tightening in my stomach as I tried to process the reality of my situation. Morgan approached the crib, her hands reaching toward me. “Let’s get you up, shall we?” With surprising ease, she lifted me from the crib, cradling me in her arms as if I were a toddler. I squirmed, trying to break free, but her grip was firm. “You’re so heavy in the morning, baby,” she teased, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. She set me down on my feet, but I immediately felt unsteady, the thick padding of the diaper throwing off my balance. I looked down in horror, realizing that I was indeed wearing a diaper that felt not only thicker but also strangely warm. My heart sank as the implications of that warmth hit me—had I really lost control while under the influence of the drug? “Let’s get you changed,” Morgan said, her tone now more businesslike. She took my hand, leading me toward a changing table that loomed ominously in the corner of the room. “I know you don’t like this part, but it’s necessary. We can’t have you running around in a soggy diaper, can we?” I wanted to protest, to fight back, but the words caught in my throat. I felt utterly powerless as she guided me to the table. I could feel my cheeks burning with humiliation, and I wanted nothing more than to disappear. “Please, Morgan,” I finally managed to say, my voice trembling. “I don’t want to do this. I can change myself.” Morgan chuckled softly, as if my plea were nothing more than the innocent whine of a toddler. “Oh, sweetie, you’re still too little for that. Now lay down for me, okay?” With a mixture of dread and resignation, I complied, lying back on the changing table. I felt utterly exposed as she unzipped the pajamas I had been wearing, pulling the fabric down to reveal the diaper beneath. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could block out the reality of what was happening. “Let’s see how you did last night,” she said, her fingers probing the diaper. I jolted at the unexpected touch, my body reacting instinctively to the invasion of my personal space. “Hey now, it’s just a check-up,” she soothed, though I could hear the amusement in her voice. “You don’t want to get all fussy on me, do you?” I opened my eyes, staring up at the ceiling as if it held the answers to my predicament. “I didn’t do anything,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t wet the bed.” Morgan’s expression turned mock-serious. “Oh, but you did, sweetie. You’re all wet.” She lifted her hand, and I could see the dampness on her fingers. My heart sank further as I processed her words. How could this be happening? When did I lose control? “Let’s get you all cleaned up and into something fresh,” she continued, her tone deceptively gentle. “We have a big day ahead of us.” I shot up, panic flooding my system. “No! I can’t go out like this! Please, Morgan, don’t make me!” My voice cracked, the desperation spilling out of me. The thought of being seen like this—dressed in a diaper, unable to care for myself—was unbearable. Morgan’s eyes sparkled with a mix of delight and authority. “Oh, but you will, Mikey. You’re my little one now, and little ones don’t get to make the big decisions. You just have to trust me.” She pushed me back down gently but firmly, her hands moving with practiced ease as she began to unfasten the diaper. I felt a wave of shame wash over me, my body tensing in resistance. “No, no, no!” I whimpered, but she only shushed me, as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. “Just relax, sweetie. I promise it’ll be over before you know it,” she said, her voice soothing yet commanding. I felt the cool air hit my skin as she removed the wet diaper, and I turned my head away, unable to face the reality of my situation. “See? All clean now,” she said, her tone brightening as she reached for a fresh diaper. “This one will keep you nice and dry for our outing. You wouldn’t want to be uncomfortable while we’re out shopping, would you?” The Diaper: I let out a choked sob, the absurdity of the situation crashing down upon me. I was trapped in a nightmare, one that I couldn’t wake up from. “Please… I don’t want to go out like this…” I pleaded, my voice breaking. Morgan’s eyes softened for a moment, but then her smile returned, wide and unwavering. “Oh, sweetie, you’ll learn to love it. Just think of all the fun we’ll have together. Now, let’s get you dressed for the day!” As she expertly fastened the fresh diaper around me, I felt a mixture of anger and helplessness. I was at her mercy, trapped in a game I never agreed to play. The reality of my situation began to sink in deeper with every passing moment. I was no longer just Mike; I was her baby, and she intended to take me out into the world as such. “No, please…” I whimpered again, but Morgan was already pulling a bright, childish outfit from the nearby dresser. It was a onesie, adorned with cartoon animals, and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as she held it up for me to see. The onesie: “Just wait until you see how cute you look in this!” she exclaimed, her excitement palpable. I felt like I was being swallowed by a tidal wave of dread, knowing that I was powerless to stop her from dressing me up like a child. As she pulled the onesie over my head, I felt the fabric envelop me, sealing my fate as her little one. The snap closures at the bottom clicked into place, and I knew that there was no escaping this new reality. I was no longer just a boy; I was her baby, and she was determined to show the world. “Now, let’s get you some shoes and a little hat,” she said, her voice cheerful as she rummaged through the drawers. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the reality of what was happening, but the sound of her laughter and the rustle of fabric was inescapable. Shoes: Hat: I took a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever was to come. I couldn’t let her see how much this affected me. I had to find a way to fight back, to reclaim my identity and escape this twisted game. But for now, I was at the mercy of Morgan, the woman who had turned my world upside down. Chapter 14: The world outside the house seemed impossibly bright and vibrant as Morgan wheeled me out into the open air. The sun was high, casting a warm glow that felt foreign against my skin, a stark contrast to the chill of the humiliation that clung to me. I had been dressed like a toddler, complete with a bright onesie that felt more like a costume than clothing, and now I was being strapped into a stroller that was far too large for any child, let alone an adult. Stroller: “Here we go!” Morgan chirped, her voice filled with a sickening enthusiasm that made my stomach churn. She adjusted the straps around my waist, ensuring I was securely fastened. I squirmed in discomfort, but there was no escaping this. I was trapped, both physically and mentally, in this absurd situation. “Why do they even make strollers this big?” I thought bitterly as I glanced around, my heart pounding with anxiety. The world felt so exposed from this vantage point, where I was seated like some oversized infant. I could see the curious glances from passersby, and I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Morgan, seemingly oblivious to my turmoil, handed me a brightly colored sippy cup. “Drink up, sweetie! You need to stay hydrated,” she encouraged, her smile wide and genuine. I eyed the cup warily, the rubber spout taunting me. I was thirsty, having not had anything to drink since the night before, but the thought of drinking from a sippy cup made my skin crawl. “Just do it,” I told myself, feeling the weight of defeat settle heavily on my shoulders. I took the cup and lifted it to my lips, the sweet juice flooding my mouth. I could almost hear the mocking laughter of my own mind as I drank, the reality of my situation sinking deeper with every sip. Morgan began to push the stroller, and I could feel the momentum carry us forward. The streets were alive with activity, and I was acutely aware of every person we passed. I felt like a spectacle, a living, breathing exhibit on display for all to see. As we rolled down the sidewalk, I caught glimpses of people’s faces—some looked amused, others confused, and a few even sympathetic. I wanted to sink into the seat and disappear, but that was impossible. I was on display, the unwilling participant in a twisted game that I had never signed up for. Suddenly, a little boy, perhaps around six or seven, approached us with wide eyes filled with curiosity. “Why is he dressed like a baby?” he asked, pointing directly at me. My heart sank further at the realization that I was the subject of his inquiry. Morgan knelt down to his level, her voice dripping with a condescending sweetness. “Oh, he’s just a little one who doesn’t know how to be an adult yet,” she explained, her tone patronizing. I wanted to scream, to tell the boy that I was not a baby, that I was trapped in this nightmare against my will. The boy’s gaze shifted to me, and I could see the gears turning in his mind. “But he looks like he’s about to pee himself!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with a mix of concern and amusement. I felt my face heat up in humiliation. “No, I’m not!” I protested weakly, but my words fell flat in the face of the truth. The pressure in my bladder was building, and I could feel the twitching in my legs that the boy had noticed. Morgan, ever the attentive caretaker, smiled at the boy. “Sometimes, little ones like him need a little help with their bodies,” she said, her tone dismissive of my discomfort. “It’s okay; he’ll learn in time.” As if on cue, my body betrayed me. The pressure in my bladder became too much to contain, and I felt a warm rush envelop me. I was wetting myself—just like a baby. The sound of the liquid absorbing into the diaper was impossibly loud in my ears, and I could feel the boy’s eyes on me, wide with fascination. “Oh no, look!” he exclaimed, pointing at me with glee. “He really did pee himself!” I wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. My heart raced, and I could feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. Morgan, however, seemed unfazed. She simply chuckled, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. “See? It’s just what little ones do. Nothing to be ashamed of!” The boy giggled, and I could hear the laughter of other people nearby. I felt like a complete fool, exposed and vulnerable in my humiliation. I wanted to shout, to fight back against this absurdity, but all I could do was sit there, strapped into the stroller, and let the world witness my degradation. “Let’s get you changed, little one,” Morgan said, her voice soothing as she pushed the stroller forward. The little boy waved goodbye, still giggling as he ran off to join his friends. I wanted to scream at him to stop laughing, to stop pointing, but I was powerless. As we continued down the street, I felt the weight of the diaper pressing against me, a constant reminder of my loss of control. I could feel the stares of strangers, their eyes boring into me as I sat there, a grown man dressed like a child, unable to escape the reality of my situation. Morgan seemed oblivious to my turmoil, her focus solely on getting to our destination. I glanced around, desperately searching for an escape, but there was none. I was trapped in this twisted world that Morgan had created, and I had no idea how to break free. With every turn of the stroller, I felt the walls closing in, my identity slipping further away. I was no longer Mike; I was just a baby, a plaything for Morgan’s amusement. And as we rolled onward, I could only wonder how much further she intended to take me down this path. The stroller wheels rumbled over the pavement as Morgan pushed me towards our destination. The wet diaper clung to my skin, a constant reminder of my humiliation and loss of control. I felt a growing pressure in my bowels, a sensation that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. It was as if my body was no longer my own, my control slipping away with each passing moment. As we approached the store, I looked up to see the sign: "My Inner Baby." A shiver ran down my spine as I realized the implications of the name. Morgan parked the stroller and leaned down to coo at me, "Here we are, sweetie! Let's get you all the supplies you need to be a happy, comfortable baby." She unstrapped me from the stroller, and I waddled awkwardly beside her, the thick diaper making it difficult to walk normally. As we entered the store, a cheerful bell chimed overhead, announcing our arrival. A friendly-looking lady approached us, her eyes flicking from Morgan to me, taking in my disheveled state. "Hello there!" she chirped, her voice gratingly cheerful. "Do you need help sizing your little one up and getting everything you need for him?" Morgan smiled, her hand resting possessively on my shoulder. "Yes, thank you. This is Mikey, and he's just starting his journey as my baby. We need all the essentials to make sure he's comfortable and well-cared for." The lady nodded understandingly, her eyes sparkling with a knowing gleam. "Of course! I'm sure we can find everything you need. Let's start with diapers, shall we?" She led us down an aisle filled with an overwhelming array of diapers. My heart sank as I took in the sheer variety—different sizes, colors, and patterns, each one more humiliating than the last. The lady gestured to a shelf stocked with brightly colored packages. "These are our newest arrivals—the mega thick Dino diapers. They're perfect for little ones who need that extra bit of protection. Plus, they make it harder for little ones to hide their diapers from others." Morgan's eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh, those are perfect! I'll take six cases of those." I wanted to protest, to scream that I didn't need any of this, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I stood there, helpless and humiliated, as Morgan and the lady discussed my needs as if I weren't even present. The lady nodded, jotting down notes on a pad. "Excellent choice. Now, let's see what else you might need." She led us further down the aisle, pointing out various items—baby wipes, powder, creams, and even a selection of pacifiers and bottles. I felt a growing sense of dread as Morgan enthusiastically agreed to each suggestion, her eyes gleaming with a twisted delight. As we reached the end of the aisle, the lady turned to Morgan with a smile. "And of course, you'll need some outfits to keep your little one looking cute and cozy. We have a great selection of onesies, pajamas, and even some adorable little outfits for when you're out and about." Morgan's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Oh, that sounds wonderful! Let's see what you have." The lady led us to another section of the store, where racks of brightly colored, childish clothing stretched out before us. I felt a wave of nausea wash over me as I took in the sight—this was really happening. I was being dressed like a baby, treated like a baby, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. As Morgan and the lady began to sort through the racks, discussing the merits of various outfits, I felt a growing pressure in my bowels. I squirmed uncomfortably, trying to hold back the inevitable, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. I looked up at Morgan, my eyes filled with desperation. "Morgan, please," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I need to use the bathroom. I can't hold it in much longer." Morgan turned to me, her eyes narrowing as she shook her head. "No, sweetie, you know the rules. You use your diaper like a good baby. Now, let's find you some cute outfits, okay?" I felt a wave of panic wash over me as I realized that I couldn't hold it in any longer. The pressure was too great, the need too urgent. I looked around desperately, searching for a way out, but there was none. I was trapped, helpless to do anything but give in to the inevitable. As Morgan and the lady continued to discuss my new wardrobe, I felt my body betray me once again. The warmth spread through my diaper, the mess engulfing me as I stood there, humiliated and defeated. Tears stung my eyes as I realized that I had truly lost all control, that I was now at the mercy of Morgan and her twisted game. The lady glanced over at me, her eyes widening slightly as she took in my state. She turned to Morgan with a knowing smile. "It looks like your little one has had a bit of an accident. Would you like me to show you to the changing area so you can get him all cleaned up?" Morgan smiled, her eyes gleaming with a sickening satisfaction. "That would be wonderful, thank you." As the lady led us towards the changing area, I felt a growing sense of dread. I knew what was coming next—the humiliation of being changed like a baby, the indignity of having my most intimate needs tended to by someone else. But there was no escaping it now. I was Morgan's baby, and she was determined to keep me that way, no matter the cost. As we entered the changing area, the reality of my situation hit me like a punch to the gut. I was trapped in this twisted game, and there was no way out. I could only hope that, somehow, I would find a way to reclaim my identity and escape the clutches of Morgan's perverse desires. But for now, I was her baby, and she was in complete control. Chapter 15: Morgan had me cleaned up and secured tightly in my new thick mega Dino diaper. I looked down at the bright, childish print, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I was naked save for the diaper, my clothes nowhere to be found. Morgan took my hand and led me back to the lady, who was waiting with a warm smile. "He's all set," Morgan chirped, her voice dripping with a sweetness that made my stomach churn. "Do you have any bouncers here? And perhaps something that might help my little one get into a more... suggestible state?" The lady's eyes sparkled with understanding. "Of course! We have a wonderful selection of bouncers right over here." She led us to a display of colorful, oversized chairs, each one more humiliating than the last. She pointed to one shaped like a giant duck, its bright yellow color almost blinding. "This is our most popular model. It's very comfortable and comes with a built-in pacifier dispenser." Morgan clapped her hands together, delighted. "Oh, that's perfect! And what about something to help him... relax?" The lady nodded, leading us to a shelf stocked with various items—stuffed animals, blankets, and even some strange, glowing devices. She picked up a small, fluffy teddy bear with a glowing belly. "This is our Hypno-Bear. It emits a soft, calming glow and plays a gentle lullaby that helps little ones drift off into a deeply suggestible state." Morgan's eyes widened with excitement. "That's amazing! We'll take both." As the lady gathered the items, she turned to Morgan with a business-like gleam in her eyes. "You know, we have a proposal for you. We're always looking for new models for our products, and your little one here is just adorable. If he were to model our diapers for our website and store, we could offer you a lifetime supply of baby essentials—absolutely free." Morgan's face lit up, her eyes gleaming with a mix of greed and delight. "Oh, that sounds wonderful! Mikey would be perfect for that, wouldn't you, sweetie?" She looked down at me, her eyes narrowing slightly, a silent warning in her gaze. I felt a lump form in my throat, the words catching before I could even attempt to protest. I knew I had no choice in the matter, no say in what happened to me. I was Morgan's baby, her plaything, and she was going to use me however she saw fit. "Excellent!" The lady beamed, pulling out a contract and a pen. Morgan signed it without a moment's hesitation, sealing my fate. "We can start right away. Let's get some photos of your little one in our newest diaper styles." Morgan agreed eagerly, and before I knew it, I was posed in the brightly lit photography area, surrounded by props designed to enhance my humiliation. I was made to pose with blocks, with stuffed animals, even with a giant, childish lollipop. Each click of the camera felt like a stab to my dignity, a further descent into the twisted world Morgan had created for me. As I sat there, posed like a baby, the Hypno-Bear clutched in my arms, its glowing belly beginning to work its magic, I felt a wave of despair wash over me. This was my life now—a life of humiliation, of degradation, of being Morgan's baby. And there was nothing I could do to escape it. But even as the despair threatened to consume me, a small spark of defiance burned within me. I wouldn't give up, not yet. Somehow, someway, I would find a way to reclaim my life and escape the clutches of Morgan's twisted desires. But for now, I was her model baby, and I had to play the part. As the final click of the camera echoed through the room, the lady turned to Morgan with a smile. "Those shots are going to be absolutely adorable. Now, we can put him in the nap room with his new Hypno-Bear. He can take a little snooze, and we can capture some sweet photos of him asleep." Morgan's eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and twisted delight. "That sounds perfect. Lead the way." I was led to a small, dimly lit room filled with cribs and soft, plush toys. The walls were painted with murals of cartoon animals in various states of sleep. My stomach churned at the sight, a fresh wave of humiliation washing over me. The lady took the Hypno-Bear from my arms and activated it, the soft glow filling the room as a gentle lullaby began to play. "Now, let's get you all comfy, sweetie," Morgan cooed, lifting me with ease and placing me in one of the oversized cribs. I felt ridiculous, a grown man stuffed into a crib, but there was no use fighting it. I was trapped, both literally and metaphorically, in Morgan's twisted fantasy. As I lay there, the Hypno-Bear's glow illuminating the crib, I felt my eyelids growing heavy. The lullaby was soft, soothing, and despite my best efforts to resist, I felt myself being pulled under its spell. Morgan and the lady loomed over the crib, their faces a mix of excitement and anticipation. The Hypnosis Bear: "He's fighting it," the lady observed, her voice barely a whisper. Morgan nodded, a small smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "He's a stubborn one, but he'll learn. In time, he'll accept his new life." The words sent a shiver down my spine, a final, desperate attempt to fight the sleep that threatened to consume me. But it was no use. The Hypno-Bear's magic was too strong, and with a final, defeated sigh, I felt myself drifting off into a deep, dreamless sleep. As my eyes fluttered closed, I heard the soft click of the camera, capturing my helplessness, my humiliation, in stark, unforgiving detail. But there was nothing I could do, no way to fight it. For now, I was Morgan's baby, her plaything, and she was going to use me however she saw fit. When I finally awoke, the room was dark, the only light coming from the soft glow of the Hypno-Bear. I lay there for a moment, disoriented, before the events of the day came rushing back. I sat up, my head spinning, and looked around the room. I was alone, the other cribs empty, the room eerily silent save for the soft hum of the bear's lullaby. I tried to stand, but my limbs felt heavy, weak, as if the very fight had been drained from me. I collapsed back onto the mattress, a sense of despair washing over me. Was this my life now? Trapped in a crib, a prisoner to Morgan's twisted desires? Just as I was about to succumb to the darkness, I heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching. I looked up as Morgan entered the room, her face a picture of maternal concern. "Awake, sweetie? You've been out for hours. The photos are beautiful, by the way. You look like such a sweet, innocent baby when you're asleep." I shuddered at the thought, my stomach churning with revulsion. But I was too weak to protest, too tired to fight. For now, I was at Morgan's mercy, and she knew it. "Come on, sweetie," she cooed, reaching into the crib and lifting me out. "Let's get you home. We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow." As she carried me out of the room, I caught a glimpse of the lady, standing in the doorway, a satisfied smile on her face. "We'll make sure all your new baby essentials are delivered directly to your house, Morgan," she said, her voice laced with a sickening sweetness. Morgan beamed at her, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me." And with that, we were off, my fate sealed, my future uncertain. But as I lay there, cradled in Morgan's arms like a helpless infant, I knew one thing for sure—I had to find a way to escape this nightmare. I had to find a way to reclaim my life, my dignity, my very soul. But for now, I was Morgan's baby, and there was no escape from the twisted world she had created for me. Chapter 16: The car ride home was a blur, the streets and houses passing by in a haze as I lay cradled in Morgan's arms, my body still heavy with weakness. Before I knew it, we were pulling into her driveway, the large, imposing house looming before us. Morgan carried me inside, her voice a constant stream of soothing nonsense, as if she were talking to a real baby. She took me straight upstairs, into a room I hadn't seen before. It was a nursery, complete with a large crib, a changing table, and a rocking chair. The walls were painted a soft blue, with more of those damned cartoon animals frolicking across them. I wanted to scream, to fight, to do something, anything, but my body was still too weak. Morgan laid me down in the crib, propping the Hypno-Bear up beside me. "Time for another nap, sweetie," she cooed, activating the bear. The soft glow filled the room, the gentle lullaby beginning to play. But this time, there was something different, something more sinister. As the music played, a voice began to whisper from the bear's speakers, so soft that it was almost imperceptible. "You are a good baby," it whispered, the voice sweet, almost sing-song. "You will use your diapers for everything. Just let it flow out. There is nothing you can do to stop it." I stiffened, my eyes widening in horror. The voice continued, its words sending a shiver of revulsion down my spine. "You are a diaper messer and wetter. You will also wet and poop your diaper in bed. You’re now a bedwetter and messer, and there is nothing you can do to stop it." No. No, no, no. I tried to resist, to fight against the words, but they were insidious, wrapping around my mind like a vice. I could feel my body responding, my bladder suddenly full, a strange pressure in my bowels. "No," I whimpered, my voice barely audible. "No, please..." But the bear continued, its whispers relentless. "Just let it flow out. You can't stop it. You're a good baby, a wet and messy baby." I gritted my teeth, trying to hold on, to fight against the urge to just let go. But the bear's whispers were too strong, too persuasive. I could feel my body betraying me, the warmth spreading through my diaper, the sudden, humiliating release of my bowels. Tears filled my eyes, spilling over and running down my cheeks. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be real. But the smell, the warmth, the sheer humiliation of it all told me that it was. I was lying in my own waste, a grown man reduced to a helpless baby, all thanks to Morgan and her twisted games. As the bear's whispers continued, I felt myself drifting off, my body exhausted, my mind broken. The last thing I heard before sleep claimed me was Morgan's voice, soft and sweet, like a mother cooing to her child. "That's it, sweetie," she whispered. "Just let go. Mommy's here. Mommy will always take care of you." The first thing that hit me when I woke up was the smell. It was rancid, a thick, choking fog that made me gag. I tried to move, to escape it, but as I shifted, I felt it. The mushy, warm mess in the back of my diaper. I froze, horror washing over me as the reality of my situation came crashing down. I tried to climb out of the crib, my limbs still shaky and weak, but as I stood, I felt it again. The warmth spreading through my diaper, the release of my bladder, and I couldn't stop it. I stood there, in that soft blue room, the cartoon animals mocking me from the walls, as I pissed myself like a fucking toddler. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be real. But the stench, the warmth, the sheer fucking humiliation of it all told me that it was. I was standing there, a grown man, in a fucking diaper, covered in my own piss and shit. Morgan and that fucking bear had broken me. They'd taken away my control, my dignity, my very fucking humanity. I was just an adult baby now, a pathetic, helpless mess. I looked down at myself, at the soggy diaper, the cute little baby outfit, and I wanted to scream. I wanted to rip it all off, to burn it, to purge this nightmare from my life. But I knew I couldn't. I was too weak, too broken. Morgan had made sure of that. So I stood there, in that fucking nursery, in my own filth, and I cried. I cried like a fucking baby, because that's what I was now. That's what Morgan had turned me into. And I didn't know if I'd ever be able to escape this hell. Chapter 17: Weeks had passed since that dreadful morning when I woke up in my own filth. Time had blurred, days merging into nights, and all I knew now was the routine of eating, sleeping, shitting, and pissing. The fights, the struggles, the desperation to escape, they were all distant memories, like echoes of a past life. Morgan walked into the playpen, her nose wrinkling at the smell. But it wasn't disgust on her face, it was... satisfaction. She looked down at me, her eyes soft, her voice even softer. "Oh, my little Mikey," she cooed, "have you made a little accident?" I looked up at her, my pacifier bobbing in my mouth as I giggled. Giggled, But it was like my body, my mind, weren't my own anymore. They were Morgan's, and she'd molded me into exactly what she wanted. Her business was booming. My photos, my videos, they were gold to the those who were into this sort of thing. Morgan would never have to worry about money again, not with her little baby Mikey as her star attraction. She reached down, tickling my chin. "Time for a change, my little baby Mikey," she sang, her voice a sickeningly sweet melody. I gurgled, kicking my chubby legs in the air, my dirty diaper squelching with the movement. Morgan unstrapped the diaper, clucking her tongue at the mess. "Oh, Mikey," she said, laughing, "you've made quite the mess, haven't you?" She cleaned me up, her touch gentle, her eyes loving. It was twisted, but it was my reality now. As she slid a fresh diaper under me, powdering my ass and fastening the tabs, I looked up at her, my eyes wide and trusting. And I knew, in that moment, that Morgan had won. She'd broken me, regressed me, turned me into her baby. And there was no going back.

This has gotta be the most button-pushy thing I've ever written if you're into diaper punishment and the idea of wearing diapers to the doctor. The whole story can be found here. ___________________________ "The Pediatrician Visit" I know Joey – 22 years old and thinking that makes him an adult just because legally he is one – doesn’t like that his mommy hired me as his nanny. Still, taking Joey for his checkup today was an experience, to put it mildly. I knew it was going to be a challenge the moment I told him where we were going. He gave me his usual grumpy pout, stomping around the house and whining about how “unfair” it was to see a pediatrician. But Joey’s behavior lately has earned him a very specific kind of doctor, and I wasn’t about to budge. If he insists on acting like a toddler, then he gets treated like one—complete with the pediatrician experience. When we arrived at the office, Joey was already sulking, his diaper crinkling audibly with every reluctant step. I had dressed him in a simple T-shirt and his diaper for the appointment, skipping the shorts to save time during the exam. It’s not like he keeps them on for long anyway. The waiting room was bright and cheerful, decorated with colorful murals of animals and cartoon characters. There were toys in one corner, a small table with crayons and coloring books in another, and a group of actual toddlers playing quietly with their parents. Joey froze when he saw it all, his face turning beet red. “Sarah,” he hissed, his voice low, “this is ridiculous. I’m not sitting here like this.” “Yes, you are,” I said firmly, guiding him to a seat. “You’re here for a checkup, just like everyone else.” He groaned and flopped into the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. The receptionist smiled brightly as we approached the desk. “Hi there! Checking in?” she asked, glancing down at Joey with a knowing smile. “Yes,” I said, handing over the paperwork. “This is Joey. He’s here for his annual checkup.” Her smile widened. “Wonderful! Just have a seat, and we’ll call you when it’s time.” As I turned to sit down, I heard Joey mutter under his breath, “This is so stupid.” I paused, narrowing my eyes. “Excuse me, young man?” He looked away, pretending not to hear me. That was strike one. I ignored it for the moment, but Joey’s sulky attitude didn’t stop there. A few minutes later, he started fidgeting noisily in his chair, kicking his legs against the seat and sighing dramatically. “Joey,” I warned, keeping my tone calm but firm. “What?” he snapped, loud enough to draw the attention of a nearby mom and her toddler. “That’s strike two,” I said, my voice low. He slumped back in his chair, glaring at the floor. The final straw came when one of the toddlers toddled past us with a brightly colored rattle. Joey, for some reason, decided this was the moment to make his feelings known. “Why don’t you give him a checkup?” he grumbled, gesturing toward the little boy. “He actually belongs here.” That was it. “Joey,” I said sharply, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet. “What?!” he whined, stumbling as I guided him away from the chairs and into a quieter corner of the waiting room. I sat down on a low bench and tugged him over my lap, his diaper crinkling loudly. “Sarah, no!” he hissed, squirming. “Joey, yes,” I said, landing the first firm swat on his diapered bottom. The smacks weren’t hard—just enough to make him stop fussing and pay attention. I wanted to make a point, not a scene. “You will sit quietly and behave like a good boy,” I said, punctuating each word with a swat. “If you can’t do that, we will go straight home, and you’ll be dealing with a much more serious punishment. Do I make myself clear?” “Yes, Sarah,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. I gave him one last swat for good measure before pulling him to his feet. “Good. Now sit down, and don’t make me remind you again.” Joey shuffled back to his seat, his cheeks as red as his attitude. He sat quietly this time, though I could tell he was still sulking. Just as he was starting to settle down, the nurse called his name. “Joey? We’re ready for you!” I stood up and smiled down at him. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go see the doctor.” His groan was quiet, but the crinkle of his diaper as he stood up was anything but. This was going to be a very interesting appointment. "The Check-In Interrogation" Joey’s day didn’t get any easier once we were called back to the exam room. The tech who greeted us—an energetic woman named Lisa with a sunny smile—seemed delighted to see Joey and didn’t hold back on her questions. I could practically feel him wilting beside me as her clipboard filled up with increasingly embarrassing details. Lisa led us to the small, cheerful room, decorated with colorful animal posters and a mural of a giraffe measuring heights on the wall. She motioned for Joey to sit on the exam table, its crinkly paper cover matching his diaper’s sound perfectly. “Hi there, Joey,” she said brightly. “I’ll be helping with your check-in today. How are you feeling?” Joey slumped on the table, arms crossed, and mumbled, “Fine.” Lisa’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Fine, huh? Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here. Sarah, you’re his caregiver, right?” I nodded. “That’s right.” “Perfect! Let’s start with the basics.” She glanced at Joey. “How’s your diapering routine going? Do you use mostly disposables, or are there any cloth diapers in the mix?” Joey’s jaw dropped, and his face turned bright red. “W-what?!” he stammered. I rested a calming hand on his knee. “Mostly disposables,” I answered smoothly. “Cloth is an option, but disposables are more practical for his needs.” Lisa nodded, jotting it down without hesitation. “Makes sense. And how often are changes happening during the day? Would you say every two to three hours, or do you wait longer unless there’s a messy one?” Joey buried his face in his hands, shaking his head. “This is so embarrassing,” he muttered. “Usually two to three hours,” I said, ignoring his protest. “But I keep an eye on him, especially if he’s been active or if I notice any signs of discomfort.” “Great,” Lisa said, smiling warmly at Joey. “Sounds like you’re well cared for, huh?” Joey peeked through his fingers, glaring at her. Lisa didn’t stop there. “Any rashes or skin irritation recently?” she asked, her tone casual but professional. “No,” I said, patting Joey’s knee when he groaned softly. “I’m very diligent about keeping him clean and dry.” “Wonderful. And bowel movements—how often are those happening? Daily? Every other day?” Joey looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “Why does she need to know that?!” he hissed at me. “It’s part of your check-up,” I said calmly, ignoring his pout. “Go ahead, Joey. Answer the question.” He mumbled something incoherent, his face as red as a tomato. Lisa smiled patiently. “Can you repeat that for me, sweetie? I didn’t catch it.” “Daily,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Good to know,” Lisa said cheerfully, jotting it down. “And no issues with constipation or diarrhea?” “No!” Joey snapped, earning a stern look from me. “Joey,” I said firmly, “watch your tone.” He huffed but stayed quiet. Lisa moved on to the next section of her clipboard. “Now, let’s talk behavior,” she said, glancing at me. “Any challenges lately? Tantrums? Resistance to routines?” I smiled wryly. “Plenty of resistance,” I said, giving Joey a pointed look. “Especially when it comes to following directions or accepting discipline.” Lisa nodded knowingly. “That’s pretty common. And discipline—how’s that managed? Time-outs? Loss of privileges? Spankings?” Joey groaned loudly. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered, his hands covering his face again. “A mix of everything,” I said, ignoring his dramatics. “Time-outs and loss of privileges work for smaller infractions, but spankings are necessary sometimes, especially for repeated misbehavior.” “Got it,” Lisa said, jotting it down. “And how does he handle those?” Joey peeked out from behind his hands, his expression mortified. “Can you not?!” Lisa chuckled softly. “I’m just doing my job, kiddo. It’s important we understand the full picture.” “He handles it as well as you’d expect,” I said with a smirk. “Lots of pouting and sulking, but it gets the point across.” Lisa smiled. “Good to know. Sounds like you’ve got things under control.” Finally, Lisa clicked her pen and stood up, her smile as bright as ever. “That’s everything for now,” she said. “The nurse will be in shortly to continue the check-up. Thanks for being such a good sport, Joey.” He grumbled something under his breath but didn’t look up. As Lisa left the room, I turned to Joey and raised an eyebrow. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He glared at me, still blushing furiously. “It was awful.” I couldn’t help but smile. “You’ll survive, sweetheart. Just wait—this was the easy part.” His groan said it all. "Joey Meets the Nurse" If Joey thought the check-in with Lisa was bad, the nurse coming in for his actual exam took things to a whole new level. By the time she finished, I could practically see steam coming out of his ears. The nurse, a cheerful woman named Kathy, came in with the same sunny disposition as Lisa. She carried a tablet and a stethoscope, her ponytail bouncing as she closed the door behind her. “Hi there, Joey!” she said brightly, setting her tablet down on the counter. “I’ll be doing your exam today. How are you feeling?” Joey crossed his arms and mumbled, “Fine.” Kathy didn’t miss a beat. “Good to hear! Now, let’s go over a few things before we get started.” I knew where this was heading, and Joey must have realized it too, because the moment Kathy started asking questions, he slouched deeper into the exam table with a dramatic sigh. “Diapering routine—are we using disposables, cloth, or a mix of both?” Kathy asked, glancing between us. Joey groaned, muttering something incoherent. “Disposables,” I said, giving him a warning look. “Great,” Kathy said, making a note. “And how often are we doing changes? Every two to three hours, or only as needed?” Joey let out a frustrated noise. “We just answered all of this!” Kathy raised an eyebrow but kept her tone calm. “I understand it might feel repetitive, Joey, but it’s important for me to double-check everything. So, changes?” “Two to three hours,” I answered smoothly, ignoring Joey’s glare. Kathy continued down the list, asking all the same questions about rashes, bowel movements, and behavior. By the time she got to discipline, Joey was squirming on the table, his face red with frustration. “Discipline methods,” Kathy said, glancing at me. “Time-outs? Loss of privileges? Spankings?” Joey slapped his hands over his face, groaning loudly. “Why does everyone have to ask about spankings?!” Kathy smiled patiently. “Because it’s important to know what works best for you,” she said simply. “Spankings are part of his routine,” I confirmed, keeping my tone calm. “Good to know,” Kathy said, typing on her tablet. “And how often would you say that happens?” “Enough to make an impression,” I said, earning a muffled groan from Joey. Finally, Kathy set down her tablet and pulled on a pair of gloves. “All right, Joey,” she said, her tone cheerful. “Let’s take a look and make sure everything’s healthy down there. Go ahead and lie back for me.” Joey hesitated, glancing at me for support. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” I said gently. “Just follow Nurse Kathy’s instructions.” With a heavy sigh, he leaned back on the exam table, the paper crinkling loudly beneath him. Kathy carefully untaped his diaper and opened it, her expression professional as she examined his diaper area. “Everything looks good so far,” she said, her gloved hands moving efficiently. “No redness or irritation. Whoever’s taking care of you is doing a great job.” Joey didn’t respond, staring at the ceiling with a look of pure misery. Then Kathy paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she inspected his bottom more closely. “Oh, I can tell someone got a spanking recently,” she said casually, her tone almost amused. “Were you the fussy one in the waiting room?” Joey’s head snapped up, his face blazing red. “What’s it to you?!” he snapped, glaring at her. Kathy blinked, clearly caught off guard by his outburst. I crossed my arms and gave him a warning look, but before I could say a word, Joey turned his head away, muttering angrily under his breath. The tension in the room was palpable as I prepared to address his behavior. "Discipline in the Exam Room" I had hoped Joey would settle down after the initial check-in, but his attitude only worsened. By the time he snapped at Nurse Kathy during the exam, I knew we needed to take immediate action to reset his behavior. Thankfully, Kathy agreed. After Joey’s outburst, Kathy straightened up and looked at me expectantly. “Do you usually address behavior like this on the spot?” she asked calmly. “Yes,” I said, already reaching into my purse. “I believe in handling things immediately so there’s no confusion about consequences.” Joey’s eyes widened when he saw the small wooden paddle in my hand. “Sarah, no!” he protested, trying to squirm away. “Joey,” I said firmly, placing a hand on his chest to keep him still. “You’ve earned this, and you know it.” Kathy stepped back, her expression neutral but observant as I adjusted Joey’s position. He was already lying on his back from the exam, so I simply lifted his legs and held them up, exposing his bottom in the classic diaper position. “No, please!” Joey whined, kicking slightly. “Joey,” Kathy said sharply, surprising both of us. “You need to hold still and take your punishment. Your caregiver is doing what’s best for you.” Joey whimpered but stopped struggling, his face turning red as I positioned the paddle. The first swat landed with a sharp crack, and Joey yelped immediately. “This is for your attitude,” I said, delivering another firm smack. “You do not snap at adults who are here to help you.” Joey squirmed, his diaper crinkling beneath him as the paddle connected with his bare bottom again and again. As I continued, I noticed a small, wet spot forming on the front of his diaper. I wasn’t surprised—Joey often leaked a little when he was overwhelmed—but I wasn’t sure Kathy would know what to make of it. Sure enough, she tilted her head and asked, “Does that happen often?” “Sometimes,” I said, not pausing the spanking. “It’s a natural reaction when he’s upset or overstimulated. It’s one of the reasons we keep him in diapers—he’s not always in control.” Joey whimpered louder, tears starting to spill down his cheeks. “Sarah, please!” he begged, his voice cracking. “You’re not done yet,” I said, delivering a few more sharp swats. “We’re going to keep going until I know you’ve learned your lesson.” He sniffled, his cries growing louder with each smack. By the time I finished, his bottom was bright red, and he was a sobbing mess. Kathy nodded approvingly as I lowered his legs and adjusted his diaper back into place. “You handle that very well,” she said, making a note on her tablet. “It’s clear you’re firm but caring, and that’s exactly what he needs.” “Thank you,” I said, helping Joey sit up despite his continued sniffles. “Consistency is key with him, even when it’s hard.” “I can see that,” Kathy said, giving Joey a gentle but pointed look. “I hope you’ll remember this next time you feel like acting out, young man.” Joey didn’t respond, too busy rubbing his eyes and sniffling into his hands. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re ready,” Kathy said, giving me a kind smile before leaving the room. As the door closed behind her, I turned to Joey, who was still hiccupping quietly. “Are you ready to behave now?” I asked, my tone softer but still firm. He nodded quickly, his tear-streaked face showing just how much he regretted testing me today. ____________________ To continue the story, sign up for my SubscribeStar here.

Hello everyone! Long time reader, first time writer. After reading so many fantasies I finally have a fantasy of my own I would like to share. I'm wanting to go a little more realistic with this story than most others so no magic, oversized baby furniture, or law breaking like public nudity (but we will toe this line.) So, I Hope you enjoy and appreciate any criticism as writing is not my forte as my spelling will prove. Prologue It was a terrible mistake. I just wanted to get into a little bit of trouble so my husband would punish me. We have a sadomasochistic relationship with me being the M. I can always ask for a spanking or say I wanted to be tied up, but if I really wanted to see his dominant side I would have to get in trouble and take my punishment. Last time he put me threw two weeks of pet play, weeks of being in the nude, crawling on all fours, not being able to speak unless it was animal noises, being spanked with a thick rolled up magazine and put in a cage when I got in more trouble, playing and doing my "business" in our backyard, and humping his leg to satisfy my urges. I loved it so much I wanted to do it again and more. The plan was simple. Friday night I would go to the local bar, get as drunk and as wild as could, and then call my poor husband who would be forced to stop what he was doing and collect his embracement of a wife. Everything was going so well with racking up a huge tab that was sure add even more punishment but the men at the bar couldn't help but notice a girl drinking herself stupid. My wedding band clearly wasn't deterring them, and neither was the cold shoulder, then they started offering more drinks which I declined. Nothing short of a roofie would get me to betray my husband, so tired of their attempts I decided to cut my loses and leave. With my mood fowled judgement now blinded alcohol I made the biggest mistake of my life and got into my car. I don't remember the drive, but I do remember blue and red lights shinning in my eyes. What happened was obvious, the car my husband gifted me was smashed into a tree, a stream of pee was running down my pants leg, and police didn't even need the breathalyzer to determine I was drunk enough to be arrested. It seems the only thing I did right was wear my seat belt which saved me from getting hurt. When I was finally allowed to call my husband from the jail mt heart was warmed hearing his friendly "Hello" when he answered the phone but suddenly froze as his voice went cold when I told him what happened. his response to everything was "Uh-huh", "Okay", and "I see." I could only imagine how upset he was at me, so I apologized and begged. I told him about bail and the trail that was in a couple of days, all he had to say was "I'll make sure things are taken care of." I was left feeling scared as to what that could mean. I spent the night in jail unable to sleep, I spent the next day waiting for my husband to bail me out, but he never did. My mind was racing with he might be doing, could he be planning to leave me? Is he talking to a divorce lawyer? He accepted me even though I'm a hardcore masochistic pervert, was a wife with a possible criminal record; a woman so foolish she would drive drunk too much? My trail finally came, and I felt awful. I hadn't changed my clothes since I'd been arrested, the urine on my jeans had long since dried but the smell remained, and I am being forced to stand before a judge looking and smelling like an adult failure. At this point I would hope for the death penalty if it meant ending this nightmare but the finally saw the one thing to bring the spark back in my heart, my husband was in the gallery. He still looked upset with me but the fact that he was here meant he hadn't abandoned me. I almost ran to him if my lawyer hadn't stopped me. I plead guilty to the DUI and waited for my sentencing; hoping to wouldn't be kept in jail too much longer, but to my surprise the judge took pity on me. He said that because this was my first offense, no one got hurt, and the only property that was damaged was my car and that poor tree that my sentence was a $600 fine. Even I had to admit that was a slap on the wrist, but I knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. My husband took out his check book and with that this nightmare is over. When we finally left the courthouse and were safe from prying eyes, I grabbed my husband and cried into him apologizing and begging. Knowing I was rubbing my stink on to him only made me cry more but he just patted my head ignoring my oily hair. He whispered in my ear "Don't worry, you'll get your punishment when we get home." There was a sudden throb in my heart and my tears stopped. "Yes sir" I said arms behind my back and eyes pointed down. He opened the rear door of our SUV and told to get in. I did without question and found the seat had plastic over it. It seemed he heard about my pissy jeans and didn't want me to ruin our last remaining car. there were two bottles of water their too which I desperately needed after all the crying. I sat quietly watching out the window as I was being driven home wondering just what my husband had planned for me. When we finally got home my husband took my hand and lead me inside. Once the door was shut behind me, "Arms up." her ordered and I immediately reached for the ceiling. He pulled off my shirt and undid my bra, next he took off my shoes and went to work on my pants which practically had to be peeled off, the same with my panties. Once I was stark naked, he took my hand and led be to the shower. I was hosed off with warm water and lathered with soap; he was very gentle where a rash had formed on my thighs, for the first time since this disaster I felt clean. Once he was done toweling me off, he took my hand again and lead be to the living room. Now the part this was all for that I had been excited for but after all the trouble I caused I was honestly starting to fear for. He brough me to what we call The Discipline Chair; it was really nothing more than armless chair, he took his seat, and I draped myself over my lap and tried to resist moaning as he rubbed my butt. "You've really gotten into trouble this time." He said in a calm voice. "Yes Sir. Sorry Sir." I responded the same way I always do when my husband explains why I'm being punished. "You recked the nice car I gifted you." "Yes Sir. Sorry Sir." My response may have been robotic, but I really meant it. "I had to pay $600 to keep you out of jail." "Yes Sir. Sorry Sir." My punishment hadn't even started yet and there already tears forming in my eyes. "And you're going to pay me back, with a dollar a spanking?" "... yes Sir." I hesitated. 600 spankings were way more than I've ever been given in a single session. "Don't lose count." *SMACK!* "One! Thank you, Sir! May I please have another!" I responded the same way I always do when being spanked. *SMACK!* "Two! Thank you, Sir! May I please have another!" *SMACK!* "Three! Thank you, Sir! May I please have another!" *** *SMACK!* "100! Thank you, Sir! Mercy! Mercy! Please no more!" For the first time I used my safe word. 100 was already way more spankings than I had ever gotten in a single session. My butt was already burning hot enough to cook on, the pleasure stopped long ago, and I was only feeling pain, and my face was once again a mess with snot and tears. I did my best to power threw as I deserved this, but I couldn't handle more than 100 and I couldn't imagine another 500 more. My husband gently helped me up and clean my face with a tissue. "Go to your corner." "Yes Sir." I walked to what we called Shame Corner; a corner of the living room directly across from a window, I stood facing the corner, arms folded above my punished bottom in view of the window, unless you were trying to look through the window it was unlikely I could be seen but the humiliation was still there. this is where I always stand after my spankings, and I knew better than to move without being told. The wait felt longer than ever with the cold air slowly soothing my red ass. I could hear my husband setting something up behind me, but I fought the urge to peak. "Turn around." My husband ordered and I obeyed. I wasn't sure what I was looking but my husband was on his knees in front of a large blanket next to several packages and bottles. "Come here and lay down." I slowly walked over and laid down. My bottom was still sore as it pressed against the blanket, but I did my best to bare and keep my legs spread making sure he got a good look at my shaved pussy. "You're in a lot of trouble this time. You went out and got drunk, got in trouble with the police, you wet yourself, and you refused punishment." "I'm sorry sir." I could do nothing but agree as he reminded me what a failure I was. "That's not how an adult acts, is it?" " No Sir." "And because you can't act like an adult, I'm going to treat you like a baby and that means wearing diapers." "..." My eyes went wide. I couldn't tell if I heard that right. Before I could process what he just said my legs were lifted up." "Hold your legs." I immediately grabbed my knees and felt a sudden cold sensation on my burning rear. My husband began to rub lotion on my punished bottom and my rash. The pain gradually went down to a more tolerable level and felt my masochist side come out as my privates began to tingle. My legs were lowered, my crouch powered, and the diaper shut. My husband got up and took a moment to admire his work before taking my hand and raised to my feet. He then walked me to a full-length mirror; more like a waddle with how much the thick diaper kept my legs apart and had me stand in front of it. I also took time to see my new look. I few years younger than my husband and a couple years younger but not we looked nothing like husband and wife but more like a man and his oversized baby girl. "What do you see?" He asked. "A baby." I answered. "Do babies stand on their two legs?" "No Sir." I took a moment to think about what he was saying before lowering myself on all fours and looked up at him. I felt my pussy drip as I myself back in the same position as our pet play. "Do babies call their man sir?" "No..." I needed a second to think, "... Daddy" He smiled in approval at that answer. "Is baby hungry?" "Yes Daddy." I haven't eaten since yesterday and I wasn't happy with the jail food. He grabbed a baby bottle full of a white liquid and held it front of his crouch. I stared for a moment before putting the nipple in my mouth and hungrily drank it down. I couldn't tell what it is but it tasted very sweet. Once the bottle was empty my husband pushed his pants down and placed the head of his cock my lips. Once again. I didn't wait and took his precious member my mouth. The taste of meat and the smell of his manhood sent me into a state of arousal as I sucked harder to have his cream. "Good girl." My husband/daddy said with a moan. A few minutes of this and his seed shot into my mouth. I swirled it around my mouth with my tongue be gulping it. I opened my mouth showing that I had swallowed it all as my husband/daddy looked down on me with a smile. "Follow me." He said before walking off and I crawled after him towards the bedrooms. He stopped not at our bedroom but one of the guest beds next to it. When he opened the door, I could now see what he had been busy with while I was in jail. The once simple bedroom had been converted to what looked like a nursery. Stuffed animals were everywhere, some were small, others were quite huge. The biggest was a bear almost the size of me. The shelves were packed full of thick diapers. The was a chair similar to The Discipline Chair. Against the wall was a single bed surrounded by wooden bars. My husband/daddy walked inside towards the bed, and I crawled after him. He lowered the bars of the bed and lifted me and placed me in the bed before raising the bars back up. "Get out of your crib." He ordered. I grabbed the bars and lowering them down was easy enough and I crawled back out of the bed. Husband/Daddy immediately spanked me, and the room filled with the sound of a loud POOF, the padding from the diaper protected me from most of the blow but still hurt my sore bottom. I was placed back into the bed and the bars raised back up. "Get out of your crib." He repeated. This time I only rattled the bars but stayed put. "Good girl," he approved "Now go to sleep and stay in your crib. I'll let you out in the morning." For the first time since we've been married, we slept in separate rooms, but he did leave me with a baby monitor that seemed to work both ways and listening to sounds of him going to sleep relaxed me enough to go to sleep.

Sunday 05/21 I knew that there would probably be additional punishment, beyond the spanking I received Friday night, for coming home after curfew. I had joined a few co-workers for a drink, one turned into two and next thing I knew it was after 9pm. What did surprise me was the fact that mommy had waited until Sunday morning when I was getting ready for church to announce that I would be required to wear my ‘punishment panties’ until next Sunday. I’d only had to wear them a couple of times before, only for a day at a time, and NEVER out of the house so I was understandably nervous someone would hear the crinkling or catch a glimpse of the padded underwear somehow and know that it was not what a 32-year-old woman should be wearing. Having learned not to argue since being thrust back into my second childhood, I begrudgingly took one of the girls Goodnights from the box on my dresser and pulled the shameful garment up my legs. I spent the majority of the service lost in my thoughts about how my life had ended up like this. Up until six months ago, I was a pretty normal woman, I had a job, my own apartment and plenty of friends. While I still have my job, and arguably all of my friends even if I haven’t been able to hang out with them of late, it was when I moved out of my apartment and back in with my mother that life took a turn for the worse. After graduating college with a degree in U.S. History and a minor in Education I had the usual student loans and a little bit of credit card debt. For several years it was manageable, even on a teacher’s salary in this economy, mostly because I shared an apartment with a friend. When she eventually got married, I was both thrilled for her, and her maid-of-honor, though it left me with a rent payment that was increasingly difficult to make on my own. Putting an ad out I had a couple of other women temporarily move in but nothing that turned into a long-term arrangement. When my lease was up for renewal prior to my birthday I made the worst mistake of my life and asked my mother if I could come live with her. At first, I thought it was a blessing that she happily agreed and even said I could stay rent free so long as I lived by the rules. Pick up after myself? Do my own laundry? I mean I’m an adult, how hard could ‘living by the rules’ be? If I had bothered to read the “lease” she had me sign when I moved back in, I would have gone elsewhere. With church coming to a close, I rode in the back seat of my mother’s car towards home. She took the time to remind me that when at home I was not to cover my ‘punishment panties’ as I needed to be constantly aware I was wearing them so that I would be constantly aware I had been naughty, as if even with them covered I could ignore the padding between my legs. Switching my dress for a t-shirt I prepared to spend the afternoon locked in my bedroom. Mother was having her euchre club over and I did not want seven of her friends seeing me in my current state of dress despite the fact they no doubt would be told I was in punishment. Thankfully, the tournament was done and they were gone by the time I emerged for dinner. Luckily, mommy was pleased with my behavior today and no additional spankings were given, though I did get a warning about spending so much time ‘locked in my room’. As I lay in bed updating my journal, I can’t help but wonder what it will be like wearing a pullup to school tomorrow. Will my teaching assistant or any of my students notice something is ‘off’ with me? If they do, will they say something about it? Hopefully the outfit mommy picks out for me hides it well enough that it won’t be a problem.

Hey everybody! First time poster, longggggg time lurker (and I DO mean LONG. Like, 15+ years at least). Here is a little story I have been cooking up. It’s your standard fare “be careful what you wish for story”. Not meant to revolutionize the ABDL fiction game or anything, but just some nice, hot material for those who want it. It started out as prompts for captions I was planning to make, but ended up 6,000+ words, soooo...oops! Anyways, enjoy! Feedback/encouragement is always appreciated. Love our community- love you all! Stephanie’s Descent Stephanie was a beautiful, petite young lady of 26 who seemed to be grabbing the world by the horns. She had a job in an office doing clerical work while she was in school to become a lawyer, and had a sexy boyfriend named Mark. Sure, she felt insecure in her mature office suits, looking up at one well-dressed man or woman after another from her small stature with her girlishly cute looks. And sure, she had her suspicions that Mark was being unfaithful to her with another friend of hers. Yes, the schoolwork was intense and difficult, and despite her being so charming, this caused her on more than one occasion to be snippy or bratty to her other classmates. But Stephanie did not worry about this. Things would work themselves out. They always seemed to for girls who had it all, like her... One rocky living situation after another led her to have ask her mother if she could return home while she continued to work and study hard. It was a blow to Stephanie’s ego, but her mother Karen was secretly ecstatic. Karen supposed she should be happy for the strides in adulthood that Stephanie was making, but at times she would be so mad about the passage of time that she would do anything to get her little girl back. She would shake these thoughts from her head, as she already had an 18-month-old chubby baby girl to contend with named Lily. Lily’s father quickly left after Karen gave birth, making Karen all the more protective of her girls. She would use this time to impose motherly control and rules on Stephanie, whether she liked it or not. Plus, she could use a helper with Lily, so Stephanie added “caregiver” to her growing list of responsibilities... Stephanie stared down at Lily sleeping in her crib. She smiled and took a deep whiff of the smells of her baby sister’s nursery. Baby powder, baby wipes and the distinct smell of Pampers danced around her nostrils as she sighed, looking around the pink nursery adorned with infantile motifs of baby Disney characters and Winnie the Pooh. “I wonder what it would be like to be a baby again.” Stephanie wondered out loud as she headed over to the changing table. “No adult responsibilities- just toys, and baby shows and....diapers.” She felt a tingle shoot through her as she caressed the crinkly padding piled high under the changing table, imaging herself wearing it. “Oh sure, it would be SO embarrassing, but it might be kinda fun.” Stephanie bit her finger and looked around nervously. Her little shaved pussy throbbing and juices dripping into her panties, she took a breath and yanked her pants down. Then came her now soaked underwear. And now she stood in her baby sister’s nursery, naked from her bellybutton down, except for a cute pair of socks, ready to do something girls her age should not even be considering... Stephanie grabbed one of Lily’s diapers and a bottle of baby powder and placed it deliberately on top of the changing table. She took a big breath, unable to believe she was about to do what she planned to do and hoisted herself up onto the white padded surface. The cool, slick plastic of the changing surface caressing her bare bottom and privates sent another jolt of tingles through her body. Lying on her back she opened the thick diaper and gently fluffed it out to ready it to wear. Just like she did for her baby sister countless times. “If everybody could see me now! I wonder what they would say.” Stephanie again wondered aloud, this time with a chuckle. She bit her lip, lifted her small, perfectly smooth butt and slid the Pampers underneath her. She plopped her tushy down on the waiting, thirsty padding and shuddered as she began to feel more and more like a baby every second. She shook out a liberal amount of sweet-smelling baby powder over her already somewhat infantile looking, perfectly shaved crotch. Her heart was pounding as the mix of nursery aromas and baby sensations brought back feelings of helplessness and memories of daycare. She pulled the diaper up snugly in between her legs and taped it shut tightly against her. She knew from countless shopping trips previously that baby Lily wore the biggest size Pampers available on the market, being a chubby baby and all. The baby diaper fit Stephanie’s slender frame like a glove. She nearly spasmed as she looked down to see Sesame Street characters smiling up and waving at her from the top of the diaper. No, it was HER diaper now. The padding was thick, and almost oppressive, as it pressed securely into her most sensitive areas. The sensation was undeniably babyish. Even slight movements of her butt or legs caused a tell-tale crinkle to emit from her new infant underwear. Her powered pussy encased in her Pampers was dripping with a level of excitement she had never felt before. She was in pure baby bliss. She hopped off the changing table and waddled up to the full-length mirror near Lily’s crib. She was unable to stop herself from toddling, the thick diapers forcing her legs apart and causing an embarrassingly cute cascade of crinkles to follow her as she moved. She looked at herself in the mirror, her large puppy eyes and small figure complimenting her new choice of babyish undergarments. She giggled innocently and smiled as she examined her diapers from all sides. Caressing the outer padding and pulling them up tighter between her legs, she checked out her butt while moaning. Every touch and every movement cause the soft insides of her Pampers to further stroke and rub against her now incredibly sensitive clit, making her purr with pleasure. She looked to her right and glanced down at her still sleeping baby sister. Her gaze shot back to her reflection in the mirror, she popped her thumb in her mouth and in the most babyish voice she could muster exclaimed “More!” She giggled, twirled her hair and began bouncing in place. “More! More! More!” She chirped as she set about the nursery to further enhance her naughty, but incredibly pleasurable experience. Stephanie practically skipped over to Lily’s Winnie the Pooh dresser and threw open the drawers to rummage for more goodies to complete her immersion into babyhood. She practically ripper her halter-top off and unhooked her bra in an instant, letting her pert little breasts bounce free as she did so. She pulled from the dresser the biggest shirt she could find- a nursery yellow My Little Pony shirt featuring cartoon ponies hugging each other on the front. The immature shirt clung to her tightly, barely stretching down to her navel, and holding her small tits close to her chest, making her look flatter than ever. From the top drawer she pulled a small hairbrush and two hair ties with two bright pink plastic balls attached to them. With a sense of urgency, she deftly secured her brown hair into two high pigtails on top of her head. She fished around in the top drawer for a little while longer until she found what she sought, an all-white pacifier with a pink ring on the front of it. She popped in her mouth and almost bit down on the nipple with the surge of pleasure she felt from debasing herself even further from her adult self. She crinkled back up to the full-length mirror with a waddle and gasped at the reflection greeting her. From head to toe she looked every bit a baby- not a day older than her sister Lily. Gone were the fancy suits she wore in the office. Gone were the trendy clothes she wore to stay noticed in college. Gone were the date night dresses she donned to look sexy for her boyfriend Mark. Here she stood completely raw and infantilized for the world. She looked so cute and babyish it was humiliating. She blushed at her appearance and her rosy cheeks only served to make her look MORE like an infant. She looked down and felt her body to make sure it was really her she was looking at in the mirror. She had never felt more infantile or embarrassed. The butterflies in her tummy and the warmth wetness she felt in her private parts signaled to her only one thing...she loved this. End of part 1. I will most definitely be posting more!

Description An introverted volcanologist, Olivia, stumbles across a demon during a hike up a volcano. The demon of humiliation follows her and makes her do embarrassing things such as wetting herself and messing herself. Chapter 1: Olivia’s Volcano Trek in Montserrat The heat was stifling, even through the thick protective suit Olivia wore. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead, stinging her eyes as she ascended the jagged slopes of the Soufrière Hills volcano. The air was thick with the acrid smell of sulfur, a constant reminder of the volatile power slumbering beneath her feet. Yet, the danger was intoxicating. Olivia thrived on the adrenaline, the thrill of exploring the raw, untamed heart of the earth. Montserrat’s landscape was a testament to the volcano’s might. Lush rainforest abruptly gave way to barren ash fields, scarred by the fury of past eruptions. Olivia’s boots crunched on the brittle ground as she navigated the desolate terrain, her eyes scanning the landscape for signs of activity. Her instruments beeped and whirred, recording every subtle tremor, every shift in temperature, every whisper of the volcano’s breath. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the ash fields, Olivia decided to make camp for the night. She settled down in a small depression, shielded from the wind by a jagged outcrop of rock. As darkness fell, she huddled closer to the fire, the flickering flames providing a small haven of warmth in the chilling night air. Suddenly, a bone-chilling cold enveloped her. The fire sputtered and died, plunging her into darkness. A sinister presence seemed to fill the air, a silent menace that prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. Then, she saw it. A figure emerged from the shadows, its form shimmering and shifting like the flames of a dying fire. It was short and gaunt, with eyes that burned like embers. Olivia gasped, her heart pounding in her chest. The figure moved closer, its eyes fixed on her with a malevolent intensity. Olivia tried to scream, but no sound escaped her lips. She was paralyzed with fear, unable to move or even breathe. The figure reached out, its hand glowing with an eerie light. It touched her forehead, and a wave of icy cold washed over her. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the figure vanished, leaving Olivia trembling and alone in the darkness. The rest of the night was a blur. Olivia stumbled back to base camp at first light, her mind reeling with the terrifying encounter. She boarded the plane home in a daze, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of fear. But the horror wasn’t over. As the plane soared through the clouds, Olivia felt a cold sensation creeping up her legs. She tried to ignore it, but it grew stronger, more insistent. Finally, in a moment of mortifying humiliation, she realised she had wet herself. She rushed to the nearest bathroom with her bag, luckily she carried a extra set of clothes for if she spilt something on herself. She quickly got unclothed, cleaned herself and put on the fresh pair of clothes before quickly stuffing her bag with the soiled pants and panties along with her other clothes. As Olivia stepped off the plane onto British soil, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still being watched. The unseen presence that had tormented her on the volcano seemed to have followed her home. She knew, with a bone-chilling certainty, that her ordeal was far from over. Chapter 2: Arriving Home The taxi pulled up to the curb, its engine sputtering into silence. Olivia stepped out onto the familiar pavement, the cool evening air a stark contrast to the volcanic heat she had recently escaped. She lugged her heavy suitcase up the path, her keys jingling in her trembling hand. With a sigh of relief, she unlocked the door and stepped into the comforting darkness of her home. The house was silent, save for the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Olivia flicked on the light switch, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. She dragged her suitcase into the living room and collapsed onto the sofa, exhaustion washing over her. But the unease that had settled in her gut on the plane refused to dissipate. A cold dread clung to her like a second skin, a constant reminder of the unseen presence that haunted her. With a sigh, Olivia pushed herself off the sofa and headed towards the kitchen, hoping a cup of tea would soothe her frayed nerves. As she entered the brightly lit room, her heart lurched. There, perched casually on the kitchen counter, was the demon. It hadn’t changed. It was still the same gaunt figure, with eyes that burned like coals. It watched her with a chilling intensity, a smirk playing on its lips. Olivia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a scream. “Surprised to see me?” the demon purred, her voice like the rasp of dry leaves. Chapter 3: Olivia’s Not So Welcoming Guest “Aw, did I scare you wittle Olivia? Make you wet your panties like a baby on the plane?” the demon sneered, its voice dripping with malice. “Don’t worry, it’s only going to get worse. Maybe you’ll need these to keep you dry.” It held up an adult diaper, its own grotesque face leering from the front, surrounded by erupting volcanoes. Olivia’s voice cracked as she spoke, her body trembling with a mixture of fear and fury. “Why are you doing this to me? What did I ever do to you?” She clenched her fists, her eyes flashing with defiance. “This is wrong. You can’t just invade my life and humiliate me. I won’t let you!” “Such anger,” the demon murmured, feigning concern. “Is it because you can’t control your bladder, or is there something else troubling you, dear? Perhaps I can help alleviate your distress… if you’re willing to cooperate.” Olivia gasped, her legs trembling as she realized she was wetting herself again. “Please,” she begged, her voice barely a whisper. “What do you want from me? Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it, just please stop this!” A dark shadow fell over the demon’s face as it spoke. “You will obey me, Olivia. You will wear the diapers, and you will do so without complaint. Failure to comply will result in… consequences.” Its voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken threat hanging in the air. Olivia’s voice trembled despite her defiant words. “No, no, no!” she cried, backing away from the demon. “I won’t do it! I refuse! You can’t make me wear those… those things. I’m not a baby anymore!” “Well, well, well,” the demon drawled, its voice thick with sarcasm. “Looks like someone needs a little assistance with their wardrobe.” It snapped its fingers, and Olivia found herself clad in the demon’s personalized diaper. “Voila! A fashion statement fit for a queen… or should I say, a baby?” The demon chortled, revelling in Olivia’s mortification. Olivia’s body shook with rage and humiliation as she futilely tugged at the diaper. “This is wrong!” she screamed, her voice echoing through the house. “You can’t do this to me! I’m not your plaything! You have no right!” The diaper was not coming off of her. “This is just the beginning, Olivia,” the demon cackled, its voice filled with glee. “You will wear this diaper as a constant reminder of your helplessness. And when you’ve had enough, when you’re broken and begging for release, then you may grovel at my feet for a changing.” With a final, mocking bow, the demon vanished, leaving Olivia trapped in her degrading predicament wearing just a diaper and t-shirt. Chapter 4: On Purpose The moment the demon vanished, a burning thirst overtook Olivia. Her throat felt like parchment, her mouth a desert. She stumbled to the kitchen, diaper crinkling, her hands shaking as she filled glass after glass with water, gulping it down desperately. A wave of nausea followed, a sickening realization dawning upon her. This was the demon’s game. The thirst, the diaper – it was all a cruel ploy to break her. And with the amount of water she’d consumed, she knew she’d soon be wetting her diaper. Olivia’s stomach churned as the realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Damn it, she thought, her voice catching in her throat. She had to find a way to avoid soiling this diaper. A walk, maybe? Fresh air might clear her head. She waddled into the living room, the diaper’s plastic crinkling with each awkward step. Reaching the stairs, she gripped the banister, hauling herself up one agonizing step at a time. In her bedroom, she grabbed a pair of jeans, relief flooding her as she managed to pull them up over the bulky diaper. But as soon as the zipper closed, the denim vanished, leaving her exposed once more. “No!” she cried, a sob escaping her lips. They were her favorite jeans, a soft, worn reminder of simpler times. Now, she was trapped in this infernal diaper, a prisoner in her own home. The thought of venturing outside, of facing the world’s judgment with a demon’s face plastered across her backside, on a diaper of all things, was unbearable. Despair washed over her, threatening to drown her in its icy depths. She needed a distraction, something to anchor her to reality. Spotting her old colouring book on the shelf, she snatched it up. Flipping through the pages, her eyes landed on a familiar image: a volcano, its slopes bathed in fiery reds and oranges. A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Volcanoes used to be her passion, her refuge. Now, they were a symbol of her torment. The volcano on the coloring page stared back at Olivia, a mocking reminder of her predicament. Crayons in hand, she tried to focus, but her thoughts kept returning to the demon’s taunting words and the humiliating diaper encasing her. Each rustle of the plastic felt like a brand, a constant reminder of her helplessness. Desperate for a distraction, she dumped out a jigsaw puzzle, hoping the intricate pieces would occupy her mind. For a while, it worked. But as the image of a tranquil meadow began to take shape, a familiar pressure built in her bladder. Olivia squirmed, squeezing her thighs together, her focus shattering. The potty dance she’d outgrown decades ago made a reappearance, a desperate attempt to hold back the inevitable. But the urge became unbearable, a searing pain radiating through her lower abdomen. With a defeated sigh, Olivia released a tiny trickle, hoping to relieve the pressure and stop after. But the floodgates opened, and a warm steady stream poured into the diaper, she was soaking the absorbent padding on purpose. The heat spread through her groin and to her bum, a mix of shame and a strange, forbidden thrill. It was a surrender, a perverse fulfilment of the demon’s twisted desire. Olivia stood over the jigsaw puzzle, the sodden diaper clinging to her skin, a warm, but cold reminder of her degradation. The stench of urine filled her nostrils, a wave of shame washing over her. She couldn’t stay like this, wallowing in her own filth. With renewed determination, she tugged at the diaper’s fastenings, her nails digging into the unyielding plastic. A desperate trip to the kitchen yielded a pair of scissors, but even those proved useless against the demon’s magic. Trapped, defeated, she sank to the floor, the wet diaper chilling her princess parts. Never in her life had she felt so violated, so utterly helpless. Yet, a flicker of defiance remained. She wouldn’t let this demon break her. Returning to the puzzle, she forced her mind to focus on the remaining pieces. As the final piece clicked into place, a triumphant smile briefly touched her lips, quickly replaced by a gnawing hunger. Her stomach rumbled, demanding attention. The diaper squished and crinkled unpleasantly with each step as she made her way back to the kitchen. Wrenching open the fridge, she grabbed the container of prune stew she’d prepared before her trip. She devoured it greedily, the sweetness a temporary comfort. Avocado toast followed, the familiar routine offering a semblance of normalcy in this bizarre, degrading situation. Chapter 5: Uh oh… Olivia pushed away her empty plate, a wave of nausea replacing her hunger. As if summoned by her discomfort, the demon reappeared, a fresh diaper dangling from its bony fingers. “Ready to admit defeat, little one?” its voice oozed with smug satisfaction. “All it takes is a simple plea. Just ask nicely, and I’ll grant you the sweet relief of a clean diaper.” Olivia’s cheeks burned with shame, but defiance hardened her voice. “I’ll never beg you for anything,” she retorted. “Get me out of this diaper, now!” The demon’s smile widened, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. “Oh, but you belong in it, don’t you, Olivia?” It gestured towards the dampness spreading across her thighs. “You’ve already proven that.” Olivia’s gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet the demon’s taunting eyes. A fresh wave of humiliation washed over her. “And here’s a little secret,” the demon continued, its voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “That prune stew you just devoured? It’s going to make you… well, let’s just say you’ll be needing a change sooner rather than later. See you bright and early tomorrow, Olivia.” With a final, mocking chuckle, the demon vanished, leaving Olivia frozen in horror. The implications of its words hit her like a thunderbolt. She’d wet the diaper, and now… now she was going to soil it. The thought was unbearable, a new level of degradation she hadn’t anticipated. “No,” she whimpered, her voice barely audible. But it was too late. The demon was gone, and Olivia was left alone to face the consequences of her actions, her stomach churning with dread, shame and stew. Panic rising in her throat, Olivia bolted from the kitchen, her sodden diaper slapping against her thighs. She needed a plan, a way to escape this humiliating fate. But the demon’s words echoed in her ears, a cruel reminder of her powerlessness. “You’ll be needing a change sooner rather than later.” Her frantic search for a solution led her to the bathroom, where she frantically rummaged through drawers and cabinets. Toilet paper, sanitary pads, even a plunger—nothing seemed capable of staving off the inevitable. A wave of nausea swept over her, a visceral reaction to the thought of soiling herself in front of the demon. She collapsed onto the cold tile floor, tears welling in her eyes. Was this really happening? Was this her life now, at the mercy of a sadistic demon and a humiliating diaper? Time seemed to warp and stretch as Olivia sat huddled on the bathroom floor, her mind a whirlwind of panic and humiliation. The initial wave of nausea subsided, replaced by a dull ache in her lower abdomen. She knew what was coming, but the thought of succumbing to the demon’s twisted game filled her with a visceral revulsion. Minutes turned into an agonizing eternity. The pressure in her bowels intensified, each gurgle a symphony of impending doom. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead, and her legs trembled with the effort of holding back. She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers digging into her thighs, a desperate attempt to maintain control. But it was a losing battle. With a defeated groan, Olivia finally relented, her body betraying her resolve. A warm, viscous substance oozed into the diaper, a sickening contrast to the chill of her fear-soaked skin. The stench filled the small bathroom, a pungent reminder of what she just did in her diaper. She buried her face in her hands, sobs wracking her body. The demon had won, for now. But deep within her, a spark of defiance remained, a tiny ember refusing to be extinguished. Exhaustion finally claimed Olivia, her body collapsing onto the bed, the soiled diaper a heavy, shameful weight against her skin. Sleep came fitfully, plagued by nightmares of the demon’s leering face and the suffocating stench of her own waste. Each toss and turn was a reminder of her predicament, the diaper chafing against her raw skin, a constant source of discomfort and humiliation. She had succumbed to the demon’s twisted game, her own actions fuelling its cruel amusement. The weight of her shame was crushing, a dark cloud suffocating her spirit. Yet, even in the depths of her despair, a flicker of defiance refused to die. This was not the end, she vowed silently. She would find a way to break free, to reclaim her dignity and her life. Chapter 6: You got me begging… Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the bedroom. Olivia stirred, a groan escaping her lips as she tried to stretch her cramped limbs. But something was amiss, a sticky warmth clinging to her skin, a foul odor invading her nostrils. Memories of the previous night flooded back, and a wave of nausea washed over her. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” a voice purred, its honeyed sweetness a jarring contrast to the demon’s grotesque form. Olivia jumped as her eyes snapped open, her gaze colliding with the demon perched on the edge of her bed. It wore a sickeningly cheerful grin, its eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. “How was your night? Did you sleep well?” Olivia recoiled, pulling the soiled diaper closer to her body, a futile attempt to shield herself from the demon’s scrutiny. “Go away,” she croaked, her voice raspy from sleep and shame. “Oh, come on now, don’t be like that,” the demon chided, its voice dripping with mock concern. “We have so much to discuss. After all, it’s a big day for you, isn’t it? Your first full day in diapers.” Olivia’s cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and humiliation. “Leave me alone,” she hissed, her voice barely a whisper. She tried to sit up, but the diaper’s weight and the lingering nausea held her back. “Oh, come on, Olivia,” the demon coaxed, its voice dripping with false sympathy. “You can’t stay in that dirty diaper all day. It’s uncomfortable, unsanitary, and… well, frankly, it smells awful.” Olivia clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. The demon was right, of course. She desperately needed a change, but the thought of begging for it, of submitting to its twisted game, made her stomach churn. The demon leaned closer, its breath hot against Olivia’s skin. “Just ask me nicely, Olivia. Say the words, and I’ll grant you relief.” A war raged within Olivia. Pride and defiance battled against the overwhelming urge for cleanliness and comfort. Finally, her resolve crumbled. “Please,” she choked out, the word tasting like poison on her tongue. “Please change me.” The demon recoiled, its grin twisting into a sneer. “That’s not how you ask for a favor, Olivia,” it chided, its voice sharp as a whip. “Where’s the gratitude? The humility? The desperate plea for my mercy?” Olivia’s cheeks burned with renewed shame. She swallowed hard, the words sticking in her throat like jagged shards of glass. “Please,” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. “Please, master, would you be so kind as to change my diaper?” The demon cocked its head, studying her with a critical eye. “Better,” it conceded, “but not quite there yet. You need to sound more… pathetic. More desperate. More like the helpless creature you’ve become.” Tears welled up in Olivia’s eyes, her voice thick with emotion as she spoke. “Master, I am nothing without you,” she choked out. “I beg of you, please grant me this small mercy. I am filthy and unworthy, but I plead for your kindness. Please change my diaper.” The demon’s smile returned, a predatory glint in its eyes. “That’s more like it,” it purred, snapping its fingers. A fresh diaper materialized in its hand, its design identical to the soiled one. “I like it when the new ones beg for diapers. Now, be a good girl and lie still.” Olivia obeyed, her body trembling as the demon slowly and deliberately changed her diaper, its touch lingeringly cold and impersonal. “Could have just clicked my fingers,” it purred, its voice dripping with sadistic amusement. “But where’s the fun in that? A snap of my fingers, and poof! No mess, no fuss. But where’s the entertainment in that? Seeing you squirm, begging for my help… now that’s truly delightful.” The demon chuckled, a sound like nails scraping down a chalkboard, and held the soiled diaper up, the stench assaulting Olivia’s nose with renewed intensity. A cruel grin spread across the demon’s face. “Well, well, well, look at the state of you. Seems like you made quite a mess last night, didn’t you, little one? Perhaps you underestimated your ability to hold it. Or maybe you reveled in the mess a little too much, making a game of it all. You naughty little girl.” Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, tears threatening to spill over. The demon’s words were like acid, burning away her last shreds of dignity. The demon cackled, a sound that sent shivers down Olivia’s spine. With practiced ease, it used a wet wipe to clean her princess parts and her bum, its touch rough and impersonal. “Hold still,” it commanded, its voice devoid of any warmth. Once Olivia was clean, the demon barked, “Legs up!” and waited impatiently for her to comply. With trembling hands, Olivia lifted her legs, offering a brief glimpse of her exposed bum. The demon wasted no time, swiftly sliding the fresh diaper underneath her. It then sprinkled a layer of baby powder over her princess parts and bum, the cool powder a stark contrast to the burning shame radiating from her core. Finally, with a flourish, the demon lifted the front over crotch and snapped the diaper tapes into place, securing it snugly around her waist. “There you go, all clean and… well, relatively fresh,” it sneered, sniffing the old soiled diaper in the air with exaggerated disgust. “But remember, Olivia,” it added, its voice dripping with false sympathy, “accidents happen to the best of us, especially when they’re wearing diapers like a little baby. And when those accidents happen, you’ll know exactly how to beg for my… assistance.” The demon’s grin widened, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. As it leaned in close, its breath reeking of sulfur, it whispered, “And make sure you beg well, because the consequences for disobedience are… unpleasant, to say the least.” With a final, lingering stroke of her cheek, the demon vanished, leaving Olivia alone with the lingering stench of shame from her soiled diaper next to her and the chilling realization that this was only the beginning of her torment. Chapter 7: The Demon’s Assistant Despite the lingering trauma of the demon’s touch, Olivia found herself oddly relieved to be in a fresh diaper. The clean, dry sensation against her skin was a stark contrast to the soiled diaper that now lay discarded on the floor, a tangible reminder of her humiliation. A wave of exhaustion washed over her, the emotional turmoil of the past hours taking its toll. She crawled back under her covers, the fresh diaper a small comfort amidst the chaos. Sleep came easier this time, her dreams less haunted by the demon’s menacing presence. As the morning sun streamed through her window, Olivia woke with a renewed sense of determination. She wouldn’t let the demon control her life. She would find a way to break free from this twisted game, to reclaim her dignity and independence. A loud knocking at the door startled her, interrupting her thoughts. Could it be the demon again, so soon? She cautiously approached the door, her heart pounding in her chest. Olivia cautiously cracked open the front door, shielding her diaper-clad body from view. “Package for Olivia Parker?” a cheerful voice chirped. “Yes, thank you,” Olivia mumbled, snatching the box and swiftly closing the door. A wave of relief washed over her. Just some LED lights she’d ordered before her disastrous trip. A perfect distraction from her current predicament. Parcel tucked under her arm, she turned towards the stairs, only to be halted by another insistent knock. With a frustrated sigh, she set the box down and yanked open the door. “Lucille,” a woman declared, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness, “the Demon’s assistant. I’ll be coming in now.” Before Olivia could protest, the woman swept past her, her movements a whirlwind of chiffon and perfume. “Excuse me!” Olivia sputtered, indignation rising in her throat. But her protest was cut short as the woman—Lucille—snapped her fingers. In a flash, a bright pink pacifier appeared in Olivia’s mouth, silencing her. She gagged, her fingers clawing at the plastic, but to no avail. The more she struggled, the tighter her mouth clamped around the pacifier, her own body betraying her. Humiliation flooded her as she realized she was now not only trapped in a diaper but also reduced to an infantile state with the pacifier. Lucille surveyed Olivia with a critical eye, her lips pursed in disapproval. “Well, well, well,” she drawled, circling her like a predator sizing up its prey. “Looks like someone’s been a naughty girl. Didn’t your master teach you any manners?” Olivia glared at her through the pacifier, a silent fury burning in her eyes. She tried to speak, but the pacifier rendered her words into muffled, infantile gurgles. Lucille chuckled, a sound like wind chimes laced with venom. “Don’t worry, darling,” she cooed, patting Olivia’s head with a manicured hand. “I’m here to help you adjust to your new… lifestyle. The Demon has big plans for you, and I’m here to ensure you’re properly prepared.” She snapped her fingers again, and a mountain of baby supplies materialized in the middle of the living room: stacks of diapers, bottles filled with a milky liquid, jars of pureed food, and an assortment of pastel-colored toys. Olivia’s eyes widened in horror as Lucille began unpacking the items, her movements efficient and practiced. “Now, now, don’t look so glum,” Lucille chirped, her voice gratingly cheerful. “This is just the beginning. You’re going to have so much fun with all these new toys, aren’t you, sweetie?” She picked up a rattle shaped like a volcano, shaking it enticingly in front of Olivia’s face. Olivia recoiled, her disgust evident even through the pacifier. This was a nightmare, a grotesque mockery of her life. But as Lucille continued to unpack the supplies, a chilling realization dawned on her. This wasn’t a temporary punishment; this was the demon’s vision for her future. A future filled with diapers, baby formula, baby food, and the constant presence of Lucille. Lucille perched herself on the arm of the sofa, her gaze fixed on Olivia like a scientist observing a lab specimen. “Now, Olivia, darling,” she began, her voice a sickeningly sweet melody, “let’s talk about our new arrangement.” Olivia, still struggling fruitlessly against the pacifier, let out a muffled growl of frustration. “Oh, hush now, there’s no need for that,” Lucille chided, her tone saccharine but her eyes cold. “I’m here to help you, after all.” She leaned forward, her words dripping with condescension. “From now on, I’ll be your… caregiver, shall we say? I’ll be in charge of all your needs – feeding, changing, playtime, even bath time.” A sly smile curled on her lips. “And of course, discipline when necessary. Maybe even rewards! However, the Demon expects complete obedience, you understand?” Olivia’s eyes widened in horror. This was worse than she could have imagined. Lucille, with her patronizing tone and condescending touch, was to be her constant companion, her jailer in this infantile prison. “Don’t worry, darling,” Lucille cooed, misinterpreting Olivia’s silence. “You’ll get used to it. You’ll learn to love your new life, with all its simple pleasures and childish delights.” She picked up a teddy bear from the pile of baby supplies, its beady eyes seeming to mock Olivia’s despair. Olivia shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face. This was not her life, not who she was. She was a scientist, a volcanologist, a woman with a career and a future. But the pacifier in her mouth prevented any protest, any plea for reason. All she could do was watch helplessly as Lucille laid out the grim reality of her new, demeaning existence. Lucille reached out a manicured hand, her fingers pinching the pacifier between Olivia’s lips. With a swift tug, she removed it, a triumphant smirk on her face. “There now,” she purred. “Don’t you feel better already?” Olivia gasped, her lungs filling with air from her mouth for the first time in what felt like hours. “You can’t do this!” she cried, her voice hoarse with emotion. “This is wrong! It’s insane!” Lucille raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Insane? Perhaps. But it’s also the Demon’s will, and as his humble servant, I’m merely following orders. Besides,” she added, her voice dripping with condescension, “you seem to be adjusting quite well already. Look at you, in your pretty little diaper, sucking on your pacifier like a good girl.” Olivia’s cheeks burned with shame, but anger fuelled her defiance. “I’m not a baby! I’m a grown woman, a scientist! This is degrading and humiliating!” Lucille shrugged, her expression nonchalant. “Oh, darling, we all have our roles to play in this grand cosmic drama. Yours just happens to be a bit more… infantile. But don’t worry, you’ll soon learn to embrace your new identity. And who knows,” she added with a wink, “you might even find that you enjoy it.” Olivia’s stomach churned with disgust. The thought of finding any pleasure in this twisted situation was abhorrent. But as she met Lucille’s gaze, a cold fear settled in her heart. She knew, with a bone-chilling certainty, that this was just the beginning of her ordeal. The demon and its assistant had a plan for her, and she knew now that she was powerless to stop them. A sudden warmth spread through Olivia’s diaper, the familiar sensation of wetness bringing a fresh wave of humiliation. She looked up at Lucille, who wore a triumphant smirk, confirming Olivia’s worst fears. “See?” Lucille purred, her voice a chilling melody. “You can’t control it anymore, darling. One minute you’ll be playing with your toys, the next… whoops! A little accident. Such a shame for a grown woman, wouldn’t you agree?” She leaned closer, her breath ghosting over Olivia’s ear. “But don’t worry, sweetie. You’ll get used to the constant wetness, the never-ending cycle of shame and dependency. Welcome to your new life, Olivia. It’s going to be a messy one, now that’s for sure.” The demon chuckles at her humiliation. Chapter 8: Who’s Humiliation? Yourmiliation. Olivia’s cheeks burned as the warmth spread through her diaper, a mixture of shame and anger coursing through her veins. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but the pacifier quickly appeared in her mouth stifling any protest. Her eyes, filled with a mix of defiance and despair, locked onto Lucille’s mocking gaze. Lucille, sensing Olivia’s inner turmoil, continued her cruel taunts. “Oh, don’t be so glum, darling,” she cooed, patting Olivia’s head condescendingly. “It’s only pee, after all. It’s a natural bodily function, even for big girls like you. But now, you’ll have to rely on me, your ever-so-capable assistant, to clean up your little messes. How thrilling!” A wicked gleam entered Lucille’s eyes as she reached for a diaper bag overflowing with supplies. “Don’t worry, though,” she chirped, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “I’ve brought everything we need to keep you nice and dry. After all, we wouldn’t want your pretty little bottom getting sore, would we?” She paused, a sly smile spreading across her face. “But first, let’s see how well you can crawl. Maybe a little spanking will motivate you? A nice, firm reminder of the consequences for disobeying your new caretaker.” She tauntingly said as a menacing paddle appeared in her hand. The thought of being spanked like a child sent a shiver down Olivia’s spine. She had always been fiercely independent, a woman who commanded respect in her field. Now, reduced to a crawling infant, she was at the mercy of this sadistic caretaker. With a heavy heart, she obeyed, lowering herself onto her hands and knees. The crinkling of the wet diaper against her skin was a constant reminder of her humiliation. “That’s a good girl,” Lucille praised, her voice laced with a sickeningly sweet tone. “Now crawl, Olivia. Show me how eager you are to please.” The assistant pointed towards a pile of diapers at the other end of the room, a wicked glint in her eye. Olivia, fuelled by a mix of shame and defiance, began to crawl, pacifier in mouth. Each movement rocked her wet diaper back and fourth against her princess parts, she felt herself getting hot and bothered. She wanted to reach inside of her diaper and touch herself, but she shook her head and gritted her teeth, focusing on the pile of diapers, a beacon of hope in this degrading ordeal. With each agonizing inch, she prayed for the strength to endure this humiliation, clinging to the belief that she would find a way to break free from this twisted game before she actually started to enjoy it. Lucille watched Olivia’s progress with a predatory grin. “Not bad, darling,” she purred. “But you could be faster. Remember, the quicker you get there, the quicker you’ll be out of that soggy mess.” Olivia’s muscles burned with exertion, but she pushed herself onward. The diaper, heavy with urine, rubbed against her sensitive skin, a constant reminder of her helplessness. She reached out, her fingertips brushing against the edge of a diaper package, a spark of hope igniting within her. But just as she was about to grasp it, Lucille’s foot came down on top of the package, pinning it to the floor. Olivia looked up, her eyes pleading for mercy, but Lucille only laughed, a cold, hollow sound that echoed through the room. “Not so fast, little one,” she said, her voice dripping with malice. “You haven’t earned your reward yet. A few more laps should do the trick.” She felt her heart flutter as well as her princess parts as she turned around. Olivia whimpered, tears welling up in her eyes. She was exhausted, humiliated, and desperate for relief from the sodden diaper clinging to her skin. The smell of urine was overwhelming, filling her nostrils with each ragged breath. Lucille, however, seemed to revel in Olivia’s discomfort. “Aww, is the little baby feeling icky?” she cooed, her voice a sickening blend of mockery and amusement. “Did the naughty girl have an accident? Don’t worry, darling, a few more laps and you’ll be rewarded with a nice, fresh diaper. Or maybe you enjoy the feeling of that warm wetness against your skin?” Olivia’s face burned with shame and curiosity. Did Lucille know she was getting turned on? But she refused to give Lucille the satisfaction of seeing her cry. With a defiant snarl, she resumed her crawl, the soggy diaper squishing and rubbing against her parts more and more with every movement. Olivia let out a little moan as she crawled. As Olivia continued her humiliating crawl, a strange sensation began to emerge from the discomfort. The constant friction of the diaper against her sensitive skin, initially a source of irritation, was now sparking a warmth that spread through her lower body. Each movement, each shift of her hips, ignited a flicker of pleasure she hadn’t anticipated. A wave of confusion washed over her. She was disgusted by the situation, mortified by her own incontinence, yet her body was betraying her, responding to the forbidden stimulation with a growing warmth. She tried to suppress the feeling, to focus on the anger and humiliation, but the pleasure was insistent, a siren song luring her towards a dangerous precipice. Lucille, ever observant, noticed the subtle change in Olivia’s demeanor. A knowing smirk spread across her face. “Oh, I see,” she purred, her voice laced with amusement. “Looks like someone’s starting to enjoy herself. Perhaps there’s hope for you yet, little one.” She leaned closer, her breath hot against Olivia’s ear. “Embrace the sensation, darling. It’s only going to get better from here. Crawl faster!” The demon’s assistant clapped her hands together, the sound echoing through the silent house. “Well, well, well,” she chirped, her voice dripping with feigned delight. “Looks like someone’s finally getting the hang of this. But we can’t have you dilly-dallying now, can we, darling? Pick up the pace! Your reward awaits, but only for those who earn it.” Olivia, caught between mortification and a growing sense of arousal, obeyed. She quickened her pace, her hands and knees hitting the floor with rhythmic thuds. The diaper, now saturated, clung to her like a second skin, the friction against her most intimate areas intensifying with each movement. She gritted her teeth, a low moan escaping her lips as the pleasure became almost unbearable. Lucille’s laughter filled the room, a cruel melody that fueled Olivia’s growing shame. “That’s it, darling,” she encouraged, her voice laced with a sadistic glee. “Crawl for me. Crawl like the good little baby you are. The faster you go, the sooner you’ll be rewarded. But remember,” she added with a menacing edge, “if you stop, the punishment will be severe.” Driven by a potent cocktail of humiliation, desperation, and a dark, forbidden pleasure, Olivia surged forward, her limbs moving faster than she thought possible. The room blurred around her, the only focus the pile of diapers looming closer with each frantic crawl. A tingling sensation built within her, a familiar pressure that she knew she couldn’t hold back any longer. With a gasp, she reached the pile, collapsing onto the soft, absorbent mound. The dam finally broke, and a torrent of warm liquid flooded her diaper, she sucked on her pacifier harder as she squirted into the pee-soaked diaper closing her eyes with pleasure. A shudder wracked her body, a mix of shame and undeniable relief. She had lost control, given in to the demon’s twisted game, yet a part of her revelled in the orgasm she just had in her pissy diaper. Lucille clapped her hands, her laughter echoing through the room. “Bravo, Olivia!” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Such a good girl. Now, wasn’t that so much better than holding it in?” She leaned down, her face inches from Olivia’s, a predatory gleam in her eyes. “But remember, darling, this is just the beginning. There are so many more ways for you to please me. So many more messes for you to make.” Lucille pressed her hand against Olivia’s diaper, rubbing it firmly through the wet fabric. “And we’ll have a lot of fun cleaning them up together. Won’t we, little one?” Lucille, sensing Olivia’s heightened vulnerability, plucked the pacifier from her mouth with a triumphant flourish. “Well, well, well,” she cooed, a wicked glint in her eyes. “Someone seems to be enjoying her new reality. Tell me, Olivia, are you ready to be a good little girl and obey my every command?” Olivia, still flushed with pleasure and shame, nodded eagerly, her voice a high-pitched squeak. “Yes, yes!” she chirped, her words barely coherent. “I’ll be good, I promise!” Lucille chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down Olivia’s spine. “I’m sure you will, darling,” she purred. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” With practiced efficiency, Lucille peeled away the soiled diaper, a wave of embarrassment washing over Olivia as the stench filled the air. The demon’s assistant tutted disapprovingly, her eyes narrowing in disgust. “Someone’s been a messy little girl,” she scolded, her voice laced with sarcasm. Olivia’s cheeks burned with shame. The brief moment of pleasure had evaporated, replaced by a deep sense of humiliation and self-loathing. Disgusting. How could she have let herself get to that point? The smell of her own waste filled her nostrils, a constant reminder of her degradation. She squeezed her eyes shut, the image of the overflowing diaper a horrifying tableau burned into her mind. Had she really just gotten off on crawling around like a baby, whimpering for a diaper change? Shame radiated from her core, a sickening heat that threatened to consume her whole. But beneath the shame, a flicker of something else remained – a morbid curiosity, a twisted echo of the pleasure she had experienced. It was a terrifying realization, a seed of darkness planted in her mind by Lucille’s cruel game. The touch of the wet wipes against her skin snapped Olivia out of her momentary haze. Reality crashed back in, a harsh wave of disgust and despair. She gritted her teeth, tears welling in her eyes. This wasn’t her, this wasn’t who she was. But as Lucille fastened a fresh diaper around her waist, the crinkling of the plastic a stark reminder of her new reality, Olivia knew she was trapped in a nightmare with no end in sight. Chapter 9: Playing With Teddy The clean diaper did nothing to alleviate Olivia’s despair. The crinkling plastic only amplified her humiliation, a constant reminder of her infantilized state. As Lucille stepped back to admire her handiwork, Olivia’s mind raced, searching for a way out of this twisted game. “There,” Lucille chirped, her voice gratingly cheerful. “All clean and dry, just like a little baby.” She paused, her eyes narrowing as she studied Olivia’s face. “But you don’t seem very happy about it, darling. Is something wrong?” Olivia glared at her, a silent fury burning in her eyes. She wanted to scream, to curse, to lash out, but the pacifier in her mouth stifled any sound. Her only response was a defiant shake of her head, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Lucille’s smile faltered, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. “Oh, come now, Olivia,” she chided, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “Don’t be difficult. We have so much fun planned for you today.” She gestured towards a pile of colorful clothes on the bed, a collection of frilly dresses and oversized t-shirts adorned with cartoon characters. Olivia’s eyes widened in horror as she recognized the outfits. They were the epitome of childishness, the kind of clothes she hadn’t worn since she was a toddler. A fresh wave of humiliation washed over her as she realized what Lucille had in store. “Now, darling,” Lucille purred, picking up a particularly garish pink dress with a matching bonnet. “Let’s get you dressed for the day. It’s time for you to embrace your new role, Olivia. The role of a sweet, innocent little girl.” Olivia shook her head violently, the pacifier bobbing against her lips as she let out a muffled protest. She would not wear those ridiculous clothes. She would not be reduced to a caricature of childhood innocence. Lucille’s patience was wearing thin. “Olivia,” she warned, her voice laced with steel. “Don’t make this difficult. Put on the dress, or I’ll have to find other ways to persuade you.” Olivia’s defiance wavered. She knew Lucille was capable of cruelty, of finding new and inventive ways to humiliate her. But the thought of parading around in those childish clothes was almost too much to bear. “Fine,” she mumbled through the pacifier, her voice barely audible. “I’ll wear the dress.” A triumphant smile spread across Lucille’s face. “That’s a good girl,” she cooed, her voice dripping with condescension. “Now, let’s get you dressed and ready for playtime.” Olivia stood there, her head bowed in shame as Lucille helped her into the frilly pink dress. The fabric felt cheap and scratchy against her skin, a stark contrast to the comfortable clothes she was used to wearing. The bonnet, with its ridiculous oversized bow, was the final indignity. She felt like a clown, a mockery of her former self. As Lucille led Olivia towards the playpen, the plastic structure loomed before her like a miniature prison. The brightly colored bars mocked her with their childish cheerfulness, a stark contrast to the cold, sterile feeling that emanated from the interior. Inside, a collection of baby toys lay scattered on the floor, their plastic forms gleaming in the harsh light. Olivia knew what awaited her: forced playtime, infantile games designed to further humiliate her and chip away at her remaining sense of self. The playpen wasn’t just a confinement; it was a symbol of her new reality, a place where her mind and body would be moulded into something unrecognizable. Before leaving Olivia to her fate, Lucille produced a baby bottle filled with a milky white liquid. “Here you go, darling,” she chirped, thrusting the bottle into Olivia’s hands. “A little snack to keep you fueled during playtime. Make sure you finish it before I get back, or there will be consequences.” Olivia eyed the bottle with disgust. The thought of drinking baby formula, of being treated like an infant, made her stomach churn. But the memory of Lucille’s earlier threats was still fresh in her mind. She knew better than to disobey. “And remember,” Lucille added with a sly smile, “milk always makes babies need a diaper change. So don’t be surprised if you find yourself feeling a little… wet… soon. It’s all part of the fun, isn’t it?” She winked, a gesture that sent a chill down Olivia’s spine. With a final, mocking pat on the head, Lucille left Olivia alone in the playpen, the bottle of formula a heavy weight in her trembling hand. Olivia stared at the milky liquid, her mind racing. She had to find a way out of this, a way to escape the demon’s clutches and reclaim her life. But for now, she had to play along, to survive this twisted game until she could find a way to fight back. With a deep breath, she raised the bottle to her lips, the taste of the formula a bitter reminder of her powerlessness. The formula, surprisingly, wasn’t as repulsive as Olivia had anticipated. It was sweet, cloying, and left a sticky residue on her lips. As she drained the last few drops, a warmth spread through her lower abdomen. It was the familiar, dreaded feeling, the precursor to another humiliating episode of incontinence. She tried to hold it back, to clench her muscles and resist the urge, but it was futile. A warm trickle escaped, followed by a steady stream. The diaper quickly became saturated, the heavy, wet sensation a stark reminder of her helplessness. Just as Olivia was sinking into despair, the door creaked open. Lucille swept into the room, her eyes scanning Olivia with predatory interest. “Well, well, well,” she purred, her voice laced with amusement. “Looks like someone couldn’t hold her tinkles. Did the yummy milk make the baby girl tinkle in her diaper? Tell me what you’ve done little girl.” Olivia’s cheeks burned with shame, a tear tracing a hot path down her cheek. Her voice trembled as she spoke, barely audible over the crinkling of the soaked diaper against her skin. “Y-yes,” she stammered her helplessness a bitter pill to swallow. “I wet myself. Please, I need a change.” Lucille’s lips curled into a sly smirk. “Oh, sweetie,” she crooned, her voice dripping with false sympathy, “did you forget already? It’s playtime now. Big girls need to learn patience, you know?” She gestured towards the scattered toys in the playpen, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “Now, be a good girl and play with your toys. If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll consider changing you after.” Lucille collected her things from the room and went away again. Olivia’s heart sank. She knew there was no point in arguing. The discomfort of the wet diaper was unbearable, but the fear of further humiliation was even worse. With a defeated sigh, she reached for a brightly colored rattle, her mind racing as she tried to devise a plan. She couldn’t stay like this, trapped in this infantile nightmare. There had to be a way out. Olivia halfheartedly shook the rattle, the hollow sound a mocking echo of her own emptiness. Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions – anger, humiliation, and a deep-seated fear that this was her new reality. But beneath those emotions, a spark of defiance remained, a refusal to completely surrender to the demon’s twisted game. As she played, her eyes darted around the room, searching for any potential escape route. The windows were too high, the door locked from the outside. Her gaze fell upon the diaper bag Lucille had brought in earlier. Perhaps there was something in there, a tool, a weapon, anything that could help her break free. Mustering all her courage, Olivia crawled towards the bag, her movements cautious and deliberate. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the soft fabric. A surge of hope coursed through her veins. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance she could escape this nightmare. With trembling fingers, Olivia unzipped the diaper bag, her heart pounding in her chest. The contents were a grotesque parody of a baby’s essentials: talcum powder, a tube of diaper rash cream, a handful of pacifiers, and a stack of brightly colored diapers. Olivia’s stomach churned as she realized there was nothing useful in the bag, nothing that could aid her escape. A sob escaped her lips as she slumped back against the playpen wall, a wave of despair washing over her. She was trapped, a prisoner in her own home, reduced to a helpless infant. The demon had won, and her life as she knew it was over. As if sensing her defeat, Lucille’s voice echoed through the room, a chilling reminder of her presence. “Having fun, Olivia?” she taunted, her voice dripping with amusement. “Don’t worry, darling. The beginning is starting now. You’ll soon learn to love your new life, with all its messy little pleasures.” Olivia’s body tensed, her stomach clenching in response to Lucille’s taunting words. The formula, now churning in her belly, triggered a familiar urge, a pressure building within her. She tried to fight it, to hold back, but the demon’s influence was too strong. A solid mass of warmth flooded her diaper, the sensation a mix of relief and utter shame. She had lost control again, her body betraying her in the most humiliating way possible. The smell of her poop filled the playpen, a pungent reminder of her degradation. Tears welled up in Olivia’s eyes as she whimpered softly. She was no longer just wet; she was filthy, a helpless infant adult wallowing in her own excrement. This was the lowest point of her life, a nadir of shame and despair. She had become the very thing the demon wanted her to be: a helpless, infantile creature, utterly dependent on its cruel whims. Lucille’s laughter echoed through the room, a cruel melody that twisted Olivia’s insides. “Oh, Olivia,” she cooed, her voice dripping with a sickeningly sweet tone, “what a mess you’ve made. But don’t worry, darling. We’ll take care of it.” With a snap of her fingers, Lucille conjured a new toy, a large, plush teddy bear with soft brown fur and innocent button eyes. The bear was oddly oversized for the playpen, its limbs sprawling across the limited space. “Look, Olivia,” Lucille purred, “a new friend to keep you company. I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun together.” Lucille says as she snaps her fingers again, this time filling Olivia up with libido. As she spoke, an unsettling warmth began to spread through Olivia’s body. The sensation was different from the shame and disgust she had felt earlier. It was a warmth that tingled and pulsed, a growing heat that seemed to originate from her princess parts. Her eyes darted to the teddy bear, a new and unfamiliar desire taking root in her mind. Lucille, sensing the shift in Olivia’s demeanor, let out a low chuckle. “Yes, darling,” she whispered, her voice a seductive caress. “Let your imagination run wild. Play with your new friend, and don’t be afraid to explore your desires. After all, a little mess is nothing to be ashamed of, is it?” Lucille bumps up Olivia’s libido with a click of her fingers. The shame that had consumed Olivia moments before began to morph into something else, a tingling curiosity that pulsed through her princess parts and body. Her eyes remained locked on the teddy bear, its soft fur and inviting curves a stark contrast to the cold, sterile plastic of the playpen. Lucille’s words echoed in her mind, a tempting invitation to explore a forbidden realm. “Don’t be afraid to explore your desires,” she had said. And in that moment, a wave of rebellion surged through Olivia. If this was the life she was forced to live, she would find a way to make it her own, to carve out a sliver of pleasure from the humiliation. With a newfound determination, Olivia crawled towards the teddy bear, her eyes never leaving its plush form. She reached out, her fingers sinking into the soft fur, a shiver running down her spine. The sensation was oddly comforting, a stark contrast to the cold, clinical touch of Lucille’s hands. Emboldened by the rising warmth within her, Olivia pulled herself onto the teddy bear, straddling its plush body. The diaper, already heavy with her excrement, shifted against her sensitive parts, the friction igniting a spark of pleasure that sent a jolt through her body. She gasped, her fingers tightening in the bear’s fur as she rocked against it, the forbidden sensation growing with each movement. Olivia’s body writhed in pleasure as she grinded against the giant teddy bear, the contents of her messy diaper rubbing against her pussy with each movement. The wetness and warmth of the padding only heightened her arousal, her clit throbbing with need. Lucille watched with a smirk on her face, enjoying the humiliation of the adult woman humping a stuffed animal in a wet and messy diaper and recorded her. “Well, well, well,” she taunted, “looks like someone’s enjoying their messy diaper a little too much.” Olivia’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she couldn’t deny the pleasure coursing through her body. She pushed harder against the teddy, her orgasm building with each rub of the poopy wet diaper against her princess parts. Lucille leaned in, a playful smirk twisting her lips, “Someone’s already making quite the mess, aren’t they? And it’s about to get a different type of messy, isn’t it, wittle Olivia?” Her eyes sparkled with malicious delight, a hint of purring entering her tone. Olivia couldn’t hold back any longer, her climax hitting her like a wave. She cried out, her pussy pulsing with pleasure as she came into the wet and messy diaper. She continued grinding and grinding, its foul contents spreading further, while she had orgasm after orgasm until she lay against the teddy bear exhausted, but in ecstasy with a very messy diapered bottom. Lucille’s voicedripped with saccharine sweetness, a stark contrast to the cruel glint in her eyes. “Oh, Olivia, what a good girl you are!” she cooed, clapping her hands together in mock delight. “Look at the lovely present you left in your diaper. Such a big, smelly surprise and a sticky one too!” She leaned closer, her breath ghosting over Olivia’s ear. “Aren’t you proud of yourself?” she whispered, her voice laced with a perverse kind of satisfaction. “Such a dirty little baby, making a sticky mess like that. Mommy’s so pleased.” Olivia, already burdened with humiliation, felt a fresh wave of shame wash over her at Lucille’s twisted praise. Tears welled up in her eyes anew, not from the discomfort of the soiled diaper, but from the crushing weight of degradation. She had never felt so small, so utterly debased. “Please,” Olivia choked out, her voice barely a whisper, “just… just clean me up.” The words tasted like poison on her tongue, each syllable a surrender to the demon’s cruel game. Lucille’s smile widened, revealing rows of sharp teeth. “As you wish, my sticky little mess maker,” she purred, her voice laced with malicious glee. With deliberate slowness, she began to clean Olivia, her every touch a reminder of the scientist’s helplessness. Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the reality of her situation. But even with her eyes closed, she could still feel Lucille’s cold, mocking gaze upon her. The cleaning process was agonizingly slow, Lucille taking every opportunity to prolong Olivia’s torment. She cooed and praised Olivia’s “good behaviour,” her voice a grating symphony of condescension. Olivia, exhausted from humping her teddy, fell asleep during her diaper change. Chapter 10: Life Could Be A Dream (Finale) When Olivia awoke, she found herself not in her bed, but in a crib, its bars cold and unyielding against her touch. Panic flared as she realized she was locked in, the familiar surroundings of her bedroom warped and distorted by the dim light filtering through the slats. A desperate urge to pee gnawed at her, the sensation growing stronger with each passing moment. Olivia squirmed, her diaper rustling with her movements, but there was no escape. Tears welled up in her eyes as she succumbed to the inevitable, the warmth spreading through her diaper a humiliating reminder of her helplessness. The door creaked open, and Lucille entered, her silhouette framed by the dim light. Her eyes gleamed as she took in the sight of Olivia, trapped and soiled in the crib. “Ah, my little baby,” she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Did you have an accident? Such a shame. But don’t worry, Mommy’s here to take care of you.” Olivia clenched her fists, her cheeks burning with shame and anger. “Let me out of here!” she demanded, her voice a mixture of defiance and desperation. Lucille chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down Olivia’s spine. “Not yet, my dear,” she purred. “First, we need to have a little chat.” She walked over to the crib, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. Olivia shrank back, her body pressed against the cold bars. Lucille leaned over the crib, her face mere inches from Olivia’s. “You see, Olivia,” she said, her voice soft and insidious, “this is your true nature. Helpless, dependent, in need of a mommy to change your dirty diaper.” Olivia’s eyes flashed with anger. “I’m not a baby!” she hissed. “I’m a grown woman, a scientist!” Lucille smiled, a wicked glint in her eyes. “That’s what you think, my dear. But deep down, you crave this. You crave the comfort of a diaper, the security of being taken care of, the thrill of submission.” Olivia wanted to scream, to deny everything Lucille was saying, but the words died in her throat. A part of her, a small, insidious part, whispered in agreement. Lucille reached into the crib, her fingers gently tracing the outline of Olivia’s diaper. “Don’t fight it, Olivia,” she purred. “Embrace it. Embrace your true self. You’ll see, it’s much more fun to be bad.” A strange sensation washed over Olivia, a mixture of shame, excitement, and surrender. She closed her eyes, her body trembling as Lucille unlatched the crib and lifted her out. “That’s it, my little baby,” Lucille crooned, her voice a hypnotic lullaby. “Let Mommy take care of you.” She carried Olivia to the desk, where the strange contraption hummed with an unsettling energy. Lucille placed a helmet on Olivia’s head, its cold metal pressing against her temples. “Now, my dear,” she whispered, her voice filled with anticipation. “Let’s explore your deepest desires together.” The world around Olivia dissolved into a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, her consciousness slipping away into the realm of dreams. The chill of the helmet pressed against Olivia’s skin, plunging her into the swirling chaos of the dream realm. She found herself in a dimly lit classroom, the air thick with the scent of chalk and old books. Rows of wooden desks faced a blackboard covered in complex equations and diagrams. Olivia was seated at one of the desks, her legs dangling above the floor. She was wearing a school uniform, a pleated skirt and a white blouse, but the most noticeable feature was the thick diaper peeking out from under the hem of her skirt. A figure stood at the front of the classroom, a stern-looking woman with wire-rimmed glasses and a tight bun. It was Professor Lucille, her voice booming across the room as she lectured on the intricacies of quantum mechanics. “Now, Miss Olivia,” she said, her gaze fixing on Olivia with a disapproving frown. “Can you explain to the class the principles of quantum entanglement?” Olivia squirmed in her seat, her face flushed with embarrassment. She had no idea what quantum entanglement was, and the diaper bulging between her legs made it difficult to concentrate. “I… I don’t know, Professor,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible. Professor Lucille sighed, a sound of exasperation mixed with a hint of amusement. “Of course you don’t, you silly girl,” she said, her voice softening. “You’ve been too busy playing with your dollies and wetting your diaper.” A wave of shame washed over Olivia. She knew Professor Lucille was right; she had been neglecting her studies, her mind preoccupied with childish fantasies and the comfort of a full diaper. “But don’t worry, Olivia,” Professor Lucille continued, her voice taking on a seductive purr. “I’m here to help you. I’m here to teach you all about the wonders of science… and the joys of diaper submission.” She walked towards Olivia, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. Olivia shrank back in her seat, her heart pounding in her chest. Professor Lucille stopped beside Olivia’s desk, her hand reaching out to gently stroke Olivia’s hair. “You’re such a bright girl, Olivia,” she whispered. “But you need discipline. You need guidance. You need… a firm hand.” Olivia felt a shiver run down her spine, a mixture of fear and excitement. She knew what was coming, and a part of her, a dark, forbidden part, craved it. Professor Lucille stepped back, her gaze intense and unwavering. “Stand up, Olivia,” she commanded. Trembling, Olivia pushed herself up from her chair, her legs shaking beneath her. She was fully aware of the obscene sight she must have presented, her diaper sagging heavily between her legs, a wet patch spreading across the front. “Bend over your desk,” Professor Lucille instructed. Olivia did as she was told, her hands gripping the edge of the wooden desk as she leaned forward, her bottom thrust out. She could feel the cold air on her diaper, the material still damp from her earlier accidents. Professor Lucille moved behind her, her steps measured and deliberate. Olivia closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable. The first slap came down hard, the impact echoing through the classroom. Olivia gasped, her body jolting forward. The sharp pain radiated through her, a stark contrast to the comforting warmth of her diaper. Another slap followed, and another. Each one stung, the pain building with every strike. Olivia couldn’t help but moan, her body writhing beneath the assault. “Is this what you need, Olivia?” Professor Lucille asked, her voice thick with desire. “Discipline? Control?” “Yessss,” Olivia whimpered, the word barely audible. She was beyond shame now, beyond embarrassment. She was lost in the sensations, her body betraying her with each whimper and moan. Professor Lucille continued the spanking, each slap harder and more intense than the last. Olivia could feel her diaper growing even wetter, the heat from her punishment mixing with the warmth of her excretions and the heat from how horny she was getting. Eventually, Professor Lucille stopped, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Olivia’s bottom and princess parts were a throbbing mess, her body aching with the abuse. “Very good, Olivia,” Professor Lucille said, her voice soft and comforting. “You have learned your lesson.” Olivia stayed bent over the desk, too exhausted to move. She could feel the trickle of wetness trailing down her legs, her diaper now thoroughly soaked and leaking. In that moment, she belonged to Professor Lucille. She was her student, her submissive, her plaything. She had surrendered herself completely, her body and her mind. And she had never felt so alive. Suddenly, the classroom vanished, the scent of chalk and the echoing lecture fading into oblivion. Olivia gasped, her eyes flying open as the helmet was removed from her head. The dream’s lingering warmth clung to her skin, a stark contrast to the cool air of her bedroom. Lucille loomed over her, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. “Well, my dear,” she purred, “it seems you’ve discovered a hidden talent for academic submission.” Olivia recoiled, a wave of revulsion washing over her. The memory of her dream-self, the meek student eager for punishment, filled her with shame and disgust. “No,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. “That’s not me. That’s not who I am.” Lucille chuckled, her voice dripping with condescension. “Don’t be so naive, Olivia,” she chided. “That is who you are, deep down. You crave authority, discipline, the thrill of surrendering to a dominant figure.” Olivia shook her head vehemently, her eyes blazing with defiance. “You’re wrong,” she insisted. “This is just a dream, a twisted fantasy you’ve implanted in my mind.” Lucille raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “Oh, is it?” she challenged. “Then why is your heart racing? Why are your cheeks flushed? Why can’t you deny the undeniable pleasure you felt in that classroom?” Olivia’s resolve wavered. The lingering warmth of the dream, the memory of Professor Lucille’s firm hand, the thrill of submission… it was all too real, too intoxicating. “This isn’t me,” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. But even as she said the words, a seed of doubt had been planted in her mind. Lucille leaned closer, her breath warm against Olivia’s ear. “Don’t fight it, Olivia,” she whispered. “Embrace it. Embrace your true self. You’ll see, it’s much more fun to be bad.” The helmet descended once more, its cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of Lucille’s touch. Olivia braced herself, unsure of what awaited her in the depths of her subconscious this time. The world dissolved into a dizzying vortex of colors and shapes, before solidifying into a starkly different scene. She found herself in a grand ballroom, chandeliers glittering overhead, the air filled with the strains of a waltz. But Olivia was not a guest at this elegant affair. She was dressed as a maid, her uniform crisp and starched, a frilly apron tied around her waist. A diaper peeked out from beneath her skirt, a stark reminder of her subservient role. Across the room, a figure stood out from the swirling crowd of dancers. It was Lady Lucille, resplendent in a flowing gown, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watched Olivia navigate the crowded room, a tray of champagne flutes balanced precariously in her hands. Olivia’s cheeks burned with embarrassment as she stumbled, her diaper rustling with her every movement. The guests snickered and whispered as she made her way towards Lady Lucille, her heart pounding in her chest. “Ah, there you are, my little maid,” Lady Lucille purred, her voice a seductive melody. “I see you’re having a bit of trouble with your duties.” Olivia lowered her head, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I apologize, my lady,” she stammered. “I’ll be more careful next time.” Lady Lucille chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down Olivia’s spine. “No need to apologize, my dear,” she said, her voice softening. “Accidents happen, especially to clumsy little maids who can’t seem to keep their diapers dry.” Olivia’s face flushed crimson. She could feel the warmth spreading through her diaper, a humiliating reminder of her inadequacy. Lady Lucille reached out, her fingers gently lifting Olivia’s chin. “But don’t worry, my dear,” she whispered, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I have a special task for you, a task that will require all of your… unique talents.” Lady Lucille led Olivia through the throng of dancers, her grip firm on Olivia’s arm. They reached a secluded alcove, hidden from the prying eyes of the guests. The air here was thick with the scent of perfume and something else, something primal and intoxicating. “You see, Olivia,” Lady Lucille began, her voice barely above a whisper, “I have a… particular interest in those who find pleasure in serving others. Those who revel in their own submission, who find joy in fulfilling their master’s every whim.” Olivia’s breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew where this was going, and a part of her, a part she had desperately tried to suppress, thrilled at the prospect. Lady Lucille’s hand trailed down Olivia’s arm, her fingers lingering on the curve of her hip. “I’ve heard whispers,” she continued, her voice a seductive purr, “of a brilliant scientist who has a secret, a hidden desire for something… more.” Olivia’s cheeks burned with shame, but she couldn’t deny the truth in Lady Lucille’s words. The dreams, the fantasies, the forbidden desires… they were all bubbling to the surface, threatening to consume her. “Don’t be afraid, Olivia,” Lady Lucille whispered, her breath warm against Olivia’s ear. “Embrace your desires. Embrace your submission. Embrace your diaper.” Her hand slipped under Olivia’s skirt, her fingers brushing against the damp warmth of the diaper. Olivia gasped, her body tensing, but a wave of pleasure washed over her, erasing all thoughts of resistance. Lady Lucille smiled, a wicked glint in her eyes. “There you are, my little pet,” she purred. “Let me show you how truly wonderful it can be to serve.” Lady Lucille’s fingers trailed along the wet fabric of the diaper, making Olivia shiver with desire. She could feel her heart racing, her breathing shallow and ragged as the older woman continued to touch her. “You like that, don’t you?” Lady Lucille murmured in her ear, her breath hot and heavy. “Feeling my fingers on your wet diaper?” Olivia could only nod, too overwhelmed with pleasure to speak. She had never felt anything like this before – the combination of shame, excitement, and arousal was intoxicating. Lady Lucille’s other hand reached up to caress Olivia’s breast, her thumb circling the nipple through the fabric of her dress. “Such a good girl,” she whispered, her voice low and sultry. “So eager to please, so willing to submit.” Olivia felt herself sinking deeper into the pleasure, her mind clouded with thoughts of servitude and desire. She wanted nothing more than to please Lady Lucille, to do whatever she asked of her. “Take off your panties,” Lady Lucille commanded, her voice firm and authoritative. “Let me see your diaper.” Olivia’s hands trembled as she obeyed, sliding her panties down her legs and stepping out of them. She stood there, exposed and vulnerable, her diaper on display for Lady Lucille to see. “Such a good girl,” Lady Lucille murmured again, her hand reaching down to stroke the wet fabric of the diaper. “So obedient, so eager to please.” Olivia felt herself melting under the older woman’s touch, her body trembling with pleasure. She had never felt anything like this before, never experienced such intense arousal and submission. “Now, go back to the party,” Lady Lucille said, her voice still firm but with a hint of amusement. “But remember, you belong to me now. You are my pet, my submissive, my little girl in diapers.” Olivia nodded, her mind still reeling with pleasure and desire. She turned and walked back to the party, her diaper wet and heavy between her legs, her mind focused on Lady Lucille and the new world of pleasure she had opened up for her. The opulent ballroom dissolved into a hazy blur, replaced by the stark familiarity of Olivia’s bedroom. The helmet was gone, the echo of Lady Lucille’s seductive voice fading into a distant memory. Olivia blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. The sensation of the wet diaper between her legs remained, a tangible reminder of the dream’s intense reality. A wave of shame washed over her, followed by a pang of longing. She touched her cheeks, still flushed from the dream’s passionate encounter, and the denial rose within her. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head fiercely. “This isn’t me. It can’t be.” Yet, the memory of Lady Lucille’s touch, her whispered promises of pleasure and submission, lingered in Olivia’s mind like a tempting siren song. The logical part of her, the scientist, rebelled against these newfound desires. But another part, a darker, more primal aspect, yearned to succumb to the forbidden thrill. Lucille watched Olivia’s internal struggle with amusement. “Still clinging to your illusions, my dear?” she asked, her voice a silky thread weaving through the silence. “Denial is a powerful tool, but it won’t shield you from the truth forever.” Olivia clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. “This is wrong,” she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re manipulating me, twisting my mind.” Lucille tilted her head, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Am I, Olivia?” she countered. “Or am I simply revealing what’s been hidden within you all along?” Olivia’s resolve wavered, her mind caught in a tug-of-war between reason and desire. She longed to believe that this was all a twisted game, a cruel trick played by a manipulative demon. But deep down, a gnawing doubt gnawed at her. “You’re lying,” she insisted, her voice a desperate plea for reassurance. “This isn’t who I am.” Lucille’s smile widened, her eyes glittering with triumph. “We’ll see about that, my dear,” she purred. “The night is young, and we have so much more to explore.” The helmet’s familiar weight settled upon Olivia’s head, and the world around her dissolved once more. This time, she found herself in a brightly lit playroom, filled with toys and colorful decorations. But the atmosphere was far from cheerful. Olivia was seated in a high chair, a bib tied around her neck, a half-eaten bowl of mush in front of her. She wore a baby blue onesie, and a thick diaper bulged between her legs. A stern-faced woman in a nanny uniform stood before her, a spoonful of mush hovering in the air. “Eat up, Olivia,” she commanded, her voice firm but laced with a hint of amusement. “Big girls need to finish their dinner if they want to grow up strong and healthy.” Olivia scowled, pushing the spoon away with a petulant whine. “I don’t wanna,” she mumbled, her voice thick with defiance. Nanny Lucille’s smile tightened. “Oh, but you will,” she insisted, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “You’re a naughty little girl who needs to learn some manners. And I know just the way to teach you.” She set the spoon aside and reached for a wooden paddle hanging on the wall. Olivia’s eyes widened in alarm as Nanny Lucille approached, the paddle held menacingly in her hand. “This will teach you a lesson, young lady,” Nanny Lucille declared, her voice dripping with mock disapproval. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before disobeying your nanny.” The paddle connected with Olivia’s bottom, a sharp sting that sent a shockwave through her body. Tears welled up in her eyes, but a strange heat bloomed in her core, a mixture of pain, humiliation, and a forbidden thrill. Nanny Lucille continued her discipline, each strike of the paddle igniting a conflicting symphony of sensations within Olivia. She whimpered and cried, yet a part of her reveled in the punishment, her body responding with a growing warmth and a tingling arousal. “There, there,” Nanny Lucille cooed, her voice a soothing balm as she set the paddle aside. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Now, are you going to be a good girl and finish your dinner?” Olivia nodded meekly, her cheeks flushed with shame and a strange excitement. She opened her mouth as Nanny Lucille scooped up another spoonful of mush, a flicker of defiance still burning in her eyes, yet her body already yielding to the intoxicating power of submission. The playroom scene dissolved, leaving Olivia blinking in the dim light of her bedroom once more. The helmet was gone, the echo of Nanny Lucille’s stern voice and the sting of the paddle fading into a disturbing memory. She was still in her onesie, the diaper heavy and warm between her legs. The lingering sensation of the spanking, a mix of humiliation and a strange warmth, sent a shiver down her spine. “Well?” Lucille’s voice cut through the silence, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Did you enjoy your little lesson, my dear?” Olivia recoiled, her cheeks burning with shame and confusion. “No,” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. “This isn’t me. It can’t be.” Lucille chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down Olivia’s spine. “Oh, but it is, my dear,” she purred. “These are your dreams, Olivia. Your desires. Your fantasies.” Olivia shook her head vehemently, her eyes wide with disbelief. “No,” she insisted. “This is just some twisted trick you’re playing on me. I’m not like this.” Lucille leaned closer, her eyes boring into Olivia’s. “Are you so sure?” she challenged. “Why else would you dream of such things? Why else would your body respond with such… enthusiasm?” Olivia’s resolve wavered. She couldn’t deny the strange pleasure she had experienced in the dream, the conflicting emotions that had stirred within her. Could Lucille be right? Were these truly her hidden desires, her deepest fantasies? “Don’t fight it, Olivia,” Lucille whispered, her voice a seductive caress. “Embrace it. Embrace your true self. Embrace your little girl side.” Olivia opened her mouth to protest, but the words caught in her throat. A part of her, a small, vulnerable part, yearned to believe Lucille. Yearned to surrender to the comfort and security of being a helpless little girl in a diaper. But another part of her, the scientist, the rational thinker, screamed in defiance. This couldn’t be her. This couldn’t be what she wanted. Lucille watched Olivia’s internal struggle with amusement. “The choice is yours, my dear,” she purred. “You can continue to deny your true desires, or you can embrace them. The decision is yours.” The helmet’s familiar chill once again enveloped Olivia’s head, and her surroundings dissolved into a swirling vortex. This time, she found herself standing on a sun-drenched beach, the warm sand between her toes, the salty breeze tousling her hair. But something was different. Olivia was clad in a bright pink bikini, her body tanned and toned. Yet, beneath the skimpy fabric, a thick diaper bulged prominently, its outline unmistakable. A giggle escaped her lips as she ran towards the sparkling waves, the diaper crinkling with every step. A group of friends waved to her from the shore, their laughter echoing across the beach. Olivia plunged into the water, relishing the cool embrace of the ocean. But as she swam, a strange sensation spread through her diaper – a warmth, a wetness, a sense of fullness. Emerging from the waves, Olivia felt a pang of excitement mixed with a hint of embarrassment. She knew her diaper was soaked, but instead of shame, a thrill coursed through her veins. She waddled back to her friends, the diaper sagging heavily between her legs. To her surprise, her friends didn’t mock or tease her. Instead, they showered her with compliments, their eyes filled with admiration. “You look so cute in that diaper, Olivia!” one of them exclaimed. “It’s like you’re a little baby again.” Olivia giggled, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. The feeling of the wet diaper against her skin, the attention from her friends, the undeniable thrill of being babied – it was all so intoxicating. She spent the rest of the day playing in the sand, building sandcastles and splashing in the waves, her diaper growing heavier and messier with each passing hour. But the discomfort was outweighed by the sheer joy of embracing her newfound freedom, of reveling in the childish abandon that the diaper represented. As the sun began to set, Olivia’s friends gathered around her, their faces glowing with warmth and acceptance. “We love you, Olivia,” they chorused, their voices filled with genuine affection. “And we love your diapers.” Olivia beamed, her heart swelling with happiness. This was it, she realized. This was what she truly wanted. The freedom to embrace her childish side, to revel in the comfort and security of a diaper, to be loved and accepted for who she was, messy diaper and all. As the beach scene began to fade, a realization dawned upon Olivia. This wasn’t just a dream; it was a reflection of her deepest desires, her hidden yearnings. The joy she had felt, the acceptance, the pure, unadulterated pleasure of embracing her childish side – it was all real, all hers. Lucille, sensing the shift in Olivia’s demeanor, paused mid-motion, the helmet hovering inches above her head. “What is it, my dear?” she asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. Olivia’s eyes snapped open, her gaze meeting Lucille’s with newfound clarity. The shame, the denial, the confusion – it all melted away, replaced by a sense of liberation. “I see it now,” Olivia whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “I see what you’ve been trying to show me all along.” A slow smile spread across Lucille’s face, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Do you, my dear?” she purred. “And what is it that you see?” Olivia took a deep breath, the words pouring out of her like a dam bursting. “I see that I’m not the person I thought I was. I’m not just a scientist, a rational thinker. I’m also a little girl, a playful, curious, sometimes messy little girl who loves her diapers.” Lucille nodded, her smile widening. “Yes, my dear,” she affirmed. “That’s exactly who you are.” Olivia continued, her voice growing stronger with each word. “I see that I don’t have to hide anymore. I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not. I can embrace my desires, my fantasies, my love for diapers.” Lucille lowered the helmet, her touch gentle as she removed it from Olivia’s head. “You are free, Olivia,” she whispered, her voice filled with warmth and encouragement. “Free to be yourself. Free to be the little girl you’ve always been.” Olivia smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that lit up her face. She looked down at her diaper, no longer a source of shame, but a symbol of her newfound freedom. “Thank you, Lucille,” she said, her voice filled with gratitude. “Thank you for showing me the truth.” Lucille returned the smile, her eyes filled with affection. “You’re welcome, my dear,” she said. “Now, go and play. Be the little girl you were always meant to be.” And with that, Olivia, clad in her onesie and diaper, skipped out of the room, her heart filled with joy and a newfound sense of self-acceptance. A wave of euphoria washed over Olivia as she skipped down the hallway, her diaper swishing with every step. But as she rounded a corner, a sense of unease crept over her. The familiar decor of her house seemed off, the colors too vibrant, the proportions distorted. A chilling realization struck her: this wasn’t real. She was still dreaming, still trapped in the illusion crafted by Lucille’s insidious device. The joy she had felt moments ago turned to dread as she understood the implications. “Lucille!” she cried out, her voice echoing through the empty hallway. “This is a dream! I know it is!” A giggle echoed behind her, and Lucille materialized from the shadows, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Very clever, my dear,” she purred. “But even in your dreams, you can’t escape the truth.” Olivia whirled around, her heart pounding in her chest. “Let me out of here!” she demanded, her voice a mixture of fear and defiance. Lucille raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. “Oh, but you are out, my dear,” she countered. “You’re right where you belong.” With a flick of her wrist, Lucille removed the helmet from Olivia’s head. The dream world shattered, the vibrant colors fading into the familiar darkness of the bedroom. Olivia found herself back in the crib, her onesie damp and clinging to her skin. The realization of her predicament, the undeniable truth of her desires, hit her like a tidal wave. “No,” she whimpered, tears welling up in her eyes. “This can’t be real. This can’t be who I am.” Suddenly, the world around Olivia transformed once again, the familiar chill of the helmet pressing against her temples as she entered a new dream realm. This time, she found herself in a lavish bedroom, the air filled with the sweet scent of jasmine and musk. The room was dimly lit, casting a seductive glow over the scene unfolding before her. Lucille stood before her, a sultry smile playing on her lips as she gazed at Olivia with hunger in her eyes. Lucille was dressed in a sheer robe that barely concealed her curves, the fabric clinging to her skin in all the right places. Olivia’s heart raced at the sight, a mixture of desire and trepidation swirling inside her. “Welcome, my dear Olivia,” Lucille purred, her voice sending shivers down Olivia’s spine. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Olivia’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight before her. She was no longer the innocent student or in a classroom or a maid in a ball; she was now a willing participant in a seductive game of pleasure and submission. Lucille approached Olivia, her hand reaching out to caress Olivia’s cheek with a feather-light touch. Olivia’s skin tingled at the contact, her body responding to the intimate gesture. “You’re such a good girl, Olivia,” Lucille whispered, her words a tantalizing promise of what was to come. “Let me take care of you.” With a deft movement, Lucille lowered Olivia to the plush bed, her hands expertly undoing Olivia’s clothing until she was left in nothing but her soaked diaper. Olivia’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment and arousal, a heady mix of emotions swirling inside her. Lucille’s touch was electric as she traced a path down Olivia’s body, her fingers dancing over the wet fabric of the diaper. Olivia couldn’t help but moan at the sensation, her body arching instinctively towards Lucille’s touch. “Such a naughty girl,” Lucille murmured, her voice a husky whisper. “Let’s see just how wet you can get for me.” With skillful fingers, Lucille began to rub Olivia’s pussy through the diaper, eliciting gasps of pleasure from Olivia’s lips. The fabric became slick with Olivia’s arousal, the friction sending waves of pleasure through her body. But Lucille wasn’t done yet. She produced a vibrator, the buzzing sound filling the room with anticipation. Placing it against the soaked diaper, she teased Olivia with the vibrating sensation, driving her wild with need. Olivia’s hips moved involuntarily, aching for more stimulation, more release. Lucille watched with a wicked gleam in her eyes, enjoying the sight of Olivia squirming under her touch. “Such a good girl,” Lucille cooed, increasing the intensity of the vibrator against the soaked fabric. Olivia’s moans grew louder, her body on the edge of ecstasy. And then, with a devious smile, Lucille presented a giant teddy bear, its plush form inviting and enticing. She guided Olivia’s hips towards the bear, urging her to hump the soft toy with abandon. Olivia couldn’t resist the overwhelming urge, the combination of the vibrator, the soaked diaper, and the commanding presence of Lucille pushing her towards a mind-blowing climax. She rode the teddy bear with abandon, her body shaking with pleasure as she reached the peak of ecstasy. As Olivia’s body trembled with release, the sensations washing over her like a tidal wave, she felt a sense of liberation unlike anything she had experienced before. In that moment, she let go of all inhibitions, all reservations, and surrendered to the intoxicating pleasure of the dream. The room faded away as the helmet was lifted from Olivia’s head, leaving her breathless and exhilarated. The memory of the dream lingered, a potent mix of desire and arousal that left Olivia questioning everything she thought she knew about herself. Lucille leaned over the crib, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “But it is real, my dear,” she purred, echoing Olivia’s words from moments before she went into her dream. “And it is exactly who you are.” She reached into the crib, her fingers gently tracing the outline of Olivia’s soaked diaper. “You see, Olivia,” she continued, her voice a soothing melody, “your tears, your denial, it was all part of the process. You were fighting against the truth, clinging to an outdated image of yourself.” Lucille’s touch sent a shiver down Olivia’s spine, a strange mixture of shame and pleasure. “But now,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, “you’ve seen the light. You’ve experienced the joy, the freedom, the pure bliss of embracing your inner little girl.” Olivia’s gaze fell to her diaper, the physical manifestation of her surrender. A tear rolled down her cheek, but this time, it wasn’t a tear of despair. It was a tear of acceptance, of release. She had fought against the truth for so long, but now, finally, she understood. This was who she was, this was what she wanted. And as the tears streamed down her face, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She was a little girl, a messy, playful, diaper-loving little girl. And she was finally home with Mummy Lucille. The End. You can read more of my stories on my deviantart page or my site.

Another addition to my "Ashley's House" story line! This addition is different from the other two, which are linked below,

Does anyone else get turned on by diaper punishment?

Warning: This story involves light diaper punishment that involves the descriptive usage focused primarily but not exclusively on messing. You are an 18-year-old boy in a modest suburban household with a loving mother and father that only want the best for you. You’re a typical teenager and are eager to graduate high school and move out and experience adulthood. As your graduation date comes closer, you find out you failed your math class. Worry hits you as you wonder if you’ll be able to graduate on time. As you walk home for the weekend, you can’t help but wonder if your parents will find out about it. As you open the door of the house, you say hello to your mom and go up to your room. You’re eager to hide from her and your father so as not to have a difficult discussion about your grades. You know from past experiences that a punishment may be in order but you hold out hope it doesn’t come to that. As you sit in your room in hiding, your parents are relaxing in the living room when they get a call. It’s your math teacher. As your parents hear about your failing grade in class, they are shocked. They are eager to talk to you about this but decide to wait until tomorrow. Your father agrees that your mom will handle it. Despite it only being 7 o clock, you choose not go down for dinner and instead stay in your room until its late, and you fall asleep until the next day. In the morning, after your father heads off for work for the day, you sneak downstairs and make some breakfast and immediately head back up to your room. Trying your best to avoid your problems, you play your video games until it’s lunch time and decide to head down. As you reach the dining room table, you see your mother standing in the distance, staring directly at you. “Hungry?” she says. You respond, “Uh... Sure.” She proceeds to make a sandwich for you and her. As she’s preparing your sandwich, she takes out a bottle of liquid laxatives and pours it all over your sandwich meats, cheese and bread and lightly wipes it off. She also coats it in MiraLAX powder. As she closes up your sandwich and brings both to the table, she says “Okay, honey, let’s eat!” None the wiser, you start eating your sandwich and fail to recognize the odd taste difference. While enjoying your lunch, your mom looks over at you and broaches the subject you’ve been dreading. “So, honey... How have you been doing in school lately?” You start to panic, your brows starting to lightly sweat as fear takes over. “My classes are... going well. I’m already starting to look at colleges and looking forward to moving out.” She sighs and says, “Are you sure it’s going well? Don’t lie to me.” You grit your teeth and then blurt out, “Fine... I’m failing a class right now. Math. But I think I can still graduate on time.” She kindly responds, “Just as I thought! We heard from your teacher and are well aware of your failing grade. We hope you know what this means. You can only learn once in life how to not make mistakes.” You ponder what she means by that but continue eating your sandwich. She says, “Honey, a punishment is in order for you. It’s the only way you’ll learn. Unfortunately, after 10 years of having done this, it has to be done again.” You start to panic, remembering exactly what happened back at the age of 8. “You’re going to put me back in diapers?” you say. “That’s right” she says. “And you’ll be expected to use them for their intended purposes, too. This is to teach you a lesson for lying to us and not focusing hard enough in school.” As you finish your sandwich, hands trembling out of fear, your mom gets up and tells you “Come over here, let’s get started.” Aware that resistance will get you in even worse punishment, you oblige and follow her to the center of the living room where an object lies on the floor. As you look down at it, you recognize it from 10 years ago. You’re shocked your parents still kept it all these years. You look down... at your old baby changing pad. Your mom orders you to lie down and proceeds to take your clothes off. As she does this, you feel a sudden urge to go poop. You start to panic and you say to your mom, “Um.. Mom... I really need to go poop. Can you please just let me use the restroom? I don’t want to mess my pants.” Your mom responds, “Too bad! You should’ve thought about that before lying to us and failing your class.” She proceeds to diaper her son, fitting him into one of his old size 7 Pampers diapers that happens to still fit since he hasn’t had a massive growth spurt yet and is still quite small. As she closes his diaper up, he starts to feel an increased urgency to poop and begins to panic, fearful of having an accident in his diaper right in front of his mom. After finishing diapering her son, she helps him back up and tells him how his punishment will work. “You are to stand by the wall and make a mess in your diaper. You will have 10 minutes to do this and if I don’t see a gift for me when I get back, I will come back with a solution that will make it happen. She sends you to the wall as you prepare to hold with all your might so as not to humiliate yourself in front of your mom. As you arrive facing the wall, the contractions start to hit you and you start to feel an urgent need to poop. You try to close your legs and butt cheeks to prevent it from coming out but your mom sees this and forces your legs apart. After doing this, she walks away and says, “10 minutes! Remember what I said. I’ll be back then to check on your progress.” A few minutes into the treatment, stronger contractions to poop start to overwhelm you. You bite your lip as you try with maximum intensity to hold back the urge to mess. You refuse to be humiliated by your mom just because of an F grade in your math class. As the 5-minute mark passes, you begin to gain some confidence. While the contractions are still coming, they aren’t increasing in intensity. You feel you can hold it. After another 3 minutes, a more intense contraction comes. You clench your hand into the wall and hold, and the urge eventually subsides as you sigh with relief, panting heavily. The final 2 minutes count down and run out and you’re happy you’ve been able to hold it. However, you start to wonder what your mom meant by ‘solution...’ As the 10-minute punishment comes to an end, your mom walks in, hoping to smell the new package that has entered your disposable pants. However, she is disappointed to see you still haven’t performed for her. As she walks up to you and taps you on your shoulder to turn around, she looks at you with a calm and angelic face and says, “Well, I see my little boy is having trouble going poo poo.” “It’s okay, honey, I’ve got the perfect solution to get you going so you can no longer be in pain.” She takes your hand and leads you to center of the living room where a towel has been placed down. Surprised, you say “What is this for?” She quickly responds, “Don’t you worry, baby, mommy will make it all better soon enough.” Your mom gently moves her hand to your stomach and pushes you down so you fall gently to the ground on top of the towel. She says “Just relax and mommy will make the pain go away.” You start to panic, eager not to mess yourself in front of your mom. You see her reach your shirt and lift it up slightly exposing your stomach. She starts to massage your stomach and sphincter in a circular motion repeatedly, working to cause a sudden urge to evacuate your bowels. Your panic grows as you start to feel things moving in your stomach. You’re eager to break free from her massaging but you’re afraid what she will do so you stay put, hopeless to what is soon to come. After a few minutes, you start to feel a large wave of movement in your stomach and a very strong urge starts to develop to pass a load. You start sweating but are unable to move as she continues to massage your stomach. Moments later, an even stronger urge to poop comes and you immediately sit up slightly. Your mom doesn’t stop you as she knows what’s coming next. On the verge of tears, you instinctively start to push as a huge load of poop starts to make its way into your diaper right as you sit in front of your mom. You don’t even have enough time to sit up slightly as you start pooping your diaper directly sitting on the ground, causing it to mash up immediately as it spreads all over you and your diaper. The contractions increase as you push harder and harder as you lose control of your bowels. As you’re doing this, you hear in the background from your mom, “Oh, good baby! Making poopies for mommy!” You’re still mid-push when an even heavier contraction comes and the rest of the load starts to empty your sphincter and drop into your diaper. By this point, your diaper is a complete mess and the load is mushed up all over the place. A soft load of mush begins to enter your diaper as the messing starts to come to an end. Finally, finished with messing your diaper, you start to feel an urge to pee. Eager to stop the flow, you move your hand over your crotch, but your mom sees this and quickly swats your hand away and says, “No, sweetie. You must use your diapers for their intended purposes. It’s time to finish.” Hearing this, you start to panic and suddenly, you feel a wave of pee rushing into your very messy diaper as it quickly becomes completely soaked. As the urges finally stop, you finally have some time to take in what just happened. You burst into tears and cry out for, “Mommy!...” Your mom, sitting right next to you, hears this and immediately takes your hand and says, “Oh, did my baby boy make messies? Mommy will make you better! Let’s go get you cleaned up and sent to bed!” She takes your hand and gets you back up on your feet. You feel the weight of your very mashed, messy and wet diaper weighing you down, disgusted at the feat you just did in the most humiliating way. She then leads you to a changing pad she has down at the opposite side of the living room, almost like she knew this would happen before it even started. As your mom lifts you up to change you, you’re thankful for once today. You’re thankful the icky mess is finally going to be cleaned up, and you don’t care you’re being put into yet another diaper because at least you’ll be clean and dry. Your mom takes your shirt off and proceeds to open up your absolutely ruined diaper. “Oh, my! Baby made a big boom boom for me today!” she says. Your mom cleans you up and prepares a new Pampers diaper for you to be put into. Reserved to your fate, you sit there, eagerly awaiting being back on the ground so you can finish your day. Before your mom closes up the diaper, she gets something out of her purse and inserts it into your rectum. You shudder with pain and fear. “What did she just put in me?” you wonder. She closes your diaper and sits you up on the changing pad and says, “There we go, sweetheart! Clean diaper! Now, it’s time for bed! And don’t you worry, baby. I gave you something to help you go overnight. And there will no bathroom for you for quite some time, so don’t even try it!” You start to panic, unsure what she put in your butt, sure you’re likely to have another accident overnight. You long to be able to use the bathroom but you know you’ll be severely punished even worse if you even attempt it. She takes your hand and leads you to your bed and, while she tucks you in, says, “Don’t you forget, baby! The bathroom door is locked and you are to USE your diaper for all bathroom needs. Do not challenge me or your Dad will make you regret it. Good night!” You drift asleep and the day comes to an end.

Hihi! Been gone a while. Sorry to anybody who rped w/ me before I left, I got super swamped w/ work and other responsibilities(moving house, finding another job, etc). I’m usually Little but I don’t mind doing Daddy rps too as long as we both get to be CGs. I usually do advanced/at least one paragraph RP, personally(or at least more than a sentence or two). I find sexual stuff very uncomfy in this kinda thing(just found that out p recently) so..yeah, I’d rather not do that. Sorry. My Likes/stuff I usually like while RPing as a “Little”/baby: -Humiliation(being made to talk cutely in public or just in general, being changed/checked in a public place, etc) -Babytalk & lots of cooing -Sissification -Being restrained gently/in cushy restraints so baby doesn’t go anywhere or do anything too complicated I’m usually very much into scenarios where my character is unwillingly padded by a co-worker or subordinate or someone who’s younger than them, but if you’d rather not do that, I can always compromise. Being diapered at work/by a co-worker in an office setting and having to submit to daily checks/diaper-changes in said co-worker’s office is just a nice idea imo, bonus points if my character is yours’ boss and yet he’s been forced into diapers like a big baby(idk, the juxtaposition of wearing a suit over a nice, cozy didi is nice, especially if the slacks are pulled down to expose that diaper~). I’m also ok with doing more than one RP so we both get babied(like..I do one where I’m babied and I baby your character in another RP). Thanks for reading this super long post :3 and please comment or message me if you want to RP.

(Hi! I would like resume this roleplay keeping tones and the tags of the first part. Is someone interested?) Samuel is a spolit and rude 10 years old boy, whom his mother can not longer ménage. One afternoon in which he come home during school hours accompanied by a police man, because he was accused of stealing a videogame, his mother decided that it’s too mutch. Then she search someone who give her some advice about how to correct her mistakes in the boy’s education. Some hours after nunny Alexandra responds to their ad proposing a particular educational system. (I'd like play the role of Samuel, I can play nanny Alexandra role too if you want, the role play start with Samuel who is accompanied by a policeman in front of the door of his house. Please don't write short answer but be descriptive) P.S.

Hello everyone, This is the first chapter of my latest story. This is currently being published chapter by chapter on my Patreon and will be available in its entirety later this year. You can find the latest chapters at patreon.com/alex_bridges. All characters are 18+ Chapter 1 It’s not like I did it on purpose. I’m not sorry, but it’s not like I did it on purpose. I babysit three times a week on average, more like five times in the summer. I want to pay for as much of college as I can in cash, and childcare pays better than retail or waiting tables. Especially now that schools keep opening and closing, parents are desperate for a night away. For me, an opportunity to make more money, which I need. I’m not going to risk my reputation as the best sitter in town just because of a little mix up. “Hi, Mrs. Rooney,” I said when she opened the door. “Hi, Sally. Come on in. Thanks for coming over on short notice.” I followed her into her kitchen; the Rooneys always have good stuff in the fridge. I didn’t get where I am as a sitter by abusing fridge privileges, but I don’t pass up the benefit either. She was dressed to the nines. I never asked, but it always seemed like she and Mr. Rooney must be going someplace expensive. Just based on their house alone, they must be one of the richer families I sit for. They’re not wealthy, but they got the upper-middle-class thing down pat. Literally the only people I know whose entryway it an actual room. “Always happy to when I can,” I replied, “I like Jamie and Jackie.” Well behaved kids, easy to get along with. “O, they’re both at friends’ houses tonight. It’ll just be you and Gordy tonight. Is that okay?” Like I couldn’t tell this ‘misunderstanding’ was totally on purpose. She had this guilty, pleading look on her face, but that was so beside the point. “Gordon? Really?” I knew Gordon. More specifically, I’ve known him since kindergarten, which would make fourteen years we’ve known each other. We graduated a little over year ago in the same class; we were even in the same twelfth grade homeroom, and now we’re both sophomores townies at the same college. I’ve sat for the Rooneys more than a few times, and Gordon was, obviously, never one of my charges. I just figured that was because he was the same age as me. Come to think of it, he was never even home when I sat for the kids because if he was, why would they need me to watch the kids? “I wouldn’t ask. Normally he spends the night at my sister’s or a friend’s house when you’re over, but he can’t tonight.” Like, but he’s … “But why does he need a sitter? He’s twenty. He’s, like, a month older than me, right?” And I’m also twenty. “Yes, but I don’t like leaving him alone if it can be helped.” “O … kay. So we’ll just watch a movie, I guess.” Get paid a hundred bucks to watch a movie with one of my peers? Weird, but fine by me. We’re not friends exactly, but we’re friendly. We were sorta friends when we were younger, but less so once we got to middle school. Gordon’s not exactly Mister Popular. Everyone’s nice to him, though, and he seems nice enough too. Just … different crowds. “Not exactly. I can explain fast, but we’re running late.” “That’s fine. I’ll stay.” “O, thank you. We just really need a night out, and since he got in trouble on campus today, he’s not allowed to go to his friend’s house and my sister already had plans and …” Didn’t really need her life story. “Whatever. It’s fine. Just tell me what’s up,” I said with a dab of false cheer to cover my WTF. She’s running late; I’m getting paid whether she tells me all this other stuff or not, so hey, let’s skip to the part I need to know, right? “Gordy,” Mrs. Rooney said, “come sit at the table with us. I want you to hear all of this so you can’t say you didn’t know later.” I followed her eyes, and color me surprised to see Gordon – Gordy at home, apparently; he always hated being called that in school – standing in the corner in his pajamas at six o’clock. I know the difference between lazy around-the-house-clothes and jammies, and those were definitely jammies. He shuffled over blushing all the way to his ears as he kept his eyes pointed at the floor. We all took a seat at the table. I couldn’t tell if he as about to cry, tantrum, or both, and I wouldn’t blame him if he did. If I were him, I’d probably have broken something and peeled out of the driveway while flipping the bird. I mean, we’re not kids. We’re not even teenagers. We’re way too old for a babysitter by about eight years. “First off,” Mrs. Rooney said, “do you know about Gordy’s issue?” “His diapers? Yeah.” Like he could keep that a secret for since literally the entire time I’d known him. No one made fun of him for it, not in a long time. Kindergarten and maybe first grade a little, but even in kindergarten it quickly became normal: our class had a kid in diapers. An adult in diapers now. And he’s not on the spectrum or delayed or anything. I don’t know what the issue is cuz it’s none of my business, but he’s always been in diapers, at least so far as I know. You’d have to be dense to have not figured it out within the first week of kindergarten. And if even if you were dense, when we got to middle school and had to change for gym, I think they let him change in a private stall or something, but you could totally hear him crinkling through those shorts. And no one teased him. Gordon wears diapers, always has; he went to the nurse a couple times a day, and we all knew why. If anything, people in school were kind of protective of him even though he didn’t need it. I even heard a rumor that when a new kid asked about it in tenth grade, the biggest bully in our class hauled off and punched him just to make it perfectly clear no one bullies Gordon. “You’ll need to check and change him tonight.” Just when I thought Gordon – well, when in Rome – Gordy couldn’t bow his head any lower. “Uh, he doesn’t do that himself? Or can’t he?” You don’t get to be the most sought-after babysitter in town by being squeamish about changing diapers, but one fact I do know: toddlers make bigger messes than newborns, and twenty-year-old Gordy has about a hundred and five pounds on the average two-year-old. Though come to think of it, I didn’t know if Gordy needed diapers for that or just for wetting accidents. In the brief second I had to consider that, it occurred to me even a toddler who still has wetting accidents is usually in a pull-up, not a full blown diaper. Our school’s gym shorts covered everything, but there was no mistaking Gordy’s underpants for a pull-up. He wears diapers. “Gordy got a diaper rash last week. If he wants the privilege of changing his own diapers, he needs to be responsible about it, which means no rashes. I’m sorry to even ask you to change him, but I like to be very consistent with the rules, and the rule is if he gets a diaper rash, no changing his own diapers for a month.” Not surprised exactly. She’s one of the stricter parents I sat for. So yeah, she’s his stepmom, but she’s not really an evil stepmom. She’s just a stickler for rules. I was afraid to ask this and very sorry to have to ask it in front of Gordy, poor little guy, but I had to. “Um, does he … both ways?” I guess I could’ve asked him, but he seemed like he’d rather have a hole swallow him than answer any questions. “He doesn’t usually have a dirty diaper in the evening.” “Still …” “Two hundred for the night,” Mrs. Rooney said before I could finish the sentence we both knew I was in the middle of saying. “Two-fifty.” Hey, I’m not one to miss an opportunity. Do you know what books cost for just one semester? “Done.” “Sorry,” I said under my breath to Gordy. I felt bad enough for him that she was making him have a sitter, but how much worse for him to hear what it costs to get someone to look after him, which he doesn’t want anyway, and pretty obvious why anyone would want extra to sit for him. So yes, I felt bad for him, but it’s just … the ‘usually’ in ‘doesn’t usually have a dirty diaper in the evening’ sorta stands out like sore thumb in that sentence, right? It would if you were me, and I am me. “And another thing,” Mrs. Rooney said. “Mommmm,” he whined. A little spark of rebellion flashed in his eyes. I didn’t know about what, but that’s what you expect from someone his age. I guess I understand if life’s circumstances made him a little more likely to give in than lash out even when any of the boys we graduated with most of the girls would’ve told their stepmom where to go by now. “Gordon, last warning.” I looked from her to him, and that little spark turned into a little water, and he looked back down at the table. “As I was saying, Gordon got in trouble on campus today and is grounded, so he’s not spending the night at a friend’s like he normally does. Why don’t you tell the story, Gordy, since you think you’re old enough to say anything you want?” Did I say ‘stepmom’, cuz I meant ‘bitch.’ And Mrs. Rooney is not normally a bitch, so that got me more than a little curious what exactly he’d done to piss her off so mightily. On top of which, it’s not exactly easy to get in trouble on campus. I mean, we’re adults. You can do some seriously stupid stuff on campus without getting in trouble. He sighed and answered, “I called called someone … a name.” “The ‘C’ word,” his stepmom clarified. Or should I say his very reasonable, no more pissed off than she had a right to be (but could still be a whole lot more chill and even more thoughtful) stepmom clarified. “Gordy actually called a woman the ‘C’ word.” “But she …” Gordy tried to defend his actions. “I know what she said, and you had every right to be angry with her, but that is not how you talk to or about women. You know that, and losing your temper is not an excuse for using a slur.” She turned back to me. “I already washed his mouth out, but that language also earned him a bedtime spanking.” “A sp … O … kay.” Of all the ways my day could’ve gone, didn’t see this one coming. Like, at all. I personally never got why some parents get so bent out of shape about bad words (how bad can they be when you can turn on network TV and hear most of them?), and I didn’t really get why she cared given that – did I mention it six times already? – Gordy is twenty years old. On the other hand … now I understood why Mrs. Rooney was taking it so seriously. It’s not that big a deal if you think of the ‘C’ word as a swear, but if you think of it as a slur, yeah, much bigger deal. I guess it depends on how you use it, cuz I could see how it could be a slur, but I’ve always thought of it more as a swear. Not that my opinion meant anything in the circumstances. I’m the babysitter – I literally just work here. “I’m too old,” Gordy interjected probably (more like definitely) more loudly than someone in his position should’ve. I mean, I agree with him, but he still should’ve just kept quiet. There’s standing up for yourself, and then there’s digging the hole deeper. If she had already washed his mouth out (ick!), not let him go out with friends, and hired a sitter for him, I couldn’t imagine any argument, not matter how obviously valid, changing her mind. Mrs. Rooney is a fit woman; I’ve seen her play a heckuva game of tennis at the club, so not a surprise she could be on her feet and have her stepson by the ear so damn fast. Gordy’s not the first kid I’ve gone to babysit and found standing in a timeout; or the first kid I’ve gone to sit and seen spank-marched to the nearest corner for corner time; or even the first kid I’ve sat for who earned a spanking on my watch. But he was the first kid I’ve sat for who wasn’t, ya know, an actual kid. He may have crinkled all the way to the corner; he may have eeped a little when she tugged his ear; he may have tried to get out of the way of her hand as she delivered those underhand spanks; and he may even be kinda cute in a boyish kind of way, but definitely an adult. One whose birthday actually comes before mine. Diapered or not, adult. “Not another word,” Mrs. Rooney warned him, “or I’ll take your pants down right here. You just stand there and listen.” And damn did she mean it, even in evening wear. That tone? Enough to make me almost jump out of my chair to find my own corner and listen. “Are we ready, honey,” Mr. Rooney asked as he appeared from somewhere. Not that I wanna be that babysitter, but Mr. Rooney can take me anywhere so long as he’s wearing his tux. Shawl collar? Makes him seem even taller. No mistaking him for your waiter. And who even goes places that are black tie? “Just a minute,” Mrs. Rooney replied and picked up the pace; they probably had a reservation at one of those places you have to reserve six months ahead of time. Anyway, she continued quickly with, “He takes a bath on Fridays, not a shower. When he gets out of the bath, please give him his spanking. His diaper comes down, and he goes over your knee. He knows where to the hairbrush is. Then it’s straight to bed. Lights out at 9:30. That means no dawdling in the tub, Gordy. Out at 9:15. Understood?” He either understood or he didn’t want to risk saying anything he had every right to say but shouldn’t unless he wanted two spankings in one day. “Any questions,” she asked me. “So … on his … bare?” “Have you ever given a spanking before?” “Yeah … Well, a swat on their reset button,” I said, oddly embarrassed. I mean, most parents don’t even spank anymore, let alone allow – let alone ask! – a sitter to do it. I’ve tapped a tantruming toddler on the bottom before, but that’s not even a spanking. “Are you okay doing it? I wouldn’t ask, but the rule is a bedtime spanking. It’s best for them to get their consequence as soon as possible, and Gordy really needs the structure.” I guess that was all Gordy could take. “But she can’t! She’s the same age as me!” There was silence as Mrs. Rooney turned and looked at him like he was out of his mind. I thought he was in his exact right mind, but if I had to live with her, always strict like she is and and just then downright exuding this weird kind of determined, calm-but-pissed-off vibe she was giving off, I think I’d have kept my mouth shut. I think he realized that too cuz he didn’t say anything else or turn around. So that was two outbursts (justified if unwise) since I’d gotten there plus calling someone the ‘C’ word all in one day. Talk about your verbal incontinence. I don’t feel very strongly about spanking one way or the other. It didn’t do me any harm – though the last one I got was in third or fourth grade, and it was pretty rare before then too – but I’m not one of those crazy people who thinks you can’t possibly raise godly tomatoes (or whatever asinine phrase the bible bunch uses) without it. Still, I was the babysitter. It’s kind of my critical to my job to not let “you’re just the babysitter so you can’t XYZ” slide. On the one hand, pick your battles. On yet another hand, some battles you gotta fight. So I got up and connected that hand hard with Gordy’s butt. “I’m the babysitter. I’m in charge. And if your stepmom says you’re getting a spanking, you’re getting a spanking.” Two bonuses to stepping up like I did. First, and this wasn’t the main thing but was intentional, Mrs. Rooney smiled thinly and stood up, not to follow up on her threat to spank Gordy but to leave. Good riddance. Who needs those vibes around? Second, unintentional bonus: holy crap did I feel more powerful than I ever have in my life. And turned on. My promise ring didn’t make the journey from youth group to my mom’s car, but never I felt the way I did right then without a D or a D-cell battery before. Downside? Gordy finally lost it and started sniffling. I know the two spanks I landed didn’t actually hurt through his diaper, but I’m sure he was feeling about two inches tall having his college classmate spank him on his diaper while telling him she could and would give him a real spanking later that same night. I hated that I made him feel that way, even if I was just his stepmom’s instrument in this case. But also, and I feel guilty for saying this, it kinda added to the whole arousal hearing him sniffle. So … there’s a thing I learned about myself that night. Mrs. Rooney said to me, “I think you’ll do fine, but if you have any questions, Gordy will answer them. Not his first trip over a knee.” “Another fifty.” Did I say that? Good for me! “That’s fair. Edward,” she called out to wherever Mr. Rooney had gone, “ready when you are.” To me she said, “Thank you again and sorry for all the fuss. I didn’t want to call just anyone over. I trust you. He may not want you here, but I told him you’d keep everything between us, won’t you?” “Of course.” Also, ‘may not?’ Try resented the hell out of it, understandably so. And I resented the hell out of her asking me to sit and springing this on me. “We’ll be home very late.” “I know. I’ll probably be asleep on the couch when you get home.” I stood against the doorframe and watched Mr. Rooney count out three hundred dollars and put it next to the pizza money. I told them to have fun. She called me a godsend and barely avoided the door hitting her on the butt on the way out. To my right, Gordy in the corner, no longer sniffling but still staring at the wall on his naughty spot. To my left, three hundred dollars on the counter just for spanking and diapering a grown man. If I’d only known about this cottage industry sooner! Heck, I’d have paid off my car by now. Go to patreon.com/alex_bridges to continue reading

Hi there! This is a diaper prison story that I've been working on. It's supposed to be about a country that imprisons wealthy criminals in diaper prisons that include spankings and paddlings. More information about the complicated themes in the novel can be found here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/65185502 I have about 10 chapters written, and am working on posting them here over time. Content Warnings Extensive Forced Diaper Wearing (Wetting/Messing) Extensive Public and Private Humiliation Extensive Corporal Punishment and Bondage Extensive use of the themes of fear, shame, guilt, and dread Some consensual sexual slavery/servitude themes Occasional Sexual Themes Occasional Sexual Intercourse ***I do not condone any of the events or themes in this story, and do not intend to glorify or advocate that anyone conduct their life in this way. Nobody should model any sort of erotic behavior on the events of this story.*** -------- Tonight’s entertainment would be small, but that still meant it required every minute of Gillica’s day. It would require: Sweeping the inner foyer. Priming the Topiary promenade from valet dropoff to the main door. Scrubbing and shining all the windows of the Eastern and Western facing facades of Bisgrave Manse. Dusting all interior surfaces in the Hargrave room as well as the Opiante battle memorial room. Checking every piece of the ‘azure blue’ china set for imperfections and assembling it for the kitchen staff. And so much more of the long list of what was expected of her, and her fellow slave Penelope, every single day. Densen Polliver, the majordomo of Bisgrave Manse, son of the former majordomo of Bisgrave Manse and also grandson of the majordomo of the very same Manse, in the time when the Opiante battle memorial room was called something else, came to wake her up. He entered the slave quarters not yet wearing his uniform for the day, and flicked on the switch. Gillica woke up immediately with the light, and was already wide-eyed by the time Densen Polliver was undoing the locking mechanism on Penelope’s cage. Once Penelope’s cage was open, the slippers of Densen Polliver appeared by the entrance to Gillica’s cage, and he squatted down. He ignored all he saw as she stirred the cover off of herself. His sole focus was on the padlock. As soon as it was undone, he swung the door open and rose with a groan. Without a word, he closed the door to the slave quarters behind him, the only sign that he was there being the bright overhead light and the fact that the cage doors now swung open. -freedom- Penelope sighed above, rocking the stacked cages. Compelled by powers even Penelope would not tempt, she made her move, and Gillica knew to let her step out onto the small shared floorspace of the quarters before crawling out of her lower cage herself. The cage doors were oriented perpendicular to each other, such that Penelope could step down out of hers and Gillica could crawl out of her own at the same time, but Gillica had long ago learned that Penelope didn’t like that at all. Where the majordomo’s slippers had been, two pale and bare feet stepped onto the tiled floor. A moment later, a diaper fell with a splat between the feet. It was wet, though from her place down in her cage on the floor, Gillica could see that it wasn’t as bad as the one she herself had woken up in. The feet moved away, stepping across the tile floor with just the sticking sound that skin makes on cold surfaces. The feet walked to a table built into a wall, and now Gillica could see all the way up Penelope’s waist. The slave who slept above her, slave-one, found a container on the table and pulled out a square moist cloth. She drew it across her bottom, one cheek then the other, and then through her buttcrack. Another rectangle came out and she got the inside of her thighs. Another came out and she dealt with her frontside. These too, Penelope dropped on the floor when she was done with them. Still, Gillica knew better than to stir. Slave-one then hauled herself out of sight, onto the table. The sounds that came, the sounds of tearing, of a bottle hitting the top of a table, of the grunting and breathing of a woman dressing herself while laid down horizontal, were all immensely familiar to Gillica. They were sounds that had been her night and day for almost a decade, and figured to be sounds with her a lot longer. Or forever. No, not forever. When Penelope’s body re-appeared in her view, her bare legs now facing away from the table instead of toward it, and her groin now covered in a new, fresh adult diaper, Gillica knew that it was time to flip over on her stomach and make her way through the mesh door of her cage. Her back didn’t hurt when she stood, but the tile was cool and her head was a bit cloudier than it had felt when Densen Polliver had first turned on the lights. It didn’t stop her from predicting what Penelope wanted, though. Gillica’s discipline-a hard acquired skill of survival-took over for her, and she made her way to the table where Penelope stood. Penelope allowed her to pull herself on the table and lay her head down on the cushion. At least there was a cushion. She wished she could sleep here instead of on the mat on the bottom of her cage. Then her knees would not ache and she would not always have a persistent bruise on the top of her head. It would surprise some to know that the cage was not the worst place she could remember sleeping. It would also surprise some, perhaps even more, to know that it was worse than where she had slept most of the last decade. Penelope was wordless as she got to work. There was nothing to say between them. Penelope was slave-one and had at least the right to wipe herself. Gillica didn’t even have that right. It was a strange thing to think of as a right, and now and then it occurred to Gillica that, in this case, she was the one being served by the slave of higher rank. But it never felt that way. It was not supposed to seem that way. It was not that way. Gillica wore what she had been put in until someone put her in something else. What made it the way it was was the real and credible threat of what would happen if Gillica upset that order of things. That’s what made Penelope’s role of sliding a wipe between Gillica’s own buttocks, and another down her shaven vagina, the role of privilege. The slimmest, most minuscule form of an edge anyone could have. The only sort of edge that Penelope had over anyone, anywhere, except maybe those still living behind the bars of Stenton. Penelope could be caged by anyone in the household at any moment, could be ordered to undress, and could be ordered not to dress at all. She was above no task in the Manse, and not even in public were the paid servants of the Bisgraves or the AG Bisgrave herself required to bestow any dignity upon her. And all the while, prison loomed over Penelope. Four more years of servitude to Bisgrave, four more years of proving that without the watchful eyes of guards and cameras and the impossibilities threatened by steel and cement, Penelope could learn her new place in the scheme of things. Until then, cages and diapers. Until then, only one small island of autonomy; the right to change herself. And until then, one small land-grant of privilege. The right to make Gillica squirm. The diaper change was quick. Penelope was far less interested in Gillica’s cleanliness than she was her own, and that was fair. Gillica would require Penelope’s assistance many more times before the day was through, and the Bisgrave’s gave slave-one no credit for the additional labor. Quick and without tenderness. Gillica was clean and dry, and she hopped down off the table herself. She adjusted the tapes of her diaper, a small comfort nobody begrudged her. Penelope would expect her to clean Penelope’s piss-covered wipes that had been dropped on the floor, to ball up Penelope’s diaper by the cages where she had unceremoniously ripped it off, and to of course deal with Gillica’s own bloated and sodden mess that now lay discarded on the table. Gillica got to work, and washed her hands in a large sink-basin that appeared to be a holdover from when the slave quarters might have been a gardner’s storage room. Perhaps from before the north-side greenhouse was built. All that they would wear around the house was a maid’s apron. Black with white frills, tied around the back but covering little else. It was the same apron as the regular servants, the paid servants, save for that the paid servants had the choice of dress pants or dresses underneath. And dress shirts, of course. The men wore tuxedos, of course. The women were expected to pull their hair back and affix a white bonnet there as well, and this included the slaves. The apron did not cover what was most humiliating in her outfit, and anyone looking at her backside could not only see her diapers, but how much she had used them. But at least the gown covered her tits. Well, from the front at least. Everyone knows what I am, Penelope had observed once. So I like the freedom. They’re the ones diapering me, so I don’t care if they’re forced to witness it, referring of course to the stipulation that she must wear them, and not the fact that it was her own hands that performed the task for her overlords. Perhaps because Gillica was not just forced by Bisgrave to wear one did she feel differently. Perhaps it was the torture of finally having access to her undergarments, but still being prohibited from tampering with them, was what made her miss those ratted orange jumpers. “No matter how bad it is, just remind yourself of how much worse it could be.” Gillica tried to remember which cellmate had said that. It seems like something Saathia would have said. Out of self-pity, though, and not out of any attempt to comfort Gillica through one of those more uncomfortable nights. Densen Polliver had the list, ordered with numbers and expected time-to-completions on all of them. By noon more than half the list needed to be done, and if it was not, they would be permitted only one of those viscous smoothies instead of any actual lunch. “And dinner too,” Penelope asked, holding the paper. “And dinner too. You will both be expected to support the wait-staff, though you are not to be seen in the dining hall, nor heard. Is that understood?” Both slave-one and slave-two voiced their understanding. “I will remind you that the attorney general will be entertaining the Mayor of Stenton herself this evening. The usual retinue will not be in attendance; this is a private gathering. The wait staff will be in their weekend attire to accentuate the leisure of their meeting, and the menu will be adjusted according to the Mayor’s expressed desires. After dinner, the Attorney General will retire to the Opiante Room with the Mayor, where they will enjoy cocktail service by myself, with you two in-support in the ready-room. “Why not one of the servants?” Penelope asked. Densen Polliver’s hairy eyebrows twitched, annoyed that Penelope had pre-empted what he was trying to say. “You will be in attendance to offer personal testament to the rehabilitative power of Mistress Bisgrave’s criminal justice system, if required by the attorney general. You will execute this duty with the appropriate humility and exuberance expected of you and expected of any woman truly committed towards putting their lives of crime behind them.” Penelope reddened, but said nothing. Then Densen Polliver was gone. He was off to trade his slippers and nightgown for his tuxedo, and to shave the graying scruff off his neck. The slaves were permitted to eat, and were allowed to do so in the slave hall, where a large bench occupied a narrow ante-chamber between the kitchens and the rest of the servant’s quarters. Like Densen, the servants wouldn’t be ready for a little while, and Penelope and Gillica used this time to find food from the kitchen and occupy the table-on opposite ends-in the brief and blessed time when nobody would begrudge their presence. It was smart to eat in less than 10 minutes, and Gillica would eat faster if she could chew the dense protein bar any faster. And even with a thick adult diaper on, the servant’s bench was hard against her bottom, as if it joined with the Manse and all of society in prodding her to begin her work. In prison there was nothing to do. Now there was too much. Gillica started with preparations for the real servants. She washed any straggling dishes, she organized the fridge and made sure that their breakfast materials; milk, cereal, bars, vegetables, were in ample supply. She found the folder of servant orders and bulletined them to the board, making sure that each corner was square. She didn’t hate them. Not all of them, and those she did were for reasons of their own. They had their part to play. And Gillica…she had… She had hers. “Penelope, I’m wet already.” “I don’t fucking care.” Densen would paddle Penelope if he overheard slave-one say a think like that, and not just for the language. But if Gillica told on her, she’d get asked herself why she didn’t mark her wetness on the bulletin and cage herself to wait for a servant to send Penelope to take care of her. And there would be no answer to that, and they both would be paddled, and Penelope would have it out for her. So Gillica left Penelope to iron the servant suits, which they would not need until the mid-morning, and set herself to start on her list as far from the other servants as she could. Any that saw the growing yellow down below would order her to her cage to await Penelope, and give her no credit for falling behind on her chores. Ordered to her cage for soiled diapers too often, and she was spanked. But falling short on her tasks meant even surer and more frequent discipline. Gillica had learned that it was not a choice for her between winning and losing, but between losing, and losing harder. It wasn’t fair, but when she answered to someone who was on parole herself, who was herself one of the very bottom human beings in all of Shamuria and yet still wiped Gillica’s ass, it was all the lot that Gillica could expect. Gillica, wet, went out in the cool morning area to trim the hedges. It was almost a perfect temperature for her attire, and felt even better when she got down to work on the long line of green bushes. Trimming into a basket she went, ensuring that the bellies of the five-foot bushes were all uniform and that no leaves sprouted out like little branch boners. It was refreshing outside, and the smell of the sliced branches overpowered the smell of stale piss that had wallowed in the slave quarters since she and Penelope were caged for the night. When her basket was full she carried it across to the compost at the north Greenhouse, careful to not overfill it so none of the sliced branches tumbled onto the lawn that had been cut just yesterday. If she left any on the lawn and it was seen, a servant would hear of it and tell it to Densen, who would find which of the slaves took care of it, and bring a branch of considerably more heftiness and meanness upon her rump. A basket only could hold the branches from two of the hedges, and in total there were sixteen hedges to clip. Eight times she waddled across to deposit her clippings into the compost. Once she had addressed them all she walked carefully through them to make sure that she had not missed a spot. She clipped a few more times, and then took her basket back to the compost a ninth time and then left it there, happy to have finished one of the more involved tasks of the day. As she was returning to the Manse, which loomed tall and shadowy from the north in the morning sun, one of the delivery vehicles rumbled down the gravel path between the hedges. She stood out of its way, mindful of the submissive posture expected of a slave-servant. Hands at her back, head down. The delivery truck rumbled on, and whether the driver had seen or cared about her or not, she couldn’t tell. By now her diaper was heavy with urine, and she knew it was yellow all the way up the back. It was no good denying herself water and coffee in the morning, and she hadn’t tried that since prison. No servant would do anything but order her to her cage, even the nice ones, but Gillica’s list was extra long, and working was worth the risk. Sometimes the servants forgot to log her sinful pee in the ledger of improvement. Attorney General Angelina Bisgrave was not just her mistress, was not just her once-upon-a-time top jailer, and was not just Gillica’s punisher-in-chief. She viewed things more expansively. She viewed herself as something of a maverick and innovator to Shamurians, a mold cut from the stock of the Americans. She was all those things, mistress, jailer, and punisher, as well as goddess, granter, and mercy conditional. But over and on top of all these things, Angelina Bisgrave viewed herself as correctional. There were eleven servants who were servants and not slaves of the Bisgrave Manse. Ten of them served the eleventh, the majordomo Polliver, to whom the two slaves also served. In the evenings, the slaves also served the servants, tending to their dishes and their occasional needs. It was not uncommon for Polliver to add the servants linens to the list of responsibilities that the two slaves had to handle, though most days one of the servants themselves handled the accumulated laundry of them all. The servants preferred to keep the slaves out sight. It was better to keep the smelly diaper-bound slaves on tasks that couldn’t contaminate their own spaces and autonomy, however meagre they were. They would send them on tasks into the town for personal errands. Some snacks from the grocery, some envelopes from the post-office, or something for the Manse that was needed. Any servant could task her if the slaves were not still working through their daily bill. Finish the tasks too late, and get punished. Finish them too early and get sent into town without even an apron to cover her breasts. There was no winning. This became easier to handle once you accepted that you’d already been defeated. You will execute this duty with the appropriate humility and exuberance. Instead, it was Boris. The shimmering of his braces flickered through his smile. His coarse orange hair was unkempt, and if Densen Polliver found him he’d order him into his quarters to comb it. He probably already had, but it was a losing battle. Boris’s hair was as untamable as he was.being handcuffed, Gillica had seen the back of Yara’s diaper bow outwards as her slave’s laughter turned to pleading. They’d gotten Yara on a checkup violation, something about skipping parole meetings. There was a long court proceeding where Yara accused Gillica of preventing her from doing her obeisances to her overseers. That was the only court proceeding that Gillica had won, and Yara was sent down to prison again. But not, Yara celebrated on the day of her release, for as long as Gillica would be sent down. Not nearly. Gillica wondered what happened to Yara. Probably back in front of a court again, she figured. She didn’t wish ill will on many. Not even on obnoxious Penelope and her persnickity lording of the slave quarters. Pick up my piss cloths, shitter. It became easier to handle once you accepted that you’d already been defeated. But she did at least hope for discomfort for Yara. Maybe not all the way back to Stenton Prison, though that felt inevitable for that idiotic woman who would have fought Gillica off if Gillica had not kept her chained. Maybe just a harsh patron. A real upstanding elite who was unimpeachable and unyielding. Someone like Mistress AG Bisgrave. A real correctional. Gillica knew the servants were buzzing about the Manse now. Bisgrave had arisen and left in her car, driven by one of the servants, and they’d crunched up the gravel road while Gillica was emptying her bucket of twigs. She could see them in the windows, through the steam that came out of the western wing’s smokestacks, indicating that the labors of meals were well underway. Their maid uniforms, complete with dresses, flitted through the windows. Wet, with a diaper that felt not just wet up the back but wet in the front too, Gillica headed back into the servant quarters to get the window cleaning supplies. She’d get her outdoor window cleaning done before one of them spotted her and caged her, so long as she could get in and get out without one of them noticing. She entered the side door, which took her through the living quarters for the servants. It was a hallway of dorms, and the newer ones slept two to a room, while the more advanced servants slept alone. They would be empty at this time, Gillica guessed, and this morning she guessed correctly. Her diaper was sodden and sweaty, and she wanted out, but it barely registered as discomfort. Paddlings were discomfort. Wetness and itchiness were life. At least it wasn’t stewing underneath the old fabric of an orange jumper. At least she wasn’t in the cage. Yet. Her guess having paid off, Gillica only had to cross the main area of the servant quarters, take a left, and open the closet. This was the danger zone, as by being in the closet and by facing the closet, her rump was facing the whole openness of the main area, including an open angle into the kitchen. The number of times a hey, slave! Had come to her when she was in this closet was innumerable. It was a gamble, and the last three consecutive days had seen her go from closet to cage. Being soiled at this closet probably got her caged 75% of the time, no matter what time of day. Those were good odds. All of her other chores took her into the main living areas, and into the teeth of the rest of the servants. She looked both ways from the living area hallway, saw nobody, and made her move. She opened the closet, honed in on the extendable mop and the washbasin. She found the adjustable squeegee to stick on the end of it so she could reach the highest parts. Footsteps. There was no winning. This became easier to handle once you accepted that you’d already been defeated. Exuberance. You know what, a cage is a place I belong. A cage keeps me where I belong. A cage reminds me of where I’ve been and it doesn’t let me hide from where I’ve been. It’s not a box. It’s transparent, and by seeing through it they can see right into me. Onto what I’m wearing, and what I’m really worth. The footsteps continued, and Gillica picked up her bucket and stick and headed back to the living quarters. She waddled crazily now, carrying her supplies and all of her pee. But she made it to the door without a shout from one of the servants down the hallway, without any of the servants stepping out of one of the bedrooms to see the worried face she wore. She wasn’t worried about leaking. The attorney general she called her mistress, Angelina Bisgrave, the one who ruled her world, the one who sat on a throne of discipline that Gillica ministered within far below, had access to the best sort of diapers. PGV3000s, which Gillica worked out long ago meant Punishment Garments, Version 3000. They were designed to hold, because they were designed to become as uncomfortable as possible for the wearer before causing a problem for those that lorded over the wearers. Leaks hadn’t been a problem for her three years at the Manse. They hadn’t been a problem all throughout prison either. Only on her last night in jail, the night before they put her on the Ferry of Justice to take her where she belonged, to the cage within the cage within the cage and the true start of the life she deserved, did she make darkspots on her bed and jumper. The piss just kept coming that night. Uncomfortable it became, and the ever-tropical weather of Shamuria began to take its effect. Cleaning the tall windows that lined the facade was difficult work, and it splashed soapy water down on top of her (the soap and water she was able to get from an outdoor shed hidden behind some bushes on the far side of the Eastern grounds.) Her bonnet was sprinkled, and now and then a dollop of soapy scum got in her eye, and she bent and struggled with the hem of her gown to dry it out. She had to get her back and hips into the scrubbing, and the curled up posture of her cage-bound sleep came to haunt her. The stamina in her legs bailed on her quickly. The rhythmic pumping of her thighs to reach the highest parts of the window made the bloated diaper swing between her legs. Still she worked, moving her bucket down the row of windows when each one was finished. By the end, Gillica resolved to cage herself. Her body ached, and she guessed it was barely ten in the morning. She leaned the mop handle against the wall of the Bisgrave Manse, walls that were made of large stone blocks, and felt herself. Wetter than she had been, more than could be accounted for than just sweat. The cage was calling. The cage lurked around every corner. She packed up her equipment. She took the bucket and dumped its contents on the leafy floor of the palm grove that flanked one side of the grounds. She took the squeegee off and threw it in a trash bin by one of the sheds. It was covered in a brownish-green grime typical of the seaside tropics. Yara used to complain about that muck all of the time. Browner than my cocksucking diaper, she would curse. She brought the bucket and the pole back to the closet, and this time, the servants didn’t fail to notice her. She didn’t bother to tell them that she was going. She simply said. “Yes sir.” The servant who saw her had been sitting at the servant table, taking a quick break with the newspaper. He saw her come and and as soon as she turned her back on him, he barked at her. He was one of the mean ones. Male and eighteen and clearly the communist type, despite his role as a servant. At least what Bisgrave does keeps them in check, was something she’d overheard him say in the servants quarters. Them being her kind, them being the wealthy who were wrong. He relished humiliating Gillica and Penelope, finding any opportunity he could to take them leashed and in just diapers and sandals to the town. Never thought it’d come to this, up there in your villas, all high and mighty. Did you? Over and over again he’d make her respond. “Yes sir, I didn’t sir. But I’m glad sir. I need it sir. I was wrong sir. You were right sir. Whatever you say sir. This is my place sir. Humility is a lesson I still need to learn sir, and I appreciate your patience with me sir.” You will execute this duty with the appropriate humility and exuberance expected of you and expected of any woman truly committed towards putting their lives of crime behind them. “What are you doing, look at how much piss is in that thing,” he said, setting the newspaper down. Another servant, an older one, entered in from the kitchen, looked at Gillica, shrugged, and continued to the living corners. “What are you thinking? It seems like your disgusting ass likes it.” “I don’t like it, sir. I’m still learning responsibility sir.” “I think the cage is right for you then!” “I agree sir. I’m going to my place now.” Oh, how the little man enjoyed it. Boris was his name, and his teeth were still in braces and his hair was all mopped. She walked herself into the slave quarters, aiming herself for the cage. She wanted the cage. Earlier she thought to approach her day with a mind to minimize the amount she took the paddle, but now she hardly cared. She was so tired, and her cage was calling. Penelope could take an hour to filter down and wipe her pussy, and thus absolutely doom her from finishing even most of her chores, but at least her legs could rest. As she entered the quarters, something stirred next to her, and she saw that it was Penelope, on her back where she had been earlier. She was changing herself, and this time her diaper was far worse than Gillica’s. A pile of stained wipes grew to cover the open mess on the diaper. Gillica didn’t even flinch. This was life since the day they came for her, when she found herself with cold steel on her wrists, when Yara bricked herself because she knew she was going back. Penelope looked at her, and then returned to her work. Her neck craned down her navel to observe the work cleaning the shit off of her ass. There was nothing to say between either of them. “Don’t just fucking look at it, get in your cage and wait for me, you useless idiot.” Wordlessly, Gillica did as she was told. Even the thin mat and blanket felt comfortable on her aching muscles. She watched Penelope’s progress, knowing that the job of packing the dirty diaper up and bringing it to the disposal a few yards away would be her job. “Are you shitted?” “No,” Gillica answered. “Goddamn it,” Penelope answered. “You’re going to make me wipe your cooch all fucking day aren’t you?” Gillica didn’t answer. “You know. In four years. When I’m free of all this, I’m going to come and buy your ass off Bisgrave. You know I still have an estate, right? I’ll have enough if she’ll sell you. She’ll be tired of you by then. And then I’ll get back at your shitty ass. I’ll make it so miserable on you that you’ll finally learn to clench that wide open asshole you have.” Both of them were required to use their diapers. Penelope’s requirement was a legal one, a stipulation for all former occupants of Stenton prison who were still on parole. Parole was not a post-punishment phase, it was a reintroduction phase. Penelope had to exist in the world while being seen as the least of it, the base and mean denominator of all of Shamuria. If she tried to escape her new role in things, if she was ever found clothing herself more than ordered, or if she was found using a toilet, she’d risk trading her steel mesh cage for a concrete cell again. Some owners were lenient, Gillica heard. The top cop of Stenton was no-nonsense. Correctional did not mean forgiving. Gillica’s reasons were simpler. Finally, Penelope rolled herself off the table, a new fresh diaper taking the place of the old one. Gillica once again understood her queue to get to work removing the detritus of the old one, doing her best to avoid touching any of the shit that her fellow slave left behind. She balled up the diaper, taking care that all of the soiled wipes were contained within it. She used the tapes to wrap it into a ball, a technique she’d learned from countless prison guards ages ago. She carried it like nuclear waste over to the bin, stepped on the foot locker, and deposited on top of her and Penelope’s overnight briefs. Then she washed her hands in the bin, and began to undo her gown, while Penelope re-did her own. On the table once again, Penelope stood over her and got to work. Gillica felt the tapes of her PGV3000 come undone, exposing her pussy once again to the brick walls of the humble slave quarters. She tried to relax on the slab of the table, lowering her head and letting Penelope’s grunts and taps instruct her on whether to raise her legs or lower them. Just then, the door opened. It could only be a servant, and Penelope dropped the cold wet cloth she had been drawing through Gillica’s buttocks to face the door at attention. Gillica turned her head on the slab to see who it was, but she did not feel that, in this position, her movement was required unless it was Bisgrave herself. And Bisgrave herself never came down here. Instead, it was Boris. The shimmering of his braces flickered through his smile. His coarse orange hair was unkempt, and if Densen Polliver found him he’d order him into his quarters to comb it. He probably already had, but it was a losing battle. Boris’s hair was as untameable as he was. “Got bad news for you idiots,” he said. “Penelope. The domo just came by, and I told the domo that I caught you taking a dump in the Opiante room. He’s very displeased.” “Did you tell him that I was profusely sorry, and the need came over me and I couldn’t get out of the sacred room in time?” “You know he doesn’t care. He expects more out of his slave-one.” Gillica could feel the rage coming through Penelope, a quivering anger that threatened to rise up from her ankles into a fighter’s stance that would culminate in a savage punch to Boris’s askance teeth. And a trip back to Stenton prison, should she actually punch, and stripped of the small rights she had over Gillica, no matter how she begrudged them, and the cruel inevitability of the dock. What was more, Penelope had obviously tried to shit herself in the Opiante room on purpose, as a sign of disrespect. Gillica could see right through it, and could see that Penelope’s rage was half-directed at herself and the fury that her act of defiance had ended in capture. No room codified the brilliant patriotism and public service of the Bisgrave genealogy than the Opiante room. It was a room Gillica had heard of, and an event Gillica was very familiar with, long before her life changed and they came for her. The pride and joy of the Bisgrave family, the Bisgrave estate, and the Manse itself. At least when Gillica was caught soiled in there, there was the defense that she couldn’t do much about it. Penelope had no such defense. “I’m sorry sir,” Penelope said. She hid her anger well, but Gillica had known Penelope longer than Boris did. They’d overlapped at Stenton Prison, and Gillica knew the stance and tone of someone obeying a haughty guard. “I will accept whatever the majordomo deems necessary to correct my behavior.” “He said to cage yourself.” “I will do it gladly and await his further instruction, sir,” Penelope said. She turned briefly toward the cage, and then stopped. “Sir, should I finish changing slave-two?” Boris’s face expanded into a wide grin. He looked at Penelope, and stared at her from sandals to bonnet. “No, slave-one. The domo made it clear that your caging should be interrupted for nothing. I’ll finish with Gillica,” he said. The room was silent for a moment. The quivering anger that Gillica had observed in the twitching of Penelope’s calves, in the sway of the inches-deep padding of Penelope’s pristine white diaper, gave away. The anger was displaced by a stunned stiffness, stunned, like a small rodent paralyzed as the wheels of a mighty vehicle bear down upon it. Gillica’s pussy felt cold there on the slab. “Yes sir,” was all Penelope could say. She said it stiffly, and she didn’t look at Gillica. Instead she turned on a heel, exposing her diaper to the two of them, and walked toward her cage. Gillica could tell it took all of Penelope’s effort to hold her head high. Boris watched her go into her cage, and then stepped forward and found the key on a loop on the wall, and addressed the lock. Penelope was on her knees, her head bowed, her eyes staring blank out at the door to the slave quarters, as if hoping that by somehow watching, Densen Polliver would not arrive. “And you,” Boris said, coming closer to the slab that Gillica still laid on. “How far along in this change are you?” “Slave-one just started, sir,” she said, to the scruffy-headed eighteen year-old. “Alright,” he said. He looked over her nakedness like a starving man viewed a five-course meal. If it was left to the servants to deal with Gillica’s diapering, it was generally one of the older, more established ones. Never in his short tenure had it fallen to Boris, the newest and youngest of the group. Gillica wondered if he’d ever touched a vagina, or touched a woman at all. He seemed to know how it went, though. He found the wipes and got to work. He was not mindful of their coldness against Gillica’s skin. To his credit, he did not linger on her pussy, as she expected (and would have tolerated, no, would have enjoyed). Penelope treated her sex as if it were poisonous, even though Gillica knew for sure that Penelope had succumbed to the allure of tenderness during her incarceration. Gillica had no aspersions that her piss-covered pussy was romantic. She tried not to think about love at all, anymore, but sex was hard-coded into her body. The only way men touched her anymore was on a changing table, and her mind had learned enough to crave it. Even if the guards had discovered her sharing many cots in lockup, searching for the same tenderness that Penelope had sought, it was men she wanted, and it was changing tables where men found her. Even eighteen year old servants like Boris. “I always wondered why you chose this,” he said as he wiped the piss off her groin. “You’re not under threat of prison anymore,” he said. There were many answers to that. But Boris supplied his own. He took a wipe and held it up, showing to Gillica that there was more than pee, but less than poop on it. “Now I understand,” he said. Yes, you dolt. At least you know the difference between a pissed on pussy and a moist one. And no. It’s not for you. It’s just that your hand is male. You’re not Penelope, that’s all. And it’s certainly not why I swear myself to Attorney General Angelina Bisgrave! But she could do nothing but mutter a ‘yes sir,’ to him. It was a damn shame that she could not for a moment relish the cowing of Penelope before stumbling further into her own humiliation. She tried to distract her mind as her legs went in the air and he dealt with her asshole. Penelope. Penelope is in for it. Maybe I’ll be wiping her ass again, as it was for the short while after she arrived, until she stole that job from me. Maybe the shoe was soon to be on the other foot. Maybe her station was rising in the Manse. It didn’t matter if where you rose wasn’t high, it did matter if where your rose was as high as you deserved to go. There was something to be said for that. “You’re not out of the woods either,” Boris said, finding a fresh diaper for her. His words crushed her out of her brief reverie, and back into the disgusted awareness that his motions on her privates felt good. “You cleaned the windows, didn’t you?” If there was anything that could dry her pussy up, it was that question. She would have squirted for the mop-headed fool if it meant he could never have asked it. “Yes sir,” he said. “Well unfortunately, you’re going to have to do it again. You left streaks, big ones, on every window.” “I understand sir,” she said. Streaks, what streaks! Was this a joke? Her muscles cried out in rebellion. Cage, I just want to crawl into my cage. I thought it was going to be just me and my nice little cage! “The mistress herself came back in her car and was outraged. All of the servants will have to work extra hard to pick up the slack from the both of you. She wants you to give the windows another shot, and if she isn’t pleased the second time when she personally inspects them…” Boris shined his braces once again. This time, his fingers did linger as he spread lotion on her crotch. She felt herself moisten again. Felt his strength and imagined his cock. It had been so long since she’d felt a cock go inside her. She didn’t care who owned the next cock, she’d fuck it if she had a chance. But to feel like this in this context was torture. “Yes sir,” she muttered, again. “I will do the windows again, and accept the Mistress’s judgment,” she said. All she felt was a warm, rushing sensation. A pooling, trickling, splashing one. Boris yelped and stepped back in surprise. Gillica sat up to see a fountain of piss exiting herself onto the opened and formerly dry diaper that Boris had been preparing for her. “Disgusting, pathetic. Idiot. I can’t believe this happened to me on my first time!” Boris said, examining his shirt to see if she’d gotten pee on it. He continued to inspect himself, cursing and sputtering under his breath every time he found her urine on his servant’s uniform. Gillica laid down her head on the slab once again. There was no winning. This became easier to handle once you accepted that you’d already been defeated.

My latest book in the Diaper Plague series, Book 6 - A Smart Girl in Diapers, has been released on Amazon in Kindle format. Here’s the blurb: When all the women in the world are incontinent from the plague, those that come after never knew a time without being wet and in diapers. But what's a smart girl to do in this world? This is the sixth in the Diaper Plague series. It is the story of Emma Boxer, the smartest girl in her class, possibly in the whole school. Her tale illustrates how a brilliant girl, deprived of a properly stimulating education, still manages to find love and grow. Things are not all sunshine and rainbows for a smart girl, though. She must learn to navigate this man's world or face the consequences.

Julie is a spoiled and rude 10 years old girl, whom her mother can not longer manage. One afternoon in which she come home during school hours accompanied by a police man, because she was accused of stealing a videogame, her mother decided that it’s too much. Then he search someone who give him some advice about how to correct the mistakes in the girl’s education. Some hours after, the man saw an email in her mailbox that said: “do you have a problematic child? Don’t worry! Contact me and nanny Melinda will resolve your problems in four weeks. Satisfied or refunded” Under it there was a telephone number and a mail address. (I'd like play the role of Julie , I can play nanny Melinda role too if you want, the role play start with Julie who is accompanied by a policeman in front of the door of his house. Please don't write short answer but be descriptive and not sissyfication. I hope you like the idea. I am available to modify some details in this Roleplay including the The gender of my character is his age as long as there are not too much difference between the one will be decided and the one that I proposed)

Aizawa Shouta had been relaxing in his usual spot, curled up in the sleeping bag near his desk, when he felt his bladder twinge. Grunting tiredly, he rolled onto his side and tried ignoring it, which turned out to be a mistake. Much to his dismay, he felt like he was about to pee right then and there! This wouldn’t normally be so bad-he could usually just get out of the sleeping bag and use the toilet, no problem-but today the zipper was stuck. Trapped, he had no other option but to try holding it, which ultimately failed. Warm wetness spread through the bag and onto the floor. A puddle formed directly underneath him, and he felt disgusting, his piss-drenched clothing pressing against his body. Finally, he could open the bag, but he was absolutely soaked. He stood up, wincing when he heard his clothing squish into his body, wet and hot. It was so gross. Aizawa could only hope that nobody would notice his drenched shirt and pants, or the telltale puddle under his bag as he peeled himself from the floor, dripping.

Eraserhead had gone through enough already without his students being so reckless. One of his students had foolishly charged into battle even after he warned them of the danger, and had nearly gotten themselves hurt. This could not be allowed; it was illogical to let his student leap into danger and disobey direct orders, even if they were only trying to help. At the end of the day, he called in the student who had done this; Uraraka. He had never needed to punish one of his students before, and the principal allowed teachers to discipline students as they saw fit, so this would be a new experience for both of them. Eraserhead-or Aizawa-sensei, to his students-had procured a few supplies to punish such unruly children. They were hidden from prying eyes, locked in the closet at the back of the room; it was just a shame he had to use them right now. Now all he had to do was wait for Uraraka to enter the classroom, to begin her punishment.

Hey everyone, I'm a hobby writer and would love to get some feedback regarding my current story (incomplete). I'm aware that there will be an excess of spelling mistakes and errors as I often write on my phone and transfer it into my working document as I go. Cheers LOVE PLUSH.pdf

Hi there, Looking for some self punishments I could do when home alone. Nothing public please Thanks, Mel