Abby McGee's Microfiction Storytime: G is for Greed (3/13/25)

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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.  

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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.

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B is for Betrayal

Kendra pouted in the corner. Years of her life…decades…wasted. What was the point of doctoral degrees and prestigious titles when your only responsibilities were filling your diapers and deciding which of your stuffed animals to invite to your afternoon tea party?

Dr. Snuffington, Professor Plopsy, and Mr. Peabody were today’s companions and she was serving scones and Earl Gray tea. This was a research luncheon, after all.

After months of careful deliberation and psychotherapy, Dr Snuffington, her plush elephant, had helped Kendra to clear her mind until she could see who must be responsible for her forced babyhood: Bethany Higgins, her ambitious young assistant.

But why?

Mr. Peabody, her trusted puppy companion, was quick on the case to sniff out the answer. With her out of the way, Bethany would certainly step into the lucrative director role, something that Kendra had no intentions on leaving anytime soon.

It was during an afternoon diaper change, as Kendra’s bottom was being wiped and she was hiding her bashful face behind Professor Plopsy, that the insightfully fluffy rabbit helped her to ascertain the how. A simple kidnapping as she was sold to the highest bidder; a vapid, young socialite who loved nothing more than forcing the beautiful brainiac to be her adorable diapered doll.

But what could she do about it? Kendra was proud to have come to that answer all on her own while mindlessly eating her fourth jar of strained carrots. It had only taken a few weeks of saccharine sweetness to plant the seed: Kendra needed a baby sister.

Kendra stole a glance at the empty crib next to her own and the delicately stenciled words above: Baby Bethany. Listening to the loud crying and desperate pleading from the next room, Kendra smiled, glad to have a new student again.

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C is for Carseat


“Marisa, we’re going to be late!”

Jake stood at the door, tapping his foot, waiting for the woman of his dreams. By day she was a powerful lawyer, feared by all and doing whatever it took to win. But by night, Baby Rissa was a fussy toddler that blew off steam with aggressive tantrums and tearful spankings.

He waited to see who he would encounter as they headed off for a weekend alone. Knowing how much her job drained her, he offered to let her be Baby Rissa for the entire weekend.

When she came home from work, the pacifier was upstairs on their bed with a note. He waited.

As his beautiful wife descended the stairs in nothing but pigtails and a pacifier, Jake had his answer.

“Sorry I’m late…Daddy.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Hey, stop fussing. You have a very important job to do.”

Baby Rissa was fussy.

“This carseat is stupid. It’s for babies..”

The thirty-seven year old woman pouted, but pulled the rubber nipple to her lips as requested and focused on finishing her bottle.

“It’s not just for babies. It’s for little girls who can’t be trusted to keep their hands to themselves.”

Marissa looked down at the pink cuffs attached to the five-point harness that allowed just enough room to bring the bottle to her lips.

“I couldn’t help it, Daddy. You had something I wanted to play with in your lap.”

“I love your special kisses, but you’re having a hard time with impulse control.”

Rissa looked out the window, doing her best to pretend to ignore her husband.

“…but I did get you a treat.”

Jake pushed the button and smiled into the rearview mirror as he sped into the darkness and listened to the symphony of buzzing and soft moans that filled the air.

[blahblahwriter]

💕 Happy Valentine's Day! 💕

D is for Date

“How’s the soup?”

“It’s fine, Brad.”

“Try again, little girl…”

Jamie fidgeted in the booth, smoothing her dress, eyes darting nervously.

“It’s fine…Daddy.”

“Good girl.”

Brad smiled at his wife.

“Do we have to do this?” Jamie leaned in. “Remember that night at Alfredo’s?”

She raised her leg, letting her bare foot trace her husband’s pant leg, until the telltale crinkling sound caused her rapid retreat.

“Oh, Alfredo’s…quite a night…but there’s only one way you’re getting out of that padding, Jamie.”

Her eyes fell from her husband to her soup, suddenly interested in the floating carrots.

“...but…I don’t want to. This is stupid.”

“Stupid was your DUI. You’re lucky the judge was lenient with a ninety-day sentence.”

Lenient?

A suspended license and riding around in the stupid carseat didn’t feel lenient.

Calling her husband ‘Daddy’ and letting him take care of everything for her didn’t feel lenient.

Wearing diapers and using them for…everything…didn’t feel lenient.

“No, James! This is stupid! I don’t want to do this anymore!”

Brad and Jamie looked to their right and the couple near their own age. The blonde woman wore high pigtails with wild, darting eyes, clearly embarrassed now that all eyes were on her. Her frilly bib was stained with expensive puree and her diaper was clearly visible under her princess-style dress. The husband wore a look of parental exhaustion and sighed.

“James, no…I’m…mmmph!”

The woman was silenced and knew better than to remove a pacification device. She settled in with a pout and Jamie offered a small smile in solidarity.

“Sorry, everyone! Lizzy is a little fussy tonight. Nothing a sore bottom and early bedtime can’t fix.”

Jamie went back to her soup with renewed passion. Maybe a Level One Regression Sentence wasn’t so bad after all. Only eighty-seven days to go…

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My newest story, Oakley Asylum, released on Amazon this week, and I'm dropping a chapter each day for subscribers on Ream or SubscribeStar. Click the links for a preview. 

[blahblahwriter]

E is for Earned

 

On Monday, Brian came home to find the kitchen a mess as Trish lounged on the couch, casually scrolling her phone.

“Hey, Trish?”

“Ugh…what?

“Sixteen.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

On Tuesday, the credit card bill came in.

“Trish, care to explain?”

“The shoes were really cute!”

“That’s Eight.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

On Wednesday, Trish was wearing the same stained pajamas as when Brian left for work, clearly not taking care of herself.

He didn’t even bother to question her anymore.

“Trish? You’re at Four.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

On Thursday, Brian looked down at yet another microwave dinner, wondering what happened to the woman who loved to cook and bake.

As Brian lay down the fork, he laid down his pronouncement.

“Two.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

On Friday, when Brian got home from work, his wife was nowhere to be found. Stumbling in around midnight mumbling something about girl’s night, Brian said the word. The word she had never heard him utter.

“One.”

“Ugh, it’s not fair!”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

On Saturday, Trish pouted up at her husband from her spot lounging lazily on his lap, quietly nursing her bottle. She had never spent an entire weekend as a one-year-old before. Typically, Trish had the good sense to stop near elementary age and had spent a few weekends as an adorable preschooler or toddler, but this was…new.

She whined as her husband swapped bottle for pacifier and patted the front of her thick diaper.

“Trish, I love you and will always take care of you. You just need a little more help in that department than normal. Looks like it’s time for a diaper change, then bathtime!”

Trish continued her manufactured pout and plotted what she would do to him next weekend when they switched roles again. In the meantime, she had earned herself a stress-free weekend to be pampered and spoiled.

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It's finally here! The sequel to The Academy drops here on Monday and SubscribeStar and Ream subscribers have a four chapter head start! Currently approaching 50k words, this story explores The Academy setting in a whole new way. See you on Monday!

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F is for Foodie

Morning was Veronica’s least favorite time of day. Always had been. But coffee? Coffee made everything better. She took a deep breath, letting the aroma fill her nostrils before settling into a pout as she sucked on her bottle and watched her boyfriend enjoy the one thing that made mornings bearable.

For lunch, Veronica was always on the go, quickly grabbing a protein bar or pack of crackers. But today? Today she was a thirty-two year old woman trapped in a high chair with nowhere to go. Michael took his time, browsing his phone as he casually scooped spoonful after spoonful of mush in the general direction of her mouth, forcing her to crane her neck and take part in her own humiliation.

Naptime was okay. She had no complaints there. With a clean diaper and a full tummy she was able to enjoy the soft confines of her crib. Veronica hated most of the trappings of her new life. But naptime? Naptime could stay.

For a foodie such as herself, dinnertime was the absolute worst. Michael used his skills as a professional chef to prepare an elaborate meal for himself, night after night. And night after night Veronica watched from her highchair as he cut into a perfectly prepared steak or twirled spaghetti around his fork.

Dinner was the one meal Veronica got to feed herself, and Michael was a great chef. But Veronica didn’t get a fork, spoon, or knife. Those were for grown-ups. She had her fingers, the only dining tool that someone like her needed these days.

Veronica dipped one hand into the bowl of pureed green beans and grabbed a handful of mashed potatoes with the other. His steak looked delicious, but she would have to settle for another night of dino nuggets.

[Lost Little Neppy]

I love ddlg fiction, thank you so much for your work on this forum!

[blahblahwriter]

12 hours ago, Lost Little Neppy said:

I love ddlg fiction, thank you so much for your work on this forum!

Me too! Thanks for the kind words. I haven't had the chance to do a lot of ddlg writing yet, so I'm enjoying the opportunity to dig into little scenes with couples and inner conflicts with microfiction. 

[blahblahwriter]

G is for Greed

It started slowly, with those on the fringes of society losing rights, and a growing sense of us and them.

Voting moved from individuals to households, with men casting votes for their families. Financial institutions followed, quietly denying women bank accounts or credit cards in their name.

Domestic discipline became the norm, as husbands led and women followed. As women’s rights were further stripped, they were increasingly seen as disobedient children until laws were passed, officially declaring them as such. 

Soon, public spankings became common, husbands spanking wives on the bare bottom before placing sniffling noses into corners as a warning.

The Women’s Protection and Control Act gave any man the right to discipline any woman, reshaping workplaces, college campuses, and all of civilized society. When a prominent Women’s Rights activist spoke out against the new laws on camera, she was spanked to tears in front of the nation, bare bottom on display for all to see.

Spankings led to childish punishments until most women were dressed and treated as preschoolers and toddlers. Diapers were proposed for all women between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five to further subjugate and control the youth, with older women enthusiastically agreeing with the new laws ‘for their own good’. 

It should have come as no surprise when women in their forties and fifties were soon filling their diapers alongside those subjugated youth, but it did. It always does.

There was a simple reason. The unstoppable force that controls everything: Greed.

As women had fewer children, lost revenue streams for diapers and baby products angered billion-dollar corporations that needed someone to blame and someone to punish. Women became the obvious answer and products were reconfigured and compliance was mandated until control and regression were law and corporate greed, once again, reigned above all else.