Plane and Simple

[snapcrackle]

Part 1:

Riley was a powerful businesswoman, a force to be reckoned with. As the lead litigator for a major multinational corporation, she had clawed her way to the top through sheer determination, intelligence, and an unrelenting drive to win. Recently, she had stumbled upon evidence of illegal activities within the company—activities that could bring the entire empire crashing down if exposed. Rather than reporting it, Riley saw an opportunity. She blackmailed the CEO, Tom Kaplan. In the end she received an enormous compensation package, a significant minority stake in the company, and a promotion to the position of general counsel. In return, she had agreed to scrub all evidence of the company’s misdeeds, burying the illegal activities under layers of obfuscating legal paperwork and jargon. To the outside world, everything was now squeaky clean—untraceable, untouchable.

 But Riley was no fool. She had kept one piece of leverage for herself: a flash drive containing the original, unaltered evidence. No one knew about it—no one but her. It was her insurance policy, her ultimate trump card. If she ever found herself in hot water with the government, the company, or anyone else, this little chip would be her salvation.

 Now, Riley was en route to Switzerland to secure the flash drive in a safety deposit box, ensuring its protection. She had reached out to an old friend from grad school, Tiffany, who had risen to a prominent position at a secretive Swiss bank. Tiffany was as cutthroat as she was brilliant, with a beauty that turned heads wherever she went. Enormous breasts, long blonde hair, a sculpted athletic figure with a tight waist, visible abs, and an ass that could stop traffic—Tiffany was the kind of woman who made men drool and women seethe with envy. Riley, though beautiful in her own right, had a more slender, petite frame. She knew that, in the eyes of most, Tiffany was the prize. And Riley hated her for it.

But Tiffany was also someone Riley could trust—for the right price.

Riley boarded the plane early, settling into her first-class seat. She had purchased the seat beside her for full privacy, ensuring no one would disturb her. As the rest of the passengers filed in, she barely glanced their way. A bunch of rabble, she thought dismissively. Good thing she didn’t have to mingle with them.

 She pressed the call button, summoning the flight attendant with a sharp, impatient gesture. When the woman arrived, Riley snapped, “Champagne. Now.” The flight attendant returned moments later with a glass, which Riley accepted with a barely concealed sneer. She took a small sip and immediately scowled.

 “This is room temperature,” she hissed, her voice dripping with disdain. “Do you expect me to toast my success with warm champagne?”

 The flight attendant stammered an apology, explaining that the fridge was set as cold as it could go. Riley dismissed her with a wave of her hand and a few more cutting remarks. She leaned back in her seat, sipping the subpar champagne despite her disgust. Beneath her, she thought. All of it. But she had no other choice.

 As she drank, an overwhelming sense of exhaustion began to creep over her. It wasn’t the kind of tiredness that came with sleep—it was a deep, bodily fatigue that seemed to seep into her very bones. Panic surged through her as she realized something was wrong. The plane was mid-takeoff, the roar of the engines drowning out any chance of her cries for help being heard. She reached up to press the call button, but her coordination was failing. Her arm felt heavy, unresponsive. She tried again, but her fingers fumbled, unable to find the button.

 Finally, her arm fell limp at her side. She slumped back into her seat, her body immobile. Darkness crept in from the edges of her vision, swallowing her whole. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was the faint glow of the cabin lights, blurring into nothingness.

 When Riley came to, her mind was foggy, her thoughts sluggish. She blinked, trying to clear the haze, and immediately realized something was terribly wrong. She tried to move, but her arms and legs were restrained—strapped to the armrests and seat with padded cuffs. She tried to scream, but her mouth was stuffed with something rubbery and unyielding. A pacifier, she realized with a jolt of horror.

 Cold air brushed against her skin, and she glanced down, her eyes widening in disbelief. The sharp black pantsuit she had boarded the plane in was gone. In its place was a garish pink onesie, covered in Hello Kitty imagery. The shirt portion clung tightly to her tors and left her toned thighs exposed. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Between her legs, she felt something thick and bulky, pushing out the fabric of the onesie. Her stomach churned as the realization hit her: she was wearing a diaper.

 Riley’s breath came in short, panicked gasps around the pacifier. She thrashed her head from side to side, trying to dislodge it, but it was firmly fixed in her mouth. The muffled sounds of her protests filled the cabin, but no one came to her aid.

Then, the flight attendant appeared. She stepped into view with a calm, almost clinical detachment. Without a word, she reached for the pacifier and pulled it free. Riley gasped, drawing in a deep breath, ready to unleash a torrent of curses and demands. But before she could speak, the flight attendant raised a small spray bottle and spritzed a fine mist into Riley’s mouth.

The effect was immediate. Riley’s mouth went numb, her tongue heavy and unresponsive. She tried to form words, but all that came out was a garbled, drooling mess. Her lips hung slack, her jaw loose and uncoordinated.

 The flight attendant didn’t stop there. She grabbed Riley’s forehead with surprising force, shoving her head back against the headrest. In one fluid motion, she lowered a padded metal band over Riley’s forehead, securing it tightly in place. Riley’s head was now immobilized, her field of vision fixed straight ahead. The flight attendant then reinserted the pacifier into Riley’s mouth, reattaching a strap that looped around the back of her head, ensuring it couldn’t be spat out.

 The flight attendant stepped away, leaving Riley to gurgle and mewl helplessly through her pacifier. Her muffled protests were drowned out by the hum of the plane’s engines, her body trembling with a mixture of rage and humiliation. Just as she began to thrash against her restraints, the screen in front of her flickered to life.

 Tom Kaplan’s smug face filled the frame, his lips curling into a smirk as he greeted her. “Hello, Riley,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable. Quite the outfit, by the way. Very… youthful.”

 Riley’s eyes burned with fury, her body shaking as she glared at him.

Tom leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself. “Congratulations on your new promotions, by the way. The board and I were so impressed with your… initiative. Really, we were. But when you left yourself with the option to double-cross us again? Well, that was just a bridge too far.”

Riley’s heart pounded in her chest as the reality of her situation sank in.

 “You’re probably wondering how we found out,” Tom continued, his tone light and conversational. “Well, let’s just say you can’t trust anyone these days. Tiffany sends her regards, by the way. She was more than happy to sell you out for the right price.”

 Riley’s vision blurred with tears of rage and betrayal. Her mind raced, but there was no escape, no way out. She was trapped—physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Tom’s grin widened. “Don’t worry, Riley. We’re not going to hurt you. In fact, we’re giving you an early retirement. Consider it a reward for all your hard work.”

 Riley’s eyes widened in disbelief. Early retirement? What was he talking about?

Tom continued, his voice taking on a patronizing tone. “You see, Riley, we decided not to leave any loose ends this time. Tiffany was actually on this same plane last night, coming back from Switzerland to pick up her check and celebrate the successful transaction. Turns out she also using it for her return leg.”

At that moment, the flight attendant wheeled out an enormous pram from the forward cabin. It was far larger than anything a child would use, its front covered with a thick blanket. From inside, Riley could hear soft mewling and cooing sounds.

“Sounds like someone’s waking up from her nap,” Tom said with a chuckle.

The flight attendant pulled back the blanket, revealing Tiffany. Riley’s breath caught in her throat.

Tiffany lay in the pram, her wide, glazed-over eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. There was no trace of the sharp, cunning woman Riley had known. Embroidered on the side of the pram was the demeaning nickname: Tiffy.

 Tiffany was stark naked except for an enormous, adult-sized diaper. It was unlike anything Riley had ever seen. This was no pair of depends. It was obscenely thick and covered in childish patterns from the show Bluey. A wetness indicator ran down the middle of the diaper, its color beginning to change from yellow to blue at the bottom, indicating that it had already seen some use. Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail. A comically large pink bow sat planted in the front of her hair. 

 

[littlebopeeper]

Great beginning.  It will be interesting to see whether Riley can find a way to fight back, even turn the tables on her boss.

[snapcrackle]

Part 2: 

The flight attendant used a remote to turn Riley’s chair toward the aisle, giving her a full view of Tiffany. The once-powerful banker was now a drooling, infantile mess.

Riley’s mind reeled. This couldn’t be the same woman she had spoken to only days before. Tiffany had been sharp, incisive, and conniving—a force to be reckoned with. How could she have been reduced to this?

The flight attendant lifted Tiffany out of the pram and placed her on a colorful quilted blanket on the floor. Tiffany sat there, her diapered butt squishing against the fabric, her fingers shoved into her mouth as drool dripped down her chin and onto her large breasts.

The flight attendant handed Tiffany a rattle, which she took with one hand. She shook it cautiously, her brow furrowing at the strange noise. But as her infantile brain began to connect the noise with her actions, a wide, toothy grin spread across her face. She giggled and bounced on her padded butt, her breasts jiggling with each movement.

Tom laughed over the video call. “I wish I could see what you’re seeing, Riley, but from your face alone, I know it’s quite the adorably humiliating sight. And soon, you’ll be joining her.”

Riley’s eyes widened in horror.

“That’s right,” Tom continued. “You’ll be just like her—not a memory of the scheming power lawyer left in your brain. Just happy little thoughts bouncing around your empty head. No briefs, legal or otherwise. The only digits you’ll deal with will be the ones attached to your hands and feet. The toilet? Forget about it. Whenever you need to go, you’ll just—”

He was cut off by a loud gurgle from Tiffany’s lower abdomen, followed by a quiet fart.

“Actually,” Tom said, his smirk widening, “why don’t you just watch and see for yourself?”

Tiffany’s eyes scrunched up as she wobbled to her feet, using the seats behind her for balance. She squatted down, her face twisting with effort as she turned red. A silent grunt escaped her lips, and her breasts wobbled with the strain. Another loud fart echoed through the cabin, followed by the unmistakable sound of a bowel movement filling her diaper. 

Riley’s stomach churned as the smell hit her. She scrunched her nose in disgust, her eyes darting to the front of Tiffany’s diaper, which darkened and yellowed rapidly as a torrent of urine joined the mess.

Tiffany, however, seemed completely unperturbed. She smiled dumbly, unaware that Riley and the flight attendant were watching her. Not a trace of shame or self-awareness crossed her face. She fell back onto her butt, surely smearing the mess against her cheeks and private parts.

“Sorry about the smell,” Tom chuckled. “That must be the lobster from last night’s celebratory dinner.”

Tiffany, oblivious to the odor, rolled onto her back and dropped her rattle. She grabbed her foot and pulled it toward her mouth, eagerly sucking on her toes. 

Riley was utterly shocked and disgusted. But what happened next truly made her feel unsettled.

Tiffany’s hips began to undulate slightly, and she let out quiet, breathy moans. Riley’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Oh my god,” Riley thought, her mind racing. “She can’t be… is she trying to get off?”

“Yes,” Tom said, as if reading her thoughts. “She’s still very much an adult in some ways. And now, with the inhibitory parts of her brain turned off, the hormonal, horny parts are even louder. And every time she cums in her wet and messy diapers, she reinforces the conditioning even more. It’s really quite convenient—it makes the regression much easier to maintain.”

Riley’s face flushed with a mixture of horror and anger.

“At any rate,” Tom continued, “she looks quite desperate, and I don’t think she’ll be able to find relief on her own. So why don’t we give her a playmate? It should only take about five minutes, and you and her will be able to make humpies together.”

Despite the desperate situation, Riley couldn’t help but scoff in defiant indignation. Her chair slowly turned back toward the screen as she thought, Surely he can’t think I could ever wind up like that. And in only five minutes? Laughable.

But as the flight attendant approached with a remote in hand, Riley’s confidence wavered. She quickly formulated a plan: I’ll put on the act. I’ll pretend my brain is as weak as that dumb bitch’s. Then, when I get the first chance, I’ll bolt.

Tom’s video call disappeared, and the screen switched to a simple animated children’s show. Bright, colorful cartoon animals danced across the screen, their exaggerated movements and cheerful expressions designed to captivate a child’s attention. The flight attendant placed large, padded headphones over Riley’s ears, sealing her in a cocoon of sound and visuals.

At first, Riley scoffed internally. This is ridiculous. A children’s show? Is this their idea of psychological torture? 

Through the headphones, a simple xylophone melody chimed away.

Suddenly, the screen tore violently to a new image: a woman moaning and arching her back as she orgasmed in a diaper. The video flashed so quickly that Riley could hardly process what she had seen. At the same time, the xylophone melody was replaced by a piercing, mechanical tone—a loud, whirring noise that filled her ears and reverberated inside her skull. It was so overwhelming that all other thoughts seemed to scatter, pushed to the edges of her consciousness.

Riley shook her head, trying to clear the disorientation. The screen returned to the cartoon animals, their antics now oddly captivating. Kinda cute, she thought absently, before catching herself. No, focus! I need to refocus. 

But before she could gather her thoughts, another video flashed: a woman with a pacifier in her mouth, being railed from behind, moaning with unrestrained pleasure. The loud whirring sound returned, even more intense this time. Riley’s mind felt like it was being pulled apart, her thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm.

The cycle continued, the videos and sounds flashing with increasing frequency. Each time, Riley found it harder to hold onto her thoughts. The loud, invasive noise seemed to push them further apart, making it impossible to form coherent, adult ideas. 

Soon, the screen was an endless series of flashing images—regressed women in lewd positions, interspersed with cute, bouncing cartoon animals. The sound was ever-present, a relentless assault on her mind.

Pressure mounted in Riley’s bladder. I have to pee, she thought, her mind foggy. I shouldn’t… shouldn’t what? What should I not do? What was I supposed to do in the first place? She couldn’t remember. Her crotch felt wet. What is that? It feels… good. What is good? I don’t know… Where am I? Who is that? What’s happening?

The flight attendant watched as Riley’s eyes glazed over, her feverish sucking on the pacifier growing more frantic. The front of Riley’s diaper dampened and thickened, the wetness indicator slowly turning blue. There was no recognition in her eyes, no hint of the sharp, calculating woman she had once been. Her hips began to buck weakly against the restraints, her body responding to the overwhelming sensations coursing through her.

Satisfied, the flight attendant paused the video and removed the headphones. She released Riley from her bonds, gently guiding her out of the seat. Riley’s movements were limp and uncoordinated, her mind struggling to piece together what was happening.

[littlebopeeper]

Interesting story because it lends itself to some really wild conspiracy theories.  Is everybody on the plane in on this?  That would be like a Tom Cruise movie I saw years ago.  And what happens when they land in Switzerland.  Is customs and immigration also in on it?

 

[snapcrackle]

As Riley began to come to, fragmented thoughts flashed through her head. Something bad happened. Oh God, I feel so… horny. I need to run. Run where? Babies can’t run. Can I run? Am I a baby? So wet. So horny. Who is that?

The flight attendant laid Riley down on the colorful quilted blanket next to Tiffany. Riley mewled weakly, her eyes flickering between empty and discerning, her face alternating between a brainless smile and a furrowed brow of confusion.

Tiffany, who had been vainly grinding against the blanket in a desperate attempt for relief, sensed movement beside her. She turned her glazed eyes toward Riley, recognizing her as something familiar—something like herself. Tiffany’s regressed mind understood the loosest version of the concept of a person, but notions of consent and self-will were long gone.

Without hesitation, Tiffany crawled onto Riley, her legs straddling Riley’s hips. The crotches of their thick, padded diapers pressed together, the wetness squelching as Tiffany began to grind. Her enormous breasts heaved with the motion, drool dripping from her slack mouth onto Riley’s chest.

The grinding motion released a new wave of odor from Tiffy’s sodden diaper. the smell of Tiffany’s mess filled the air, overwhelming Riley’s senses. But just as she registered the stench, it was pushed aside by a warm, pulsing pleasure building in her groin. The sexual tension built during the conditioning exploded to the forefront of her mind, scattering any remaining adult thoughts.

Humpy. Good. Wet. Good. Messy. Good. Humpy. Cummy. Humpy.

The thoughts fired rapidly through Riley’s regressing mind, each one driving her closer to the edge. She wanted to come, but she couldn’t—she was stuck in an endless, torturous edging.

Riley sensed that Tiffany was close to climax. She didn’t want to miss out. Her stomach rumbled, and a new thought emerged: Yes, need poopies.

Her face twisted with effort as her regressed brain battled against 29 years of potty training. Finally, her infantile instincts won. With a loud, ripping fart, a bowel movement exploded into her diaper, the mess pressing against her skin. Riley moaned loudly as she felt the mess expand in her diaper. 

Tiffany’s grinding grew more frantic, her moans louder. Riley’s hips bucked weakly in response, her mind consumed by the sensations. The two women moved together, their diapers squelching and crinkling, their minds lost in a haze of pleasure and regression.

Tiffy’s body arched, her back stiffening as she reached the peak of her climax. Her moans filled the cabin, a mix of breathless gasps and incoherent babbling. Her eyes rolled back, her mouth hanging open around her pacifier as waves of pleasure washed over her. She collapsed back onto the quilted blanket, her body trembling, her glazed eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Riley, desperate and overwhelmed by her own need, climbed on top of the cooing, sweaty woman. Her petite frame trembled as she pressed herself against Tiffy, her Hello Kitty onesie riding up slightly as she began to hump her forcefully. Her small breasts jiggled beneath the fabric, her breath coming in short, frantic gasps.

Riley knew what this meant. She knew that giving in to this primal urge would be the end of her—the final nail in the coffin of her adult self. But in that moment, she didn’t care. She needed this. She needed the release, the sweet, all-consuming fire of pleasure that was building inside her.

The pleasure started in her groin, a warm, tingling sensation that quickly grew into a blazing inferno. It spread up her spine, radiating through her limbs, leaving her trembling and weak. Her legs stiffened, her toes curling as the intensity grew. Her head tilted back, her mouth falling open around her pacifier as her body tried to hold itself away from the overwhelming wave of ecstasy.

But it was no use. The orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, obliterating every thought, every shred of resistance. Her body convulsed, her limbs shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure consumed her. It was mind-blowing—literally.

As the climax reached its peak, Riley felt something inside her snap. The synapses that connected to the parts of her brain housing her adult self—her memories, her intelligence, her sense of identity—slammed shut. It was as if layers of consciousness were being peeled away, one by one, until all that remained was the baby version of herself that had been left behind decades ago.

Riley collapsed onto Tiffy, her body limp and trembling. The two women lay there, sweaty and spent, their pacifiers bobbing gently in their mouths as they cooed and smiled at each other. The world around them was a blur of colors and sounds, their minds empty of anything but the simplest, most primal thoughts.

The flight attendant entered the cabin, her expression calm and professional. She knelt beside the two women and gently pulled them apart, laying them side by side on the quilted blanket. She began a tandem diaper change, her movements efficient and practiced.

Riley and Tiffy giggled and cooed, their arms and legs waving aimlessly as the flight attendant worked. They rolled from side to side, their bodies pliant and unresisting, as the flight attendant cleaned them up and secured fresh diapers around their hips. The new diapers were just as childish as the ones they had been wearing, adorned with bright, playful patterns that seemed to mock their former selves.

The flight attendant reinserted their pacifiers. Each adorned with a pink satin bow that brushed against their cheeks as they suckled contentedly. She patted their diapers gently, ensuring they were snug and secure, before standing and stepping back to admire her work.

Riley and Tiffy lay there, their eyes half-lidded, their minds blissfully empty. The world outside the plane no longer mattered. Their pasts, their ambitions, their identities—all of it was gone, replaced by the simple, uncomplicated existence of infancy. 

The flight attendant smiled softly, her job complete. She turned and walked back to the forward cabin, leaving the two women to their new reality.

[aldl4811]

I like the intensity of the pleasure that you describe in here! 

[Eliza1993]

These scenes were intense! 

[littlebopeeper]

On 3/3/2025 at 11:59 AM, snapcrackle said:

Her moans filled the cabin, a mix of breathless gasps and incoherent babbling.

Van Wilder 2 opens on a plane, with Taj and an attractive blonde making out in a toilet at the back of the plane.  She's licking hot sauce off his body, and he pours it inside his pants.  And then he screams: "this is hot!"  Everyone on the plane reacts.

Why is nobody reacting here?  I'll ask again if everyone on the plane is in on this.  If you are writing diaper porn, this is is great, but IMO you need to start filling in the blanks for this to be a story. 

[snapcrackle]

haha definitely just smut. Not trying to build an expanded universe or anything. That said, I would imagine that the entire plane is part of the cabal. I'm sure it's an extremely expensive service, enough to pay for some extras to fill the back of a plane. 

Tom stepped out of his luxury car, the engine purring softly as he shut the door. The board meeting had gone *exceptionally* well—profits were soaring, stock prices had hit a historic high, and investors would soon be rewarded with a generous dividend. He straightened his tie, savoring the crisp evening air, and strode up the manicured pathway to his mansion. The weight of the day’s success melted away as he approached the front door, eager to return to the quiet rhythms of home.  

An elderly woman in a starched gray uniform greeted him in the foyer. “The girls have been absolute *angels* today, Mr. Kaplan,” she said, her voice warm but tinged with exhaustion. “Though they were a bit… *grabby* this afternoon. Might be the hormonal part of their cycles. They’ll be waking from their naps soon.”  

Tom nodded, slipping off his coat. “Thank you, Margaret. As always, your diligence and discretion is appreciated.” He handed her a folded bill—a silent ritual—and watched her retreat down the hall before turning toward the heart of the house.  

The mansion was a testament to old-world opulence: mahogany paneling, gilded crown molding, and chandeliers that cast soft pools of light across Persian rugs. Tom’s polished shoes clicked against the marble as he moved deeper into the house, following the faint *cling-jingle* of a mobile spinning somewhere ahead.  

He paused outside a closed door, a smile tugging at his lips. Soft yellow light spilled into the hallway as he entered, illuminating an oversized crib draped with pastel bedding. Above it, a whimsical mobile of stars and moons turned lazily, casting dancing shadows over the two figures inside.  

Tiffy lay face-down, her cheek smushed against the mattress, one mittened hand curled beneath her chin. Her footed sleeper—pale blue and dotted with cartoon clouds—strained against the bulk of her diaper, which swelled obscenely beneath the fabric. Even in sleep, her body radiated a childlike innocence, her lips parted around a pacifier.  

Tom leaned over the rail, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her forehead. “There’s my little cutie pie,” he murmured. Carefully, he unpopped the snaps along the back of her sleeper, exposing the padded expanse of her diaper. The scent of baby powder mingled with the faint musk of urines as he slid his hand beneath the diapers leg guard, fingertips grazing dampness. *Just a hint*, he noted—nothing urgent. He patted her bottom affectionately before turning to the other occupant of the crib.  

Reeree—formerly Riley—sat upright, her diapered hips splayed wide, staring vacantly at the mobile. Regression had hollowed her out completely, leaving behind a mind trapped in the hazy limbo of infancy. 

The administrators of the regression service had estimated her mental age somewhere between six months and a year: nonverbal, perpetually wide-eyed, her body reduced to its most primal functions.  They never knew exactly where a regressed mind would land, and Riley certainly had undergone quite a severe regression. 

She wore only a bloated diaper, its cartoon lambs faded by repeated wettings, and frilly pink socks around her ankles. Her hands were bound in thick pink and white mittens. Her dark hair had been twisted into two absurd buns, tied with ribbons that matched her mittens. As the mobile chimed, she pawed at the air, her mittened hands flexing in clumsy mimicry of grasping.  

“There’s my sweet girl,” Tom crooned, leaning into her line of sight.  

Reeree’s head lolled toward him, a string of drool slipping from her lips. Recognition flickered in her glassy eyes, and she rewarded him with a gummy, lopsided smile.  

“Up we go,” Tom whispered, lifting her from the crib. Her diaper sagged heavily between her legs, warm and swollen—*well-used*, he noted with a twinge of pride. He set her on the plush carpet beside a basket of oversized blocks, their edges softened for safety, and watched as she immediately dragged one to her mouth.  

*Clack.*  

The block hit the floor as Reeree lost her grip, her mittens rendering her hands useless. She whimpered, frustration crumpling her face, until Tom knelt beside her with a bottle of enriched formula.  

“Shhh, princess. Daddy’s here.”  

He settled into an armchair, arranging Reeree across his lap. Her head lolled against his arm, her lips instinctively seeking the silicone nipple. When it brushed her mouth, her hands fluttered up, patting weakly at the bottle as she began to suckle.  

*Glug. Glug. Glug.*  

Tom stroked her bare thigh, marveling at the contrast between her toned legs—still taut from years of spin classes and power lunches—and the utter helplessness of her posture. Halfway through the bottle, a loud *prrrt* vibrated against his leg, followed by the unmistakable gurgle of a bowel movement.  

“There we go,” he murmured, pressing his palm against the back of her diaper. Heat bloomed beneath his touch, the padding thickening as it absorbed the mess. Reeree continued drinking, oblivious, her eyelids fluttering with contentment. “That’s right baby, make a mess while you feed. Just like only the littlest of babies.”

When the bottle emptied, Tom hoisted her upright, patting her back until a thunderous belch echoed through the room. Reeree giggled, a sound devoid of malice or cunning, her hips beginning to squirm in the telltale rhythm he knew so well.  

“Humpy already?” He chuckled, shifting her legs astride his thigh. Her diaper squelched as he bounced her gently, the motion jostling the mess inside. Reeree’s breath hitched, her back arching as pleasure coiled low in her belly—a sensation she lacked the vocabulary to understand, but *oh*, how her body remembered.  

It began as a tingling warmth, spreading from her core to her limbs until every nerve sang. Her thighs clenched, her toes curling inside their frilly socks as the pressure built—a sweet, unbearable tension. The first tremor wracked her body, forcing a high-pitched whine from her throat. Tom increased the rhythm, bouncing her harder, faster, until—  

*Release.*  

Reeree’s head snapped back, a guttural moan tearing free as the orgasm ripped through her. Her diaper grew slick between her legs, the mess inside churning with each spasm. Waves of pleasure blurred her vision, her mind dissolving into static. When it finally subsided, she slumped forward, panting, her pacifier dangling from its clip.  

Across the crib, Tiffy stirred, her own diaper rustling as she rolled onto her back.  

“Look what you’ve done,” Tom chided, though his smile betrayed his delight. He lowered Reeree onto the floor, where she immediately curled onto her side, thumb in mouth, riding the aftershocks of her climax. Her soiled diaper squished beneath her as she rocked gently, eyes half-lidded, lost in the fog of endorphins.  

Tiffy’s bleary gaze met his, and Tom sighed theatrically. “Your turn, little cutie pie.”  

But for now, Reeree was content. The blocks, the mess, the distant murmur of voices—none of it mattered. There was only the warm haze of satisfaction, the softness of her socks, and the lingering sweetness of formula on her tongue.  

Daddy would take care of the rest.

The End.