The front of your diaper was heavy and warm, a sticky, uncomfortable mess from your "cummies." You started to whimper around your pacifier, the feeling becoming too much to bear. Sarah heard you from the other room and came in, her expression soft, not with pity, but with a tender, maternal authority.
"Is my little girl all messy?" she cooed, her voice a soothing balm. She scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to the changing table as if you weighed nothing. The plastic pants crinkled loudly as she laid you down. "It's okay, Princess. Mommy will make you all clean and pretty again."
The change was a ritual of pure, humiliating femininity. She peeled off the rustling plastic pants and unsnapped the tabs of your sodden Pampers. The cool air hit your sensitive skin as she wiped you down with warm, wet cloths, her touch gentle but firm. She cleaned away the evidence of your "accident," her hands moving with practiced care. "Such a good baby, making messes for Mommy to clean up," she whispered, making you blush.
Once you were pristine and powdered, she pulled out a new, thick diaper. The sound of it unfolding was a crinkly symphony that made your heart flutter. She lifted your legs and slid it under you, taping it snugly at your hips. But she wasn't done. From a drawer, she took a pair of the softest, most delicate pale pink panties, trimmed with tiny lace bows. She slid them up your legs, the silky fabric a heavenly caress over the thick padding of your diaper. It was the ultimate symbol of your status: a baby girl forced to wear panties over her diapers.
She dressed you in a simple, pretty pink satin sissy romper and then lifted you into her arms. She sat in the rocking chair, unbuttoning her blouse to reveal her full, soft breasts. She guided your lips to her nipple, and you began to nurse, the warm milk filling you with a sense of profound peace and safety. As you drank, your hand drifted down, resting on the front of your thick, panty-clad diaper.
After you finished your bottle, she didn't put you down. She shifted in the chair, lifting her nightgown and spreading her legs. Her cunt, glistening and wet, was right in front of your face. "Mommy's little girl needs to thank her for the change, doesn't she?" she murmured, guiding your head between her thighs.
You nestled against her, the crinkle of your diaper a soft sound in the quiet room. You licked her softly, your tongue tracing the delicate folds as you had been taught. She tasted sweet and clean, like honey and soap. You were a perfect baby girl, clean and pretty in your crinkly Pampers and soft panties, nursing from Mommy's breast and licking her beautiful cunt, completely and utterly content in your loving, humiliating embrace.