:3

“Ahhh, she's so stinking cute in her widdle diapers!” Mary squealed in delight, watching the diaper-clad girl on Daddy's phone, “She’s like a real baby with her pacifier!”

“Just wait,” Daddy said behind a smirk, knowing what's about to happen. “It gets better. But try not to wake her up. It was hard enough putting her down for her nap and she’s just as fussy as a toddler if it gets interrupted.”

Daddy’s friends nod conspiratorially as they go back to watching the recording on his phone while you nap down the hall, blissfully unaware that your antics are the star of the show.

Had you known the baby monitor had a camera, you might have resisted your urges.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t resist the siren song of pleasure. Between Mommy’s moans and Daddy’s decisive grunts—and your throbbing princess parts—you were utterly helpless to control yourself.

There you were, kneeling in your crib and diaper, listening to the unmistakable sounds of pure, erotic bliss, forced to accept the truth of your new place in life.

Nobody considered you an adult anymore.

Your nursery was no longer ornamental; it was a functional room designed to handle the needs of a diaper-dependent little one.

Your diapers were no longer accessories; they were necessary. It had been so long since you used the potty that the only time you spent out of them was for baths and the few minutes a day Daddy let your skin air out.

Your clothes no longer serve to highlight your feminine curves; they were designed to make diaper changes easier for Daddy.

Your binky was no longer a “mute button;” it was a necessary tool to calm the nerves of someone too emotionally immature to be expected to self-soothe.

Naptime is no longer an occasional event; it is now a daily requirement to avoid tantrums. One missed nap meant hours of fussiness.

Daddy didn’t strip away your decision-making and autonomy because he made you squirm; he did it because he no longer believes you are capable of managing yourself without a caregiver.

He sees you for who you are.

You aren’t his strong, independent wife anymore; you’re his poopy pamper princess. He knows you don’t need him to be a husband—you need Daddy. Someone to wipe the tears off your cheeks when you’re overwhelmed, to change your icky diapies, and to slide your favorite stuffy into your arms before bed.

Which is why Mommy is the one moaning in pleasure—not you.

You didn't get demoted to the nursery because you're just some silly cuckquean, getting off on being relegated to humping stuffies in a soggy diaper. He's not doing it to tease, humiliate, or titillate you.

He’s doing it because he can no longer imagine the sweet, innocent babygirl who squeals in delight when he blows raspberries on her tummy during poopy diaper changes as a sexual being.

You’re his baby.

His love for you is as strong as the day he married you—but the nature of your intimate moments together has irreconcilably changed.

For him, nothing beats the slow, tender evenings with you wrapped up in his arms, staring up at him with sleepy eyes full of love, your binky bobbing slower and slower until you drift off.

Or the rainy weekends when he raids the linen closet so he can build a fort with his little one, making room for every stuffy. Or the binky kisses.

How could he possibly imagine you as an adult with sexual desires?

“Wait…she’s not gonna use that stuffy to do that, right?” James gasped, watching you lay your favorite stuffy on his back.

Mommy and Daddy look at each other, trying not to laugh.

“She does have one naughty big girl habit,” Mommy chuckled as you positioned yourself with the stuffy, “But it’s just so stinking cute. Best part is she thinks she’s sneaky, too.”

They watch your adorably clumsy thrusts into your favorite stuffy. Slowly at first, glancing at the door periodically. Then faster. Greedier.

Mary sighed, “I can't believe I took sex advice from her.”

“Maybe you should take a leaf from her book,” James quipped, “You've been single for so long, maybe a stuffy would be the perfect boyfriend. Besides, you'd look so cute in one of those diapers! Wait, her little diaper crinkles as she humps are adorable!”

Daddy immediately rushed to pause the video.

“Why'd you pause it?”

“Because the video doesn't have sound...”

“Wha-whacha wachin', Daddy?” you mumbled. You were too groggy from your nap to be embarrassed about your friends seeing your adorably frizzy hair, diaper, and binky.

“Oh, just some boring video, nothing you'd enjoy, kiddo.”

Daddy slid the phone into his pocket before lifting you up and resting you on his hip.

“Oh my gosh, do the stars on her diaper fade away when she's wet?” Mary asks, “See, those stars are normal, and those ones are gone.”

Daddy crinkles your diaper playfully. “They do! We thought they might help her with some potty training. Seeing her stars go 'bye-bye' might inspire her to stay dry, but...Well, let's just say I expect diapers to be part of her life for a long, long time.”

Knowing your diaper is on full display—and hearing everyone casually talk about your potty training struggles—you hide your face in Daddy's neck, holding onto him like a koala in a hurricane.

“What are you doing out of bed, hmm?” Daddy cooed, bouncing you slightly to distract you from noticing his hand pulling back your diaper.

“D-Dada!” you whine at the indignity of this public diaper check.

Daddy rubs your back. “Uh oh...are you Dada's little stinkerpants? Poor baby, trying to sleep in that icky yucky didi...”

You peel yourself from Dada's neck to give him your devastating puppy-dog eyes.

“C'mon, baby, let's get you out of that poopy diapie,” Daddy says, heading towards your nursery.

As you're carried off you catch something about a stuffy and laughter.

“Wuh funny bou' sthuffie, Dada?” you ask as you're gently deposited onto the changing table.

Daddy tickles your tummy. “Oh, they can't get over how much you love your stuffies, that's all.”

For a split-second, a horrible dread crept into your mind—do they know? Why did Daddy say "love" like that? Did Daddy hear when you...played with Dijon?

But the thought is forgotten the moment cold air rushes into your princess parts as Daddy peels back your diaper.

"Alright, kiddo! Nanny will just need to grab a few supplies to help you along with your training."

After a long feeding (and burping) session on Nanny's lap, you were stuffed and had no will to resist anything Nanny could do to you. They first pulled out a blindfold from the dreaded bondage drawer of your wardrobe, where Nanny kept all of your nasty restraints. They rummaged for a long moment, before approaching you with a blindfold. You stiffened as they took away your sight. That didn't seem like something you'd need for potty training. The next thing went around your neck, pressing against your throat and clicking shut as Nanny attached it to you. A collar, you presumed. You lifted a hand to try and feel it, but Nanny quickly caught your hand and slipped it into something warm, thick, and familiar, doing the same with your other hand.

A blindfold, a collar, and mittens.. what is going on?

"There, there," Nanny spoke soothingly as a shiver went down your spine. "I promise, these are completely necessary for potty training."

Their hand rubbed your back for a long moment, before their presence moved away. You heard Nanny open the closet, and wrestle a certain device out of there, wheeling it over to you. You blushed. You knew exactly what it was, and it never stopped being embarrassing when Nanny used it with you. You were a big kid, you could walk! Especially when you were going to start potty training.

"Nanny," you whined. "I don't neeeed a stroller.."

"I know, baby. But you do need a paci gag if you're going to argue with Nanny today," Nanny replied sternly, before shoving yet another instrument of humiliation into your mouth and threading the straps behind your head, tightening it until they were sure you couldn't spit it out.

"Now, come on sweetie. You may not need the stroller, but I want you to be in it," Nanny pressed their finger against the gag for a moment to make it clear that they wanted you suckling on it. Once you started doing that, they placed one hand under your soggy bottom, and the other behind your back, lifting you into the stroller with a grunt of effort.

The stroller was by no means uncomfortable, but that didn't make it any less mortifying for you, or any less amusing for Nanny. Additionally, the stroller had a five-point harness- mostly to ensure that you didn't fall out, but it had the side effect of the crotch strap rubbing and vibrating slightly against your soggy diaper as Nanny wheeled you out of your nursery. You had no idea where they were taking you thanks to the blindfold and the distraction that the crotch strap caused. It was just enough to titillate your aching, denied privates, but not much more than that. The diaper was just too thick, you couldn't wait to get it off. Maybe once you proved to Nanny that you could use the potty, they'd let you take care of the ache down there!

That wasn't the only thing torturous about this ride. Nanny felt the need to stop every five to ten steps to check on one thing or another. From something as small as making sure the water fountains in the hallways were working, to poking their head into a classroom to make sure other kiddos were behaving even without them in the room. Of course, the other caregivers who worked with Nanny would make sure littles behaved in their absence. At one point, you heard the sound of another little getting spanked mercilessly while receiving an equally blistering scolding. It reminded you of what had happened to you yesterday, and you were relieved that Nanny still swayed your stroller in a soothing motion during each stop.

Eventually, your adventures reached the other side of the building. You heard the sound of Nanny entering something into a keypad, and then click of a door unlocking. You swallowed, realizing that you were being taken into the grown-up zone. Only Nanny and their occasional adult visitors were allowed in there. Did this mean Nanny viewed you as an adult now? You hadn't even started using the potty yet. Another door opened, and Nanny wheeled your stroller to a halt, undoing your blindfold but leaving everything else on. You saw the big pink gym bag slung over their shoulder- they stuffed the blindfold into the front pocket and zipped it shut. Then, they took out a small device of some sort, attaching it to the belt on their jeans without a word. You squinted, trying to get a better glimpse, but Nanny made a wide gesture.

"Don't focus on Nanny, sweetie! Take a look around you!" they invited.

You obediently looked around the room, at first puzzled. It wasn't like any of the rooms in the main sector of the nursery. The walls were sleek and dark, nothing like the vibrant and colorful patterns on the nursery wall. The polished white ceramic flooring and smooth white ceiling contrasted the color of the walls in a way that was elegant and professional. You didn't need to be in the grown-up zone of the building to know that you weren't supposed to be in here. Your eyes traced over smooth marble counters, a silver-rimmed mirror behind a massive sink, a bathtub that could comfortably fit at least two adults, and lastly, the very thing that you had wanted to use today. The potty.

ZAP!

As soon as your eyes lingered on the potty for a bit too long, you felt a jolt of electricity, followed by a jolt of fear as you realized that Nanny had locked a shock collar around your neck. They stood there, with the remote, a bright, innocent smile on their face. A faint chuckle escaped them as they observed the terrified expression on your face.

"Look at it, baby," they cooed.

You obediently looked at the toilet again, and you were immediately hit with another zap. You yelped in pain and protest, trying to grab at the collar with your trapped hands, which prompted Nanny to shock you again. Nanny approached your stroller again, unbuckling the harness and grabbing you by the chin, forcing you to keep looking at it.

"See that?" Nanny pointed at the porcelain seat that you hadn't seen in years, ever since Nanny had taken over the responsibility of caring for you. "That's a potty. A real potty, for much bigger kiddos than even your big sister. It's much, much too big and complicated for a baby who still regularly poops their pants without even realizing it. Nanny is the only person in this nursery that's allowed to use this."

Their smile turned ominous as they waved the remote in your face, their thumb grazing over the big button with a glowing red lightning bolt etched onto it. "And this? This is what Nanny calls the good baby button. They call it that because it incentivizes collared little ones to be good babies for me. You're going to obey every single word I say, without hesitation. If you disobey, I'm sure some zappies will help change your mind."

Nanny snapped their fingers. "Okay, sweetie! Out of the stroller, let's see how well you can crawl for Nanny. Can you make it to the potty, do you think?"

Nanny had situated the stroller all the way on the other side of the massive bathroom. You doubted they would just idly sit by and let you make it there, either. But what exactly was their game? You clambered out onto the floor, wincing at how cold and hard it was on your knees compared to the soft carpets and mats that dominated the majority of the nursery. Nanny's foot softly bumped your padded bottom, sending you on your way. As soon as you looked at the toilet again though, Nanny zapped you. Instantly, your legs buckled beneath you, and you lost a bit of control over your bladder, trickling into your diaper as you endured the shock. Nanny watched you, calm and collected despite your whimpers and cries. They just waited for you to get back onto your hands and knees. You cast a wounded look in their direction, but they just gave you that far too innocent smile that they were so good at.

"How's that diaper looking? I hope you're not too wet. Little babies who leak in their diapees surely won't earn potty privileges for a good few years."

That's a condition, you recognized. That's the game. They're going to keep trying to make me leak.

Gritting your teeth, you started on your journey towards the toilet again. As soon as your eyes settled on the porcelain throne again, another zap hit you. You whimpered. Nanny rarely ever used the shock collar on you, they usually just decided a spanking was enough. You would much rather be getting spanked right now. But Nanny showed no such mercy. They kept up with your snail's pace, chuckling as you figured out that you wouldn't be allowed to look at your destination. Your eyes trailed to the floor, making you feel like you were crawling towards an object of worship as you approached the toilet. Then you heard a very different buzzing sound.

Uh-oh.

A moment later, you moaned around your pacifier as you felt Nanny press the buzzy toy against your diaper. The caregiver grabbed your arm, momentarily stopping you in your tracks as you instinctively humped against the wand. For a moment, the thought of potty training vanished from your head. Why go potty when your diapers felt this good?

Stop it. STOP IT. You pulled away from Nanny more forcefully. They were trying to trick you. You wouldn't fall for it! This was your one chance to prove that you could be a grown-up. You wouldn't throw this chance away for the sake of an orgasm. It wasn't worth it. You couldn't think about how warm and wet your diapers always felt against your special spot. Think about how nice it'll be to use an actual toilet!

"Oh? Baby doesn't want cummies?" The teasing words were aimed at the back of your head as you turned back towards the toilet. You briefly set eyes on it to make sure you were headed in the right direction. Just a quick glance, something that earned you an equally quick zap. This time, you gritted your teeth and just kept crawling. You could hear the water in the toilet now. You kept your eyes low to avoid being shocked again, ignoring Nanny's teasing about your soaked bottom. Eventually, your fingers brushed the surface of the toilet, and you twisted onto your bottom and sat there, looking up at Nanny expectantly. A moment later, you felt the buzzy wand on your crotch as Nanny forced your legs open.

"Wow! You made it all the way to the potty for the first time! Do you know what you have to do next, little one?" Nanny cooed as they turned up the buzzy wand, this time holding firm as you tried to wriggle away so you could focus on their words and not their actions. You choked on a moan, trying to close your legs but failing miserably. It had been so long since Nanny had used the wand, it only took thirty seconds for you to start getting close.

"Nahhhhnee," you whined. "Feels funneeee.."

"I know, baby," Nanny replied, pulling the wand back as you neared your climax. "But that's not something potty training little ones get. Good babies get to make cummies in their nappies. If you give up nappies, you give up cummies as well."

What? Big sis never mentioned that.. For the first time, the rose tinted glasses you had viewed potty privileges with were lifted. Was this really what you wanted? Nanny letting you make stickies was a rare treat, but you weren't sure if you could live without it. Nanny said that the occasional release kept you happy and helped you sleep as well as you did. It was true. You always slept best with number threes in your nappy. You looked at the vibrator. Mrs. Buzzy was your friend. Could you live without her helping you out when Nanny decided it was time for a milking?

You shook the thoughts away once again. Once you were potty trained, you would be well on your way back to adulthood. Once you were all grown up, Nanny wouldn't be able to prevent you from making cummies. And it would feel so much better without a diaper between your tightly sealed parts and any stimulation you got down there! If Mrs Buzzy felt this good through a diaper, she must feel amazing without that protective barrier. Determinedly, you started pawing at the tapes on your diaper. Nanny chuckled and crouched down, untaping you but keeping the open diaper close by.

"Well? Time to use it, then," they commanded, narrowing their eyes as you clambered up and settled down on the seat. You could feel more in your bladder waiting to be released, but as you pushed, you realized that your body was going to make that very difficult for you. You should have known, Nanny wasn't just buzzing you off as a reminder of what you were going to lose. They were trying to arouse you so it made it even more difficult to pee.

"Go on! Use it," Nanny encouraged, clapping their hands as they coaxed you. Your pelvic muscles clenched as you tried to push out your pee, but your privates were still pulsing and aching so much from the buzzy wand that nothing came out. You furrowed your eyebrows and whimpered as you pushed so hard that it became painful. Your baby parts ached with need, nothing was going to come out until you took care of it! You dipped a mitten down towards your privates in an attempt to rub. As soon as your hands moved down there, Nanny approached you and grabbed you by the collar. You yelped in alarm as you were dragged off of the toilet onto your hands and knees.

"Excuse me?" they growled, grabbing your chin. "I said you could use the potty. Did Nanny ever give you permission to touch yourself, especially when you're not padded? Answer me!"

"Noooo!" you choked out through your gag, instantly ashamed as Nanny scolded you. "I sorry! It achey!"

Nanny's eyes were cold, clearly nowhere close to forgiving that transgression. But surprisingly, they didn't shock you now. Maybe they were worried about how much you could take from the collar. They just pulled you away from the toilet, wrapping you back up in your soggy diaper, then dragging you back towards the stroller. Your heart sank as you realized what Nanny was doing. You were going to have to restart from the very beginning, going through the same torture to reach the toilet.

"Crawl with me, you ungrateful brat," the caregiver scolded. "We're going to try that again. Good kiddos go potty once they're on the toilet. If you take too long on the potty, you belong in diapers so you don't have to worry about how long it takes to let it out. And you especially belong in diapers if you're going to try and touch yourself the second I take it off of you. You think I'm supposed to trust you outside of diapers if you can't control yourself for longer than a minute?"

You were forced to crawl alongside Nanny, all the way back to your starting point beside the stroller. They kept one hand on your collar the entire time, yanking roughly when you slowed down too much for their liking. They also pressed down on your shoulders when you tried to stand. You had your orders, even the ones that Nanny didn't speak out loud. Back to the stroller you crawled. Nanny took a moment, turning away and composing themself before they turned back with a bright smile on your face. It scared you, because you knew it was fake. You had disappointed Nanny by breaking the rules, and now they were going to make your life even more difficult.

"Okay, baby! That was a little bit of a blip, but I know you didn't mean it! You're going to be a good baby this time, aren't you?" Nanny cooed, digging around in one of the stroller pockets and taking out their favorite belt. You flinched at the sight of it, a hundred memories of being struck by that very belt racing through your mind. "Let's change things up a little bit though. I think you've been using your hands too much."

The belt was used to bind both of your wrists closer together, tightly enough that it couldn't slide too far up your arms. It wouldn't make it impossible to crawl, but it would make it harder, and you would have to focus entirely on keeping your balance. Nanny hummed happily as you allowed them to do up the loop on the belt without any fussing. A moment later, they returned with the blindfold and wrapped it over your eyes. You suckled helplessly on your pacifier, not wanting to think about what Nanny was going to do to make this more difficult for you.

"Okay, baby, I think that's good! Why don't we try that again? Where's the potty, hm? Can you remember where it is?" Nanny nudged your bottom with their foot, encouraging you to start your journey. You twisted around, and set off in a direction that you thought you remembered heading in, hoping it would be correct or at least close to it. You grunted as you struggled to find your balance. You had to spread your legs even wider to keep yourself on balance, practically scooting forward in a way that made your padded bottom bob up and down.

"You might think the blindfold is a little unfair," Nanny's voice echoed around you as they kept up with your pace. "I know you're still struggling with object permanence, but it's necessary to know where the potty is even if you can't see it at all times."

It was hard to argue with that logic. Nanny was always good at finding reasons to restrict your senses even more. And even if you did have a good argument against it, you wouldn't dare to backtalk Nanny. It was the number one rule in the nursery- Nanny knew best, and you should always listen to them. No matter how cruel or unfair it was, your only job was to obey. So you just kept crawling, praying that you would reach the toilet soon..

BZZZ!

You practically screeched as the shock collar went off again. You folded onto the ground, pawing at the collar as best you could with your tightly bound hands. Nanny's laughter only made it ache even worse. Why were they being so mean? They should've been proud that you wanted to be a big kid! But they just seemed to want you to use your diapers even more. What did they get out of this?

"Aww, baby.." Nanny cooed. "Come on now, don't just lay there. I'm going to give you another sixty seconds. If you don't make it to the potty after that amount of time, we're just going to have to try again another day."

Sixty seconds? You scrambled back onto all fours, swinging your head around as you tried to make sense of where you were. Pressing onward like a moose trudging through a river, you chose a direction and scrambled in it as quickly as possible. You were like a senseless mutt, whimpering and sniveling as you tried to find your way. It was a sight almost as pathetic as it was adorable.

It was a reason Nanny loved you so much.

"Poor thing," Nanny's voice grew softer. "You have thirty seconds now."

And in that instant, you knew you had lost. Even if you could somehow reach the potty, Nanny would find a way to make sure you lost. They allowed this whole game because they knew you had no chance of winning. It was over, and it was time to let go. You slumped to the ground, letting your tears fall, swallowing your pride and releasing into the padding around your waist. But it didn't stand a chance of holding against this last flood, and in no time at all, you heard the sound of liquid dribbling on the hard, polished floor. A clear, humiliating indicator of your defeat.

"Aww, is that a little leaky from the baby? That's okay, sweetie!" Nanny smiled, taking away your blindfold as they watched you leak uncontrollably on the floor. "I don't think you're quite ready for the potty if you're leaking on the way there, or if you can't use it when you're on it. Nanny is very proud of you for trying, though!"

Scooping you up, they carried you back over to the stroller. Nanny set you back in it for a few minutes while they took out and laid out a pink changing mat, all while you sniffled and whined and avoided eye contact with the grown-up, eventually covering your eyes entirely so you couldn't see Nanny preparing to even further distance you from potty training. The caregiver made a point of being as loud as possible as they took out the changing supplies and fluffed out a diaper. Then you heard a clicking sound, followed by the sound of something soft being sliced a few times. Something like a soft diaper getting small holes sliced in it to let pee through..

Oh no.

You started crying quietly as the sound of more crinkling and rustling confirmed your suspicions that Nanny was double diapering you. Double diapers were reserved for particularly naughty or leaky littles. In Nanny's eyes, both were your case, so this was as fitting as the diapers would be around your waist. Nanny soon finished with their preparation, and you heard their heels clicking against the ground as they reapproached you. Your hands were gently moved away from your face, revealing a smile that was even brighter and more enthusiastic than usual.

"Shh," Nanny said softly, using a thumb to brush away your tears. "It's okay. It's okay, baby. More than okay, in fact. You're much cuter in diapers than undies or pullups anyways. Trust me, I know all about it. Only grown-ups can be truly potty trained, and that's just not you. Not now. Not anytime soon."

Nanny lifted you out of the stroller and onto the changing mat, quickly undoing your tapes and rolling up the soggy padding into a ball, then wiping you down and sliding the diapers beneath you. They squirted baby lotion into their hands, beginning to gently rub it in. You suckled on your pacifier, still trying to calm yourself. You had to admit, Nanny's touch was really helping with that. So smooth and gentle, never going too fast, never overwhelming you, even when their fingers brushed your most intimate areas. They smiled brightly as you looked up at them for reassurance, leaning down and pecking your tummy affectionately. Slowly, your cries quieted until you were just sulking in silence as the smell of baby powder hit your nose a moment before the cool, ticklish ointment sprinkled down onto you, covering up any other smells in the bathroom.

"It's better this way," Nanny reassured you. "You're much better fitted for diapers and buzzies than you are for undies and big kid playtime. Your diapers feel good anyways, don't they? I promise, undies don't feel nearly as amazing on your baby parts. And diapers have much cuter patterns. Just look at this one I've chosen to put on you along with this white one! It has cute little pink princesses on it- don't you like princesses, baby?"

It was the same one Nanny had fluffed up that morning, only for you to reject it. The smiling princesses on it seemed to mock your failure. You nodded reluctantly as Nanny rubbed the powder in, pushing your legs up to sprinkle your bottom as well. You couldn't help but giggle at how soft everything felt. Especially the heavenly feeling of the cushy padding being folded up over your crotch and wrapped around your waist. Nanny took their time counting out all four tapes of the first, plain white diaper, instructing you to count as well to give you something to focus on. Then they started taping up the promised princess printed diaper. The humiliation of the moment was outweighed by your relief that Nanny still loved you despite your mistakes. You smiled. Nanny beamed.

"There we go! I think you'll be doubled up for a few days, maybe a few weeks," they announced proudly. "Just so that you remember who makes the decisions about who gets to use the potty here. Because it's not you in either case, baby. It's Nanny. And it's that way for a good reason."

Pushing up your legs once again, Nanny delivered three decisive pats to your thickly padded bottom, before ushering you up onto your feet for one final moment of humiliation. Your caregiver picked up the full, leaky diaper and dumped it into your hands. "Hold that. Do you know what that is? You did that, baby. All by yourself. Every single drop of peepee and big kid juices in that diaper came from you. And that's the reason that it'll never be you in charge. You're not a grown-up, and you're not allowed to use the potty. That's not going to change anytime soon, little one. I think you and your sister are both needing a bit of a reminder of where you belong. I'll handle her later, but right now, you're Nanny's primary concern, and they have one more gift for you."

You started to cry again as they teased you. But nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

"Now, Nanny's been holding in their own peepees for a very long time, but I don't think you deserve an example of how a grown-up uses the potty. Hmm.. what's a Nanny to do in a situation like this?" Nanny tugged at the waistband of their yoga pants, letting them drop to the ground. You gulped as you saw the thin, lacy red panties they were wearing, doing little to conceal their own grown-up parts. You started to back away, but Nanny grabbed your hair and pulled you close with a laugh. "No no, Nanny needs you for this part, baby!"

Nanny guided you down to your knees with that firm grip on your hair, turning your head away so you couldn't see them taking off their panties. You felt Nanny let go of your hair and instead pull back the waistband of your diaper, pressing their crotch against your lower back. You started sobbing as you realized what was happening, gasping as hot liquid began to stream down your back and funneled into your diaper. Nanny let out a dramatic sigh of relief, using their free hand to cup your crotch as the diaper grew warmer and wetter. They let out a steady stream of piss for almost twenty seconds before it slowed into a trickle. But they didn't step away until every last drop was safely in your diaper.

"What?" they teased as you whined. "I thought I made it clear that you only potty in your diapers. It shouldn't make a difference if Nanny also pees in it, you're going to be filling it yourself in no time anyways."

You just buried your head in your hands, crying as you heard Nanny putting their clothes back on. What made it even worse is that you could feel how aroused Nanny had been when their grown-up parts made contact with your skin. They got off on bullying you like this, making sure that you felt like a helpless, stupid baby at all times.

"Now that you're all nice and wet, I think it's about time for your nap. The wetter you are, the better you sleep. Can you say 'thank you' to Nanny for helping you fill your diapers?"

Defeated and demure, your shoulders slumped as Nanny guided you into a warm, soft embrace. You had to admit, Nanny's touch was a much cozier feeling than sitting in a stroller being wheeled to the potty, or sitting on the potty itself. It was where you belonged, as much as your diapers were. You buried your head in your Nanny's shirt, and you choked out your final words.

"Fank you, Nanny. I wuv you.."

"Good baby."

It had been a long day. You had a humiliating, intense morning, and the afternoon did little to help you recover from it, especially after Nanny had made sure everyone else knew that you had failed a potty training test that morning. You had been subjected to teasing from other littles and other caregivers up until your bedtime, which Nanny had decided would be two hours early. That night, Nanny was happy to watch as you curled up in your crib, a content smile on your face despite the harsh treatment that you had experienced at their hand today. They hoped that you would know better for next time. Potty training just wasn't for babies like you. Not until Nanny decided you were big enough to.

Picking up their favorite paddle from where they had set it on the coloring desk, they exited your nursery, softly shutting the door as to not wake you from your well-deserved 5PM bedtime. Hopefully you wouldn't be so fussy tomorrow, and would forget all about the potty by then. In the meantime, Nanny had a silly little toddler to punish, one that had been a bit too big for her britches for quite a while now. Nanny could handle a bit of cockiness over using the training potty, but they drew the line at inspiring the idea that you could start potty training. She had looked a bit too smug when Nanny had made everyone aware of what happened to you this morning.

It was about time someone put her back in her place. Self-proclaimed "big" girls could take big punishments. A thoroughly paddled bottom, a couple weeks on a gag order, and a couple months back in thick diapers having her potty training meticulously coerced out of her. To remind her that Nanny could take away her privileges at any time. That would suffice for the angel of death softly treading down the hallway towards their next victim.

A few seconds later, and the man appeared behind the glass front doors to the daycare. He smiled at her and pressed a button on the inside. The doors opened.

“Thank you,” said Casey. She held out her ID and said, “Do you think we could go to your office? I’d like to start by asking a couple of questions if that’s okay.”

“Certainly!” said the man brightly, barely glancing at her ID before ushering her inside. He was perhaps in his mid-thirties, Casey noticed, and quite handsome. “If you’d just like to follow me.”

He led her over to a side door and through into an office room. His desk stood in the middle, covered in papers, and behind it several cabinets lined the walls. Casey’s eyes travelled over the documents on the desk, scanning for anything unusual.

“Please, take a seat,” said the man, pulling up a chair in front of his desk and circling around to sit down himself. “I’ll be happy to answer any questions you might have.”

“That would be lovely,” said Casey, then she adopted an apologetic tone and said, “but before we get started, would it be an awful imposition if I asked for some coffee? I had to skip my usual cup this morning and I’m not the same without it.”

“Of course!” the man said, jumping back up from his seat. “I’ll just go and get you one.” He left the room, and at once Casey got to her feet and started sifting through the papers on the desk. She barely noticed the soft nursery music that began to play.

Casey looked through forms and spreadsheets, a frown growing on her face. There was nothing suspicious at all! Her bottom lip stuck out in a pout, and she turned and opened the draw to one of the filing cabinets. Maybe there’d be something in there. But after a minute or so of frantic searching, Casey huffed and stomped her foot in frustration. Nothing but stupid forms! The nursery music tinkled in her ears, louder now, and she scrunched up her face. Why were they playing stupid baby songs in the office? That was dumb. That was silly. Casey shook her head from side to side, like a cow trying to shake off flies. The music was ringing inside her head. What was she doing here again?

The door to the office opened, and the man stepped inside. At once, the music shut off and Casey looked up at him blankly. “Hi, sweetie,” he said pleasantly. “I’m afraid there’s no coffee for you, but I’ve got something I think you’ll like just as much.” He held up a large baby bottle.

Casey stared at the full bottle with her mouth slightly open. Was that right? Was that okay? Even though the music had stopped, for some reason she imagined that she could still hear it going on in her head. Her stomach rumbled a little as she looked at the bottle, and she realised she was hungry. She hadn’t had lunch that day because she’d been in such a hurry. Why had she been in a hurry again? She’d come here from somewhere, hadn’t she? Come to do something important.

“Ready for num-nums?” the man asked, tilting his head.

Casey blinked and nodded. The man beckoned her over, and Casey found herself being pulled into his lap. There was another moment of concern, when she settled her bottom on his thighs, that something she was doing wasn’t right, but the feeling quickly vanished once the nipple of the bottle was pressed between her lips. Casey began to suck.

“That’s a good girl,” the man cooed, as warm baby formula flowed down Casey’s throat and into her tummy. “That’s a good baby. Drink your baba.”

Casey pulled her mouth off the bottle. “Nodda baby,” she said, scowling.

“Shhh!” the man said, looking around the empty room conspiratorially. “You don’t want to blow your cover, do you? Remember you’re here to investigate.”

Casey nodded slowly. That was right. She was here to investigate. She had to stay undercover. The man slid the bottle back between her lips, and she started drinking again. All thoughts drifted out of her mind, everything except how yummy her milkies were, and how comfy she was in the man’s lap.

“Finish your baba, sweetie,” he said a few minutes later, “then we’ll get you into some more appropriate clothes, okay? We don't want anyone in the nursery room to suspect, do we?”

Casey shook her head, still suckling rhythmically on the baby bottle.

“Good girl. Remember, you’re not Casey the journalist right now. You’re Casey the big baby.”

There was a hiss of air as Casey finished the last of the formula, and the lovely man helped her off his lap. Her tummy felt very full, and her head was even foggier. But she knew he was right. She was trying to infiltrate a daycare, so of course she had to pretend to be a baby. That made sense. She stood still patiently while the man opened up one of the cabinets and took out a t-shirt and a white square of plastic. But when he unfolded it, Casey felt a chill run down her spine.

“Don’t wanna wear dat,” she whined, staring at the enormous disposable nappy. An image flashed in her mind of a grown woman wearing a diaper just like it, screwing up her face and messing herself without any shame at all. “Not… I’m not wike her. I’m a adult.”

“Of course you are, sweetie,” the man said soothingly, placing the nappy and shirt down on his desk and getting to work stripping off Casey’s clothes. “But you don’t want the daycare workers to know that, do you? Have you forgotten you’re undercover? Hmm… Maybe you’re too silly to be a journalist. Maybe you ought to just be a baby instead.”

Casey shook her head violently as the man slipped her button-up shirt off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. “I’m a jouwnalist!” she pouted, stomping her foot. “I undercover!”

“That’s right,” the man cooed. “Clever girl!”

Casey grinned. Her bra went next, falling to the floor to join her shirt. She looked down at her bare chest with a frown. Her boobies were out. Was that okay? Another image flashed in her mind, of a woman bouncing up and down on her bottom with her large breasts jiggling madly. Casey hopped a little on the spot, and her own boobies wobbled about. She giggled.

“Hold still a moment, honey,” said the man gently. He was sliding her trousers down her legs. Her underwear quickly followed them, so that Casey was left standing naked in front of him. “There we go. Now it’s time to get your nappy on! Legs apart, baby.”

Casey spread her legs obediently, and the man positioned the huge diaper between her thighs, holding it in place with one hand while he did up the tapes expertly with the other. “All done!” he said happily, reaching around to pat her padded bottom. “Isn’t that better? No more toilets for you, sweetie!”

Casey frowned at that. No more toilets? That didn’t sound right. That didn’t sound right at all. She shook her head slowly, trying to shake out the silly, tinkling music that was still playing distantly inside her head. She took a step backwards, and her nappy crinkled loudly. She could feel the bulky padding pushing her thighs apart, forcing her to stand bow-legged. This definitely wasn’t right. She looked down at the puffy diaper between her legs, and something clicked into place in her mind.

Oh God, she thought. Oh God, oh God, oh God. She looked up at the man with terror in her eyes.

He smiled pleasantly at her. “Is big girl Casey having a little wakey-wakey?” he asked in mocking baby-talk.

“You… you dwugged… drugged me,” Casey said in a hushed tone, glancing at the empty bottle standing on the desk.

“No sweetie, there was nothing in your baba but lovely warm formula.” The man tapped her on the forehead. “But there is some special music in your head.” He chuckled at the look of horror on her face. “It doesn’t take much,” he explained. “Just some sweet, lovely songs, and you silly girls are happy to strip off your suits and put your Pampers on.”

Casey was breathing fast, and her eyes darted towards the door.

“There’s no point trying to toddle away, silly girl,” said the man. He grinned. “I’ll catch you. We can’t have you running off, can we? You need to learn your place, sweetie. You need to learn that women are just babies.”

Casey looked at him in a rage, but he’d already taken a smartphone out of his pocket and held the screen up to her face. At once, she was bombarded by bright, swirling colours, a beautiful lightshow that pulsed and shone in time to the sweet, silly music in her head, the music that had risen up from the back of her mind to fill her every thought.

She felt her bladder let go, and a wonderful warmth spread across her crotch as she drenched her diaper with pee-pee. No more toilets, she thought, and she giggled. No more toilets for her.

Priscilla, a little golden goddess, with her perfect skin and voluminous, curly hair. Tall and skinny–built like a model I’d see in a lingerie ad. Whatever genes she got from her father were well hidden, because it was hard to believe he had helped to create a being such as her.

She was everything that Pat was not: strong-willed, loud, stubborn, and crass. She simply gave no fucks, and it was clear that she ruled the house. I once wondered why she would’ve chosen to live with Pat when she could’ve moved out and lived with her mother. Alas, there could only be one queen bee in a hive. Priscilla and her mother would’ve killed each other, and here she lived like a queen.

Pat practically waited on her hand and foot. Did ‘Prissy’ need a bottle of water? He’d scramble across the house to get it. Did Prissy need a ride to the city? He’d cancel his plans to make sure she got there safely. Did Prissy want hundreds of dollars to buy a pair of shoes? He’d open his wallet as wide as he could.

My biggest fear was that Priscilla would hate me. It wasn’t easy having a step-mother, I was sure of that, and the fact that I was only 6 or 7 years older than her probably didn’t help that much.

But the reality was even worse than her just hating me. She simply didn’t care about me at all. I was so insignificant, that she seemed indifferent to even the concept of me. She’d ignore me. Not answer my questions. Interrupt me if I was talking. Walk right past me without acknowledging that I was there. I had tried a few times to start some sort of dialog, but I had gotten nowhere. It was best, for myself, if I just let it be. If she ever wanted a relationship with me, I figured that she’d let me know. I wasn’t going to hold my breath, though.

Whatever romance Pat and I had in our lives–the romance that had, at least, convinced us to marry quickly–had begun to fade not long after I started settling into my new home. I suspected that I had begun to see some of the same flaws that had, over time, pushed his first wife away. He worked too much at a job that seemed to have little respect for him or his time. And while the money seemed decent, a more confident person likely would’ve sought out a different job a long time ago. Worse, when he actually was home, he was both whiny and lazy. He had little ambition to do anything, and threw passive aggressive fits when asked to complete the simplest of chores.

Thus, everything seemed to fall on me. I was the one making arrangements to pay the bills. I was the one taking the trash to the curb every week. I was the one mowing the lawn. 

The irony wasn’t completely lost on me–if I was as confident as I wished Pat was, I doubted I’d have stuck around. But then what? Another decade or two without a partner? More endless and shallow dating? My parents had been so happy for me–relieved, really–when I married Pat. Disappointing them felt as worse as having to admit that this marriage wasn’t what I thought it’d be.

And so I allowed things to be the way they were, for far too long. And that sort of stubborn stoicness wears on a person. The contempt and disdain I felt for Pat and Priscilla grew–making me bitter and resentful of them.

It came to a head one weekday afternoon, as I tried to juggle cleaning the house, making dinner, and trying to straighten out details of an insurance policy on the phone. Despite having my hands full, Priscilla had sauntered right past me, dumping an armful of dirty dishes into the sink before walking away. I had no clue where the dishes had come from–had she been hoarding them in her bedroom for a week? 

I turned off the stove and ended the call with my insurance provider, rushing to chase Priscilla down.

“Excuse me!”

She turned slowly to face me, her face so utterly devoid of interest that it was like she had just looked back to glance at a random wall. 

“What?” she spat. It was the most she had said to me in days.

“Are you just going to leave those dishes in the sink?”

“Would you rather I leave them somewhere else?”

“I’m not the only person in this house who can wash dishes, you know. And since you’re the one who used them…”

“I don’t wash dishes,” she said, flippantly waving her hand towards me. She started walking again.

Maybe I should’ve kept my hands to myself, but I only wanted to keep her in the same room with me. I felt I deserved, at least, a conversation. I reached out, grabbing her shoulder.

In an instant, everything changed. I wouldn’t realize it until later, of course. But in hindsight, everything that would come after started right here–when Priscilla turned around again and, without hesitation, slapped me hard across the face.

It stung. More than just physically–her slap had instantly obliterated me emotionally too. I had never once been cruel or unkind to Priscilla, and I simply couldn’t comprehend how she could’ve struck me without any care whatsoever.

But her slap had done more than she had expected. I felt a sudden wetness in my pants–and I could see in her eyes that she noticed it at the same time I did.

“Did you just fucking piss yourself?”

I reached down between my legs, gripping the crotch of my jeans in my hand feeling that it was completely saturated. The wetness had spread down my thighs in dark ribbons.

“It…it was just an accident,” I muttered to myself. Of all the times this could’ve happened, it had to have happened now? Here? In front of Priscilla, of all people, after she struck me?

“You’re a terrible wife and stepmother,” Priscilla said, with a calm cruelty that I found frightening, “and as it turns out, you’re not even that good at being an adult.”

I wanted to defend myself, or at least lash out at her. It was ironic that she’d claim I wasn’t a good adult when this whole altercation began with her not taking care of her own dishes. But I couldn’t think about that at that moment. Of all the things racing through my mind, the thing that stuck out was that this was, somehow, my fault. I had been the one to get in her face. I had been the one to reach out and grab her shoulder. I should’ve said nothing and let her go.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Sorry?” Priscilla laughed, shaking her head. “You should be sorry. What gives you the right to yell at me in my own home when you aren’t even toilet trained yet.”

“I…I am…toilet trained,” I said. But it was a terrible argument. Saying the words out loud just sounded silly and made me look even more foolish.

“Do you know what the problem is?” she asked.

I couldn’t begin to imagine what she thought the problem was. I shook my head.

“My father isn’t the one who is in charge around here. It’s me. I’m in charge. This is my house. And the reason you and I don’t get along is because you haven’t recognized it yet.”

She was right, of course. Maybe not about me needing to recognize it, but there was no doubt that the house did revolve around Priscilla.

“All I have to do is say the word,” she continued, “and your ass would be out on the street. My father might have made some silly vows to you, but you’re never going to come before me.”

That, too, I believed. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Let’s just move on and forget this ever happened, okay?”

“No,” she said.

“No?”

“I need to know that you’ve learned your lesson,” she said. “I need you to acknowledge that I’m the one in charge around here.”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked, my hands still cupping my wet crotch, feeling the moisture continuing to spread through the fabric of my pants and panties. “Do you want me to just tell you that you’re in charge?”

“I think you need to get down on your knees and tell me that you’re sorry for being a pissy little baby who doesn’t know her place.”

“I… Come on, Priscilla. You can’t actually expect me to–”

“If you want to keep living here, you’re damn right I expect you to do it.”

A stronger woman would’ve thrown her arms up in the air before going to the bedroom to pack her bags. A stronger woman would’ve told Priscilla where she could stick her entitlement. A stronger woman would at least call her bluff. But I eased myself to my knees in my pissed-in pants. I didn’t truly believe the words she wanted me to say, but it seemed like the easiest way to make this moment end.

Once again, I was making a silly decision when I felt I was out of options.

“Jesus,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re actually going to do it?”

I sighed, frustrated at the implication that I had a choice. “I…I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for being a…uhm…pissy little baby. Who, uh, doesn’t know her place.”

Priscilla laughed. “You are so fucking pathetic. It shouldn’t surprise me, really. My father was never going to marry someone like my mother again–so of course he’d marry someone like himself.”

“Alright, well…I’m just going to get up and change and…”

“I’m not done with you yet.”

“But…”

“I don’t truly believe you’ve learned any sort of lesson at all,” she said. “Sure, you’re an obedient little bitch, I’ll give you that. But I don’t think you actually believe that I’m the one in charge.”

I shrugged. “What else do you want from me?”

“Stand up.”

I did so, once again cupping the front of my pants with my hands in a feeble attempt to reduce how much of my pathetic pee-stain was showing to my step-daughter.

“Now turn around,” she commanded.

I did, uncertain why I needed to be facing away from her.

The answer came just a moment after I had turned away from her–a swift slap to my ass. I cried out–more from shock than pain, though it certainly hurt too. 

“D-did you just…”

She smacked me again, her hand landing against my ass with a loud slapping sound. This one hurt more than the first and I felt tears welling in my eyes. She was hitting me again. No…

She was spanking me.

I couldn’t explain the reason I remained standing in front of her, leaving my bottom open for her continued assault–which she took advantage of with a few more swats. Was I paralyzed from the surprise of this surreal situation? Was I afraid of the consequences of walking away? Did I actually believe that I was deserving of this sort of infantile treatment–spanked like a toddler for wetting their pants? I had no answer, all I knew was that I allowed for it to happen.

“Now,” Priscilla finally said, “go wash my dishes in your pissy pants. And when you’re done with that, you have my permission to clean yourself up.”

Her permission. It seemed like a surreal joke–one in which I was the punchline. 

And yet…I nodded. 

“And one last thing,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Next time I see you, you better be wearing a diaper. Like the pathetic baby that you are.”

Two

“Do you love me?”

It was a surprisingly difficult question for me to ask. I shouldn’t have had to ask such a question to my spouse at all. Yet there I was, lying in bed with him, doubting.

“I, well…” Pat cleared his throat before starting over. “Andie, that’s a silly question.”

“But you didn’t answer me.”

“Oh…well, of course I love you. I married you, didn’t I?”

“I think we’re both smart enough to know that people get married for reasons other than love.”

“I feel like you’re beating around the bush,” he said, shrugging. “Maybe you could tell me what this is really about?”

I thought his observation was fair. As much as I’d love to dig into the nature of our marriage, there was a bigger point I was trying to get to.

“I don’t think Priscilla and I get along all that well. I’ve tried, but… I just don’t think she respects me all that much.” There was a lot I was leaving out–wet pants, spankings, and the mention of diapers.

Pat sighed. “I know she can be a lot. She’s…”

He seemed stuck on what word to use to describe her, but plenty came to my mind: Arrogant. Selfish. Conniving. Rude. Spoiled. 

“...special,” he finally said.

I scoffed, displeased with whatever it was he meant by that.

“You have to give her time,” he continued. “She’ll come around.”

“It’s been long enough,” I said.

“Well, uhm, you didn’t marry her,” he said. “You married me.”

It felt a lot like a dismissal. “But say it got so bad that the two of us couldn’t live in the same home together anymore…”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Andie. I can assure you that she’s not that difficult to deal with. It’ll never come down to that.”

“But let’s say it did,” I said. “Let’s say that we had such fundamental differences that it came down to choosing between me and her.”

He took a deep breath as he considered this. “I…I don’t really like thinking about this sort of thing.”

“Nor do I.”

I wasn’t sure what I was hoping he’d say. Maybe something about how Priscilla was an adult now and it was time for her to grow up and move on with her life. Maybe something about how he’d have my back.

Instead, he shrugged. “I mean…she’s my flesh and blood, Andie. I would hope that it’d never come down to making such a choice. But I could never ask my own daughter to leave if she wasn’t ready to.”

Three

I was in a quandary. With the revelation that, if it came to it, Pat wouldn’t have my back over Priscilla’s, I needed to start thinking about my future. Again. 

My parents had moved away within the last few months, taking up residence in a retirement community. Though it had never been said aloud, I had my reasons to suspect that they would’ve moved away a long time ago, but they were waiting for me to move out first. They had been liberated–and I doubted I could go back to them now with my head hung in shame.

Meanwhile, rents in the area were beginning to skyrocket and I had little money of my own to begin with. I had an accounting position when I met Pat, but had since been laid off when my firm downsized. It hadn’t been that big of a deal at the time–Pat had made more than enough to keep the family afloat. 

But it essentially meant that until I could get myself a new job and save up some money, I was stuck in place. And, perhaps, that wasn’t the worst thing in the world if I could just lie low and avoid Priscilla. Though…

“Well, well, well,” she said to me in the kitchen one afternoon, setting down her tall glass of lemonade so that she could put her hands on her hips. “If it isn’t my darling step-mommy. I hope my appearance doesn’t startle you so much that you shit yourself.”

I felt my cheeks warm as I bashfully tried to look away from her. I had feared this confrontation since the other day when she had spanked my wet ass. 

I tried to take the high road. “I was wrong to have grabbed your shoulder. But I think we all learned a lesson about personal space, right? I, uhm, think it’d be for the best if I just left you alone. And I’m sure that’s what you’d rather, right?”

But she just kept staring at me with a wicked smile on her face, as if she either hadn’t heard what I just said, or she just didn’t care.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well…what?”

“Are you wearing your diaper like a good little girl?”

I felt my face go from pink to a deep red. “Wh-what? You were serious about that?”

“You’re going to walk around my house, pissing your pants? Nuh-uh, baby girl.”

“Priscilla…it was just an accident. Y-you…hit me, remember? It’s not the kind of thing that happens regularly. It’s never happened before, and I can assure you that it’s not going to happen again.”

She clicked her tongue as she shook her head disapprovingly. I felt stupid for having mentioned the fact that she had hit me. Even if it was true, it felt confrontational to have brought it up again.

“Come over here,” she said to me, beckoning me with a curling finger.

“I…I think I’m good over here,” I said.

“I wasn’t asking if you wanted to come over here. I’m ordering you to come over here.”

Always seeking the path of least resistance, I decided to approach her. I didn’t want to, but I also wasn’t sure that the worst case scenario would be all that bad. I doubted she was going to slap me again, and I felt pretty confident that I wouldn’t be peeing my pants again.

“I was very serious about you wearing a diaper,” she said when I stood directly in front of her. She had leaned forward, and I could feel her hot breath on my face. It smelled sweet, like candy. Like the lemonade she was drinking. I wondered if that had been intentional or not, as I found her juvenile scent to be especially humiliating as she spoke to me–someone both older than her and, technically, her step-mother. 

“I don’t need diapers, Priscilla.”

“I don’t care what you need. If I tell you to wear a diaper, you wear a diaper, understand?”

Was there any other way out of this? Any other course I could set this conversation on that didn’t end with either me wearing a diaper or me setting up my own homelessness before I was ready to move out?

I couldn’t think of anything. Maybe if I had more time. Maybe if she was a more reasonable person. 

“If I wore a diaper, could we drop this whole thing?” I asked.

“Not a diaper–singular,” she said. “Diapers–plural. From now on, in my house, you’re going to wear diapers all the time.”

“That seems…kind of unfair, Priscilla.”

“We could always ask my father,” she said with a shrug. “If I told him you kept peeing your pants and that you needed to wear diapers, I bet he’d agree with me.”

“But that wouldn’t be true!” I exclaimed. “I don’t keep peeing my pants! It happened only once and it’s not going to happen–”

I didn’t get to finish that sentence. Priscilla had picked up her glass of lemonade, and in a move I should’ve seen coming, she pulled open my pants and dumped the entirety of the contents into them. The cold yellow liquid immediately soaked through my panties and pants, puddling on the floor under my feet.

Priscilla was now holding her cell phone, tapping at something on the screen. “What do you think? Should I call my father into the kitchen so he can see what you’ve done to yourself?”

“But I didn’t…” I stopped myself from protesting much further. What would be the point? Not only had Priscilla managed to humiliate me yet again, but she was an expert at manipulating her father. She could convince him that I was somehow Jack the Ripper if she wanted.

Her head tilted as she grinned, still waiting on an answer to her question.

“No,” I finally said. “You don’t have to call your father down here.”

“You’ll clean up this mess, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll clean yourself up too, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And the diapers?”

“I’ll…get some.”

“Good girl. Don’t let me down, Step-Mommy. Next time I need to spank you, it’s going to be over my lap.”

Four

I kept telling myself that I wasn’t buying diapers because Priscilla had won. I was buying diapers because it was a means to an end for myself. I didn’t need to wear them forever. I just needed to placate Priscilla when she was around. And the rest of my time could be spent looking for a new job, saving money, and eventually leaving.

But as I stood in line at the supermarket, holding a plastic brick of disposable ‘adult incontinence briefs’ in my hands, it felt an awful lot like Priscilla had won. Wherever she was at that moment, she wasn’t feeling humiliated or nervous. She either wasn’t thinking about me at all, or she was laughing at my expense. Meanwhile, I was handing my new diapers over to a teenage boy to scan and bag as my cheeks blushed.

“They’re not for me,” I said, sheepishly. I knew I’d be better off saying nothing at all, but I couldn’t help myself.

He just shrugged. He probably hadn’t cared at all. Worse–by making a point of saying that they weren’t for me, he was now thinking that they were. He chuckled to himself when he handed me the receipt.

Back at the house, I practically sprinted to the bedroom, slamming the door behind me and locking the door. 

So this is what my life has come to? Diapers?

I wondered how different I’d have felt if I actually needed diapers. If I had suddenly become incontinent–and assuming it was a scenario where I couldn’t just go to the doctor and find an alternative treatment–what would that be like? It’d still be humiliating, of course. But it would just be a hardship–a known challenge–that I could overcome or adapt to.

While I wasn’t very religious anymore, my parents were, and I used to have to go to Sunday School when I was growing up. I remember, once, someone asked the teacher in the class–some volunteer who I suspected never held any sort of certification for teaching–what hell was actually like. And the woman offered this explanation: Hell was a place where you never got used to being in pain. First, they might start poking you with needles. And just when you thought that you might be beginning to get used to that sort of pain, they’d put away the needles and take out the hammers. So on and so forth, for eternity.

Kind of a terrifying idea to put into children’s heads. But it certainly made me fear hell.

This was what I feared from Priscilla. She was making up the rules as she went. I could wear a diaper if I had to, and maybe that’d suffice for amusement for a while. But eventually it wouldn’t be enough. And then what?

I pulled the first diaper from the pack, unfolding it in my hands. It wasn’t quite as bad as I thought it would be. I’m not sure what I was expecting–something thick and bulky? Something that looked exactly like a baby diaper, but sized up? This looked more like a pair of underwear. No tapes or tabs, just a pull-up style garment made of something that felt a lot like cloth, despite probably not being actual cloth. It made sense, really–the intended customer base was probably looking for something pretty discreet.

Given this line of logic, I felt a little better about putting a diaper on. But I certainly didn’t feel good about it. No matter what it was I had to wear–a diaper or even just a t-shirt with Priscilla’s face on it–the fact was that I was still wearing something only because she demanded it. She was younger than me, and my step-daughter. She shouldn’t have this sort of power over me.

And yet I was looking at myself in the mirror, a svelte layer of padding wrapped around my midsection.

Don’t get used to this. Because you never know when she’s going to grab the hammer.

Five

Later, I’d laugh to myself as I vacuumed the living room carpet. Who would notice the diaper first? Pat or Priscilla?

Obviously, I’d rather not be in this situation at all. But if I had to choose, in a world perfect enough that I got to choose–despite still having to wear a diaper–I’d want it to be my husband. He, whoever this ‘perfect enough’ version was, would be concerned about me. He’d want to know if there was something wrong with me. And when I explained the truth about what happened, he’d swoop in to correct everything.

But Pat wasn’t going to notice. We hadn’t been intimate in a few weeks, and he seemed to have the libido of a ham sandwich–none at all. This, too, had been a source of bitterness and resentment in me, though it had been hard not to take it personally. Was I not attractive enough? Adventurous enough in bed? 

The diaper was subtle enough of a presence that I could easily forget about it most of the time. I had actually worn that first diaper for two days straight without Pat lifting so much as a curious eyebrow in my direction. Meanwhile, I had either been successful in avoiding Priscilla, or she hadn’t felt like hunting me down to humiliate me again. 

Which, in itself, was humiliating–trotting around the house in a diaper for almost two full days without anyone else knowing, just in case Priscilla did decide to hassle me.

And just as I began to lower my defenses, I ran into her.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” she said smugly.

“Noticed…what?” I didn’t think it was possible that she could see the diapers through my pants, but maybe I was wrong.

“I’ve watched you, slinking around the house–trying to avoid me.”

Oh, that, I thought, a little relieved. I hadn’t thought I had been ‘slinking’ all that much, though she may have been right about that.

“I’m just trying to stay out of your way, that’s all.”

“Why? Don’t want to have your diaper checked?” she said, laughing to herself. “You are wearing a diaper, right?”

I took a deep breath. “Y-yes…”

She laughed again. “Seriously?”

This sort of response always threw me for a loop–as if, despite all her threats and demands, she had actually been joking the whole time, and I was the idiot who believed her.

“You told me to…”

“Show me,” she said. “Pull down your pants and show me your diaper.”

I could’ve hemmed and hawed about it, maybe begged a little for her to not make me pull my pants down in front of her. But I could see a step or two ahead and I didn’t see it working out in my favor. The path of least resistance would be to just pull down my pants and let her see what I was wearing. 

So I did, carefully unbuttoning and unzipping my pants, and shimmying them down my legs, just enough to show off the incontinence briefs.

For a moment, she didn’t react. I expected her to be laughing or smiling. Instead, she looked disappointed. 

“What the fuck is that?”

“It’s…a diaper.”

“It’s a pair of underwear.”

“N-no…if you go to the grocery store and look for adult diapers, this is what they have.”

“It’s a glorified pad,” she spat, reaching forward and stroking the front of the brief with the back of her hand. “Does that thing even hold anything?”

“I…don’t know.”

“What, you haven’t pissed in it yet?”

I came incredibly close to asking why I would’ve, but I bit my tongue. She’d have loved to answer that question. Instead, I offered: “I haven’t yet, no.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

“Are you asking me to pee my pants right now?”

“I am.’

“What if…I don’t have to go?”

She shrugged. “I don’t have anywhere to be. I can wait.”

“But what if it takes an hour or two before I can–”

“I’ll wait all fucking day if I have to,” she said. “Neither of us are going anywhere until you’ve pissed in those so-called diapers.”

Truth was, I did have to pee. When it came to my personal needs, they were usually pretty low on the priority list. It was safe to assume that I was usually in some state of needing to use the toilet. In fact, I wouldn’t have been surprised if this had been part of the reason I pissed myself when she had struck me the other day. Maybe it was a miracle that I hadn’t been having more actual accidents in my pants.

The real hurdle was allowing myself to just pee, while standing in front of Priscilla, while wearing a diaper. I had always been a bit pee-shy. There have been countless times in my life that I found myself paralyzed in a toilet stall, waiting for every other woman in the restroom to vacate so they wouldn’t hear me do my business.

Just pee, I told myself. Just go. Wet yourself. I’m giving myself permission. It’s okay. Just…go.

Nothing.

Somehow, my efforts to make myself pee had increased the pressure in my bladder without actually having the ability to just let go. I was getting desperate, finding myself bouncing up and down ever so slightly as I sought the will to urinate into the diaper. 

“Oh god, that’s cute,” Priscilla giggled. “Are you actually doing a little potty dance?”

“I just…I want to…but…”

“Go on, little girl. Do your little potty dance until you make tinkles in your pants.”

My face was flushed red, and a wave of humiliation washed over me. It was a deep embarrassment, hitting me in a way that I couldn’t ever recall feeling before. She was treating me like a literal child. 

Worse…as I bobbed in place, trying to wet my pants, I felt like a literal child.

I’m not sure what changed–had the pressure in my bladder grown to a point where I had no choice, or had she just worn me down psychologically? But suddenly, it was happening. 

“Are you…? Oh. Oh wow. You’re really doing it, huh?” Her laugh came out on in spurts as she gasped at me. “Holy shit. You’re really pissing yourself right in front of me!”

I opened my mouth to respond, but I had absolutely no idea what to say. Instead, I just moaned a little–a pathetic little noise denoting the relief I felt from finally being able to piss.

“You just let me know when you’re all done,” she said, the most smug smile I had ever seen on her face.

“I…think that’s it,” I said a half-minute later. Having to announce that to her felt almost as embarrassing as having to actually wet myself in front of her. I was a little girl, talking to my mommy.

“Let’s take a good look at this thing, huh?” Priscilla said, leaning forward and bending down so that she could get a good look at my saturated briefs.

If it was easy to pretend that I wasn’t wearing a diaper while it was dry, it was impossible to forget now that it was wet. The padding had bloated and swelled, and it was so heavy that I wondered if there was a point where it wouldn’t stay in place without pants to hold it.

Priscilla, my step-daughter, was inspecting my diaper. Poking at it. Pressing into the moist padding with her fingertips. I felt little spurts of moisture escape the soaked padding when she put pressure on it.

“This is totally unacceptable as a diaper,” she said, standing straight up again. “You’ve pissed yourself once and you’re already leaking.”

“I…I don’t have to use the diaper,” I said.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “you do. Because if I ever see that the bathroom door is closed and I know you’re in there? I’m barging through the door and sticking your face in the toilet. From now on, you’re wearing diapers. And you’re going to need better diapers than those.”

I was on the verge of tears, listening to Priscilla–just barely an adult herself–tell me how my life was supposed to be from now on. 

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I said so.”

I should’ve known that’d be the response.

“Take off your diaper,” she said.

“Here? Now?”

“Did I tell you to go back to the bedroom, you stupid baby? Take it off right now.”

First, I shimmied the rest of my way out of my pants. Then,I slipped my thumbs behind the waist of the diaper and started to push it down my body like it was a pair of panties. But with the weight of my pee, the garment almost instantly fell down the length of my legs, landing in my discarded pants.

“Give it to me,” she said.

“Y-you…want it?”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you going to make me repeat every single question I ask?”

I quickly reached down, picking the sodden pair of briefs from the ground and handing it to her. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what she’d want it for.

What she did do with them happened so quickly that I was still processing it after she was done. In less than a second, she opened the diaper up and slid it over my head like a helmet. The wet padding was pressed against my skin and hair; little beads of urine dribbling down my scalp. 

“There,” she said. “I like that look for you.”

I stood there, no pants on and with a soaking wet diaper on my head as she laughed at me. I was crying. I really wished I wasn’t–I knew it’d only fuel her further–but I couldn’t help it.

“Aw, is the wittle baby sad that she has to wear her pee-pee pants like a hat? Fucking little pig-baby. I should make you crawl around like that, while having you make little oinking noises.”

“P-please,” I said. “May I just go clean myself up?”

She laughed again. “Yeah, get the fuck out of my sight. Don’t forget to put a new diaper on. You need better ones, but I’ll take care of that.”

I was so relieved to have been dismissed that I didn’t even pay attention to whatever she said about needing new diapers. I just walked briskly back to the master bedroom, diaper still on my head.

I was running through my options again. Maybe being homeless wasn’t so bad. Maybe if I made enough calls, there was a friend I could stay with. Maybe I could find a shelter. 

But after I slammed shut the bedroom door and locked it, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I doubted I had ever looked so pathetic in my entire life.

I felt something completely unexpected. Something that I almost didn’t want to think too hard about, for fear that it would ruin my life even further than it had been. I tried to push it down, back into my subconscious, but it felt like it was too late.

My fingers felt my pussy. Wet. Not just pee, either.

Fuck.

It was possible that Priscilla had given me something else besides deep shame, wet diapers and self doubt. She had also given me attention–and that was something I had been sorely lacking in my life. 

I would eventually take a shower. But first, I needed to watch myself in the mirror–fingering myself as my wet diaper continued to dribble onto my head and face.

***

If you like what you're readin', then you ought to stop by Ream, where I share new, exclusive stories every week with my subscribers - including more of this story. The second part of Priscilla was just shared with Tier 3 subscribers, with the final part coming early next month.