"Guuugghhhhhhā¦ Whhuuuuuhhhhā¦ Muuhh-muuhhhā¦"
What were these sounds coming out of her mouth? How on earth could she be doing thisā¦ and in front of hundreds of random people on the internet? What was she even doingā¦ or thinking?
Assuming she even was thinking?
Her hand slipped rhythmically back and forth, up and down, pausing and then in its fitful stroking at the thickened bulk between her legs. Yes, she was wearing a diaper: an oversized, bulky, undeniably thick and infantile diaper. Beneath a pair of tights it might be, sure ā but sheer as they were, there was zero doubt about exactly what sort of mortifyingly babyish underwear she was wearingā¦ and in full view of everyone.
But of course. Of course her diaper was on display. No sense in hiding the very garment that was the main attraction, right?
The fingers of her right hand clenched around the little baby bottle, its familiar warmth pulling her back into the hazy memories of the many previous times she'd held it like this. Sure, there'd been a time when she'd winced and grimaced in disgust at the idea of posing with such a babyish accessory ā let alone drinking from it.
And yetā¦ it was so useful. Its contents were so delicious. And when, in full view of the camera, she slipped it between her rosy lipsā¦ when she suckled and was rewarded, gulp after pulsing gulp, with the creamy, mind-soothing formula withinā¦ well, it no longer mattered just how babyish it might be. It tasted heavenly, and the viewers went absolutely wild over it. Besides, the longer she suckled and stared over the pastel plastic into the swirling depths of her special trance video, the more fuzzy and happy and stupefied she began to feelā¦
She'd grown to love that sensation: the feeling that even now she felt approaching like a familiar friend. The sensation of being limp as a warm dishragā¦ safe as a dreaming kittenā¦ wrapped securely in warm happiness and the unspoken conviction that all was right in her dream-shrouded worldā¦
Yeah, her ba-ba was probably hella medicated. But that wasn't really a problem, was it? The streaming platform she worked for provided all the formula she could drink, gratis. And if she was ever tempted to worry about things too muchā¦ well, there was always that custom-made trance video to take her mind off things, and to remind her that any trips she was taking were also fueled, at least in part, by its mind-bendingly shimmering swirls.
Was she hypnotized? Was she tripping? Or maybe both, simultaneously?
She didn't knowā¦ but neither did she really even care anymore.
Sure, she sometimes felt her adult brain kicking back ā as it had been just now. She was embarrassing herself, it would scream. This wasn't normal. No sane person would ever dress up like a literal baby and whore herself out, playing on camera for hundreds of presumably horny strangers. She had to stop ā take control ā end her contract and with it this massive, horrifying nightmare of a mistakeā¦
But fortunately those moment were becoming less and less frequent as time trickled by.
"Bbhhuuuhhhhā¦ Gguuhh- gguuhhā¦" she babbled, no longer aware of the muscles within her throat that were producing such sounds. They were simply happening: emerging from the world around her, the soundtrack of her own mindless regression. Her eyes shifted, threatened to focusā¦
ā¦and then went blank once more.
Into the screen she stared now, limp and calm. Her hand, which had paused in momentary confusion, lapsed back into its rhythmic ministrations. In the quiet room, nothing now could be heard but the steady, soft ssshhhhh of her hand over her babyish white tightsā¦ and crinkle of the bulky diaper beneathā¦ and now and again, amid the pulse of her heavy breathing, the little burbling moans of longing and pleasure from her wordless lipsā¦
In other words, the perfect soundtrack to titillate her ever-devoted fans.
Be sure to check outĀ my Patreon hereĀ if you want to read more of my short stories!
theartofmadeline
amandla
titsay
romaincrisis
tangentwithtanner
vaporwave
