forced regression and humiliation

In a small plastic cup with a childish design.  Result: “Aww, baby, did you miss again?”

In a measuring cup.  Result: “Now, little one, I’m not sure you held it quite as long as you could have done.”

In an ice-cube tray.  Result: “Talking back to Mommy just earned you two pee-pee cubes in your bedtime diaper.  Do you want to make it three?”

In her own cupped hands. “Sweetheart, couldn’t you catch it all?  Such a clumsy baby.”

In a funnel aimed at the regular potty.  “You keep missing the potty, little one, but this will help.”

On a washcloth which is then used to scrub her breasts in the bath.  “You know you like when it makes a nice lather, baby.”

I eye the plate before me with trepidation. It’s such a pretty cake - so colorful, so artfully decorated. How can I ever do it? I look up mutely at Mommy from my oversized highchair, but she merely smiles down at me knowingly. “Go on,” she encourages me kindly. “Show me what a messy little princess you are…” She strokes my tousled hair affectionately and leans down to whisper in my ear. “Or don’t you want to be changed after all?”

I nod my head, remembering the terms Mommy has stipulated, and feeling the thick wet bulk squishing silently between my naked thighs. That’s right. No clothes and no diaper change for me until I complete the seven little challenges she’s set up for me. My skin tingles with the heated beginning of a rash - perhaps psychosomatic, perhaps not. I simply have to get changed before that happens, and definitely before my aunties come over to visit this evening. Of course they know Mommy is diaper training me, but still - to face them in a 24-hour old, bulging, sagging diaper? No. I simply can’t.

“Good little babies love making all kinds of messes,” Mommy breathes softly in my ear. “And you do want to be a good baby for Mommy, don’t you?” I nod once more, feeling my reluctance melting away under her quiet words. “So go on, then. Eat up. Show me you love making yourself all messy for me, okay? And once you find the first key somewhere deep inside that yummy, gooey cake, we’ll move on to the next one, okay?”

I nod. I sink my trembling fingers into the cake, and bring the first gooey, crumb-caked bite to my mouth.

There is something cathartic about this, I begin to realize about three minutes in, feeling the cool wet frosting coating my fingers, my face, even my naked chest. As much as I hate messes, it really is liberating not to worry about etiquette or protocol. To just dig in - to eat - to feel the sugary mess slipping between your fingers… And just when I think I might never find it, my fingers close on the key: the first of seven that will unlock my salvation.

Mommy is beaming from ear to ear as she snaps pictures of my gooey face, then brings out my next course. It’s a bowl of pudding - a massive one - and as I sink my already-sticky fingers into its creamy surface, I reflect that I’m probably going to be at this for awhile. The pudding slithers, cold and wet, down my front as I fish about and stuff fistfuls into my mouth. Eating isn’t really necessary, but Mommy wants to see me enjoying her food, so…

Things take a turn with the third course. Mommy produces a large jar of what appears to be honey, and sure enough, right at the bottom I see the third key gleaming. “Have fun getting it out of there, baby,” she smiles. “Or better yet, why don’t I help you? Here, why don’t you open up for me?” Oh, I do - and feel the sticky stream slip easily through my hair, down my face, into my mouth, down my chin… It’s strangely erotic, this sensation, and even as I gulp down some of the incredibly sweet flood I feel a sudden urge to smear it all over my body. And so I do.

Oh, Mommy is being tricksy now! Next comes a massive bag of shredded coconut, which obviously ends up clinging to every inch of my sticky body and turning me into an odd, white, coconut-covered blob. Once that key has been discovered - at the very bottom, of course - Mommy produces a classic: a whipped cream pie. “Now, why don’t we get started on this the easy way?” she teases…before lovingly grinding it into my food-plastered face.

If I found the honey to be erotic, that hasn’t even begun to prepare me for the unexpectedly beautiful feeling of the warm chocolate Mommy now begins to pour over my head and face. “Key’s at the bottom, sweetie,” she coos in my coconut-encrusted ear. “So why not just enjoy feeling this wonderful yummy chocolate run all over that cute little baby body of yours?” I nod my filthy head, moaning and gurgling a bit in mingled disgust and arousal as I feel the warm flood running down my front and even down into my soggy diapers. So erotic, and yet so humiliating…

By the seventh and final challenge, I know I must be unrecognizable. Covered as I now am in honey, frosting, pie, and chocolate, Mommy gingerly unbuckles my high chair tray and leads me, dripping and waddling, to the sunny back yard. “Here we are,” she smiles, leading me barefoot through the soft grass to the edge of a kiddie pool - which happens to be filled with the gooiest-looking mud I’ve ever seen. “Go on, baby! See if you can find that last key for Mommy! You do want a bath and a change, don’t you?”

And so, like the obedient, filthy, messy baby I am, I drop to my knees and begin searching, the mud squelching beneath me with every move I make. I know Mommy is snapping picture after embarrassing picture. I know that with all this mud it will probably take me an hour or more to find that darn key. I even suspect that she may have actually “forgotten” to throw the key in here at all, just so she can show me off in this humiliating state to my aunties. But even so, I can’t deny that deep inside me I’m eating up this humiliation, relishing how wonderfully Mommy is turning me into her filthy little plaything. And after all… there’s not much I can do now, is there?

daddy keeps slipping nyquil into my baby bottles. never too high of a dose, but enough to keep my mind really clouded all day. sometimes, the bottles are laced with other drugs to help me go potty in my diaper, too. daddy loves to remind me it's easier to crawl around the house rather than walk. he cuddles me and teases me by rubbing my wet diaper against my princess parts, but i'm too tired to beg him for cummies. after daddy gives me a higher dose of sleepy medicine, he slips a row of suppositories into my bottom. the goal is to see if i can make messies without even waking from my drug induced sleep.

a planned encounter is set up. i'm walking down a deserted street alone, and daddy pulls up in his car. throws me in the backseat or trunk, ties me up and blindfolds me, and takes me home to my nursery. i'm strapped to my crib, spread eagle, while daddy gives me an enema, attaches a drip gag to my mouth, and diapers me thickly. i remain blindfolded but fully conscious as my body begins reacting to the treatment. i'm left like this for days, and when daddy finally unties me and changes me, he has a list to check how compliant and dutiful i am to him. any infractions result in repeats of the treatment. how long until i'm the perfect baby slave?

every day, daddy slips an extra hypnotic suggestion into my brain. they're reinforced by orgasms, mantras, and triggers. ie: when daddy is nice enough to give me an orgasm of any kind, afterwards, i drop into a deep trance for 6 hours. i don't recall any of what happens in those hours, my body is completely up to daddy's whim. daddy tells me to repeat one of my mantras, and with every recitation, i am one step closer to messing. one, i sit down, two, i spread my legs, three, i lean back, and every one past that is another push of my bowels. it doesn't matter how many times i have to repeat it; i won't stop until i'm empty, and my diaper is full. all daddy might have to do is snap three times, and i crawl to him and pull his cock out of his pants, not understanding why the snaps mean it's time to put his manhood in my mouth until he blesses me with his cum on my face. i just know that it's what i do.

Can I get you a drink? How about a nice sippy-cup while we watch a movie, oh but we don’t want to have any accidents now do we? So just lay down and let me put this comfy diaper on you. Isn’t that better? Can’t have you making a mess all over my bed now can we? 

Can I get you another drink? Awh your so cute all squirmy in your diaper, are you even paying attention to the movie? Should I turn it off and get out one of your toys? There you’re paying a lot more attention to your magic wand than you were to the film and you’re so cute when you hump against it like that! 

Aw is your bladder filling up now? Tell me how full it feels, don’t you just want to let go? Don’t you think it’d be fun to just release and feel your diaper getting all warm and wet and squishy? I bet you’d love it, I bet it’d make you hump your wand even harder, desperate for release as you grind against your wet diaper. 

Come on now, drink up, hydration is so important for silly babies like you, I bet you wouldn’t even remember to drink unless I was here to remind you, aren’t you grateful? You can show me how grateful you are later, but right now I imagine you’re too busy trying not to pee yourself…

Wouldn’t it feel so good to let go right now? So wet and warm, imagine the release you’d feel if you could just let go, imagine the pee flowing out of you as you wet yourself for me like a pathetic little baby who can’t control themselves

“Don’t pout little one! Why do you even need to use the big girl potty? You’ve got a cosy fluffy diaper to pee in!…”

“There’s no point holding it, you’re in the diaper for a reason! Little girls can’t control themselves. Oh look! I can see your diaper turning yellow! Awww, good thing we put you in a diaper isn’t it!”

“sweetheart, you are way too big to still be wearing diapers.”

“if you want to be treated like a big boy, you need to start acting like a big boy.”

“why don’t we try pull-ups today, so you can pull them down and pee-pee in the potty like a big girl?”

“I’m going to put a diaper on you just in case, but I want you to tell me if you need to go potty.”

“why didn’t you tell me you needed to go potty?”

“you know I wouldn’t punish you for having an accident, but I don’t think that was an accident, mister.”

“big girls don’t go potty in their pants.”

“if I’m going to let you have big boy privileges, you need to show me you can keep your big boy pants dry.”

“I thought you were going to try to be a big girl today?”

“baby, you promised daddy you weren’t going to have any accidents today.“

“I’ll believe you’re big enough to do that when you can prove to me you’re big enough to stop wearing diapers.”

“it’s about time for you to start doing that in the potty, kiddo.”