Diaper Sissy

It's OK to do it in your diaper dear...

Cry-Baby

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters are consenting adults over the age of 21. The terms “baby,” and similar language are used strictly in the context of consensual adult age regression, ABDL roleplay, and power-exchange fantasy between ADULTS. This story is fictional and does not represent or involve minors in any way.

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Hey widdle guy!” Mommy cooed as she stepped into the nursery, her voice sugary sweet and dripping with mockery. “How’s your diapy?”

I tugged hard at the soft restraints holding my wrists and ankles to the crib mattress, but they didn’t budge. The heavy, warm mush pressed insistently against my skin, a constant, squelching reminder with every tiny shift I made. The plastic pants over the thick diaper crinkled loudly at the slightest movement, sealing in the unmistakable, shameful scent of my accident. It was humiliating. Degrading. I felt my face burning before I even opened my mouth. I tried to speak, but the words stuck in my throat. What would I even say, anyhow?

Luckily, Mommy didn’t wait for me.

“No need, sweetie. I can smell you from the other room.” She wrinkled her nose playfully as she leaned over the crib rail. “Does baby want his diapy changed?”

I whimpered and nodded frantically, desperate for relief.

Mommy giggled, the sound light and cruel. “Aww, that’s so cute! But I don’t think that’s how babies ask for things anymore…”

She rested her arms on the rail, looking down at me with that calm, all-knowing smile that always made my stomach twist. “I think someone’s gotten a little too big for their britches lately. Started getting a little demanding, even while sitting in a diaper. ‘I’m hungry.’ ‘I need a diaper change.’ ‘I want this.’ ‘I want that.’ Almost like you still think you have any say in anything. Like you get any adult autonomy at all.”

My face felt hot. It wasn’t like I was trying to run the show. She had completely subjugated me at every turn, treating me like a baby. It wasn’t that I was defying her, I was just communicating as much as I was allowed to. But the way she said it made even that small attempt at expression sound like a crime. Like I was being uppity just for having basic needs. She was twisting it, using it as another excuse to push me down even further. Drop me another peg. Another step toward total regression.

“So, we’re going to have a new rule...” she continued, her voice dropping into that soft, condescending tone that always turned my insides to mush. “I don’t think it’s quite sunk in yet that you are no longer a man. You’re just a pathetic little baby that poops his pampers. So if you want something—anything at all—you’re going to earn it like the widdle baybee you are. No more words. No more whining like an adult pretending he still has dignity. Oh no...”

She leaned in closer, eyes sparkling with amusement. “If you want that diaper changed, if you want to be let out of this crib after naptime, if you’re hungee and that little tummy is rumbling for num nums: you have to cry like a fucking baby."

She proceeded to demonstrate with exaggerated flair, puckering her lips and letting out a loud, mocking wail that echoed around the nursery. “Wahhh wahhh wahhh! Boo-hoo-hoo! The works."

My cheeks flushed even hotter. The idea of doing that myself made me want to sink into the mattress and disappear.

“I’m talking full-on, ridiculous, over-the-top baby crying. Kicking those little legs. Wriggling right there in your messy diaper, making it crinkle and squish so I can hear exactly how full it is. And there better be real tears streaming down your face, or you can forget it. If it’s not the most pathetic display I’ve ever seen, then you can stay right there in your poopy diaper for all I care. I’m sure once that rash starts kicking in, you’ll learn to shed those tears properly.”

I stared up at her, heart pounding. The weight between my legs was growing unbearable, the warm mush pressing and shifting against my skin with every tiny movement.

Mommy reached through the bars and gently patted the front of my diaper. Her hand pressing and squeezing just enough to make it squelch audibly. "Oooh, yea...that’s a big one! Feels like you really let go during your nap, didn’t you? Good babies don’t hold back, but good babies also know how to ask for help. So let’s practice...shall we?”

She straightened up, folding her arms expectantly. “Go on. Show Mommy how badly you want out of that crib and into a nice clean diapee!! Go on. Cry for me. Let's hear it.”

For a moment, a stubborn adult fragment deep inside me resisted. This was ridiculous. Humiliating. But the discomfort in my loaded diaper won out. I took a shaky breath and let out a weak, high-pitched whimper. “Wah…wahhh…”

Mommy’s eyebrow arched. “That’s it? That’s the best you got? Pathetic. I said cry like a baby, not some half-hearted adult sniffle. Kick your legs. Wriggle. Whine. Make that diaper sing for me.”

The humiliation burned through every inch of me. I felt utterly ridiculous as I lifted my legs in the confined space and started kicking them up and down in short, frantic bursts limited by the tight ankle restraints. The thick padding crinkled loudly with every motion, the plastic outer layer rustling against the crib sheet. The mess shifted and spread, warm and sticky, coating me further. I wriggled my hips from side to side like a tottler in full tantrum, feeling the squish intensify, the scent rising stronger around me. My hands, trapped in thick mittens, clenched and twisted helplessly against the straps above me. The frilly bonnet around my head slipped and slid with every frantic toss of my head from side to side as I forced out the fake wailing.

“Wahhh! Wahhh!! Wahhh!!!” My voice cracked as I forced the wails higher, louder, more ridiculous. I sounded absurd. Completely pathetic. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes from the sheer embarrassment of what I was doing.

Mommy watched with a satisfied smirk. “Better. But I don’t see real tears yet. Come on, baby. Think about how trapped you are. How that poopy diaper is going to stay on until you break down like the helpless little thing you’ve become. 'Wahhh wahhh wahhh' let it alllll out!”

The full weight of my fall crashed over me in that moment. My entire adult life—every shred of independence, pride, and manhood I once had—had been completely stripped away until I was nothing more than this: a 27 year-old lying in his own warm filth, forced to kick and bawl pathetically in a crinkling diaper just to beg for the most basic care. Every trace of manhood I once clung to had been methodically erased until nothing remained but this sniveling, stinking broken deadbeat that she now controlled completely. The humiliation, the loss, the sheer depth of my regression...it all hit me at once. My face crumpled.

“Waaaahhh! Waaaahhh wahhh wahhh!!!!” The cries tore out of me, loud and unrestrained. I kicked harder, legs flailing against the air, yanking the straps, the crib bars rattling slightly. My whole body wriggled desperately, the diaper crinkling and squelching in a constant, humiliating symphony. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks, dripping onto the padded crib mattress. I felt so ridiculous. A grown man reduced to this, bawling and kicking in a filthy diaper just to earn a change.

Mommy cooed softly. “There we go!!! That’s my good baby! Look at those big crocodile tears. Hear how that messy diapee is crinkling away? So full and soggy!! Poor thing....”

She didn’t move to open the crib yet. She just stood there, watching me continue the performance, drawing it out. I kept wailing, chest heaving with each exaggerated sob, legs pumping like a tottler in full meltdown mode. The longer it went on, the more ridiculous I felt, like every last shred of adulthood was being stripped away with every “wahhh” and every crinkle.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of blubbering and kicking, Mommy unlatched the crib side. It lowered with a soft click.

“Ohhh, what is it, sweetie?” she cooed suddenly, snapping into that syrupy, motherly voice as if she’d just discovered an upset little one. “What’s the matturr, huh? Ohh, my poor widdle baby…is that big, yucky diaper you filled up making you so fussy? Is that it? Aww, did you make a big stinky mess and now you’re all uncomfortable? Ohhh you poor thinggg...”

She reached in, unbuckled my straps, and scooped me up under the arms like I weighed nothing. My legs dangled uselessly, the heavy diaper swaying pendulously between them as she carried me to the changing table.

She bounced me gently in her arms, her tone dripping with condescending faux concern. “There, there… Mommy’s got you now..."

She laid me down on the cool plastic mat, the crinkle of fresh changing paper loud beneath me.

“You earned that one, sweetie. But barely. Next time I want even more drama. I want you screaming the house down before I even think about helping.”

With practiced efficiency, she peeled open the tapes of my soiled diaper. The cool air hit my messy skin, making me whimper anew. She wiped me thoroughly, the cool baby wipes a stark contrast to the warm filth, her commentary never stopping.

“Aww, someone made a big stinky present for Mommy!!” she teased in a singsong voice. “Did you fill your pampers like a good little loser boy? Yes you did, didn’t you?!? Lots of warm loads in here...”

As she wiped the front, she casually dragged the cool wipe across my swollen, aching balls and the flat metal cage locked tightly around my denied cock. The cage was leaking its own frustrated tears. Sticky droplets of precum that had been building for days. She barely seemed to notice them, wiping the whole area with the same indifferent efficiency she used on the rest of the mess, as if my desperate, leaking frustration was no different from the rest of my babyish accident.

“Ohhh, and look at this silly little cage dripping again!" she cooed playfully. "Aww!! Are your tiny blue balls crying too?? How adorable. But Mommy doesn’t care about those leaky tears at all, does she?? Noo...Only the big, loud, baby wah-wahs get Mommy's attention!!”

Powder dusted my skin, the talc scent enveloping me. A fresh, thick diaper was slid underneath, thicker than the last, with extra padding that promised even louder crinkles. She fastened it snugly, taping it tight around my waist and legs, then gave the front a firm pat that made it rustle loudly.

“All clean! For now...” She helped me sit up, then carried me to the rocking chair in the corner. From a nearby warmer, she retrieved a large bottle filled with warm milk. “Is my widdle baybee hungee?”

I hadn’t realized it until that moment, but after the long nap and the humiliating cry-show, my stomach was letting out loud, embarrassing growls. The hunger gnawed at me, making me feel even more pathetic and infantile.

I nodded eagerly, eyes fixed on the bottle. She brought it close to my lips, but the second I leaned forward to latch on, she pulled the nipple just out of reach.

“Cry for it.”

I hesitated, a flicker of reluctance and lingering shame holding me back. I didn’t want to do this ridiculous display again so soon. It felt degrading, like a dog having to perform tricks for treats. But she was clearly adamant that this was how things worked now. With a defeated little whimper, I finally gave in. I kicked my freshly padded legs, the new diaper crinkling crisply with each motion. “Wahhh wahhh wahhh!” Tears came easier this time, the humiliation fresh and raw. My body wriggled in her lap, the thick padding compressing and expanding. I felt utterly absurd, kicking and bawling like this while she rocked me calmly, but I couldn’t stop. I was in the throws of it now.

Mommy smiled indulgently, finally bringing the bottle to my lips. I suckled greedily, the warm formula filling my mouth as she rocked me gently. “Good boy. See how easy it is when you just give in? No more pretending to be a big boy. Every need, every comfort...it all comes with a price. Those baby tears.”

As I nursed, her free hand idly rubbed my back, occasionally drifting down to pat my diapered bottom. Her voice stayed soft but relentless, painting my future in calm, inevitable strokes.

“Imagine it, baby. Days from now, weeks from now, you’ll be doing this automatically. The second any urge hits...whether you’re wet, messy, tired, hungry, or just lonely in your crib...you’ll drop whatever little scrap of dignity you have left. You’ll kick those legs, toss your head in that silly bonnet, and wail like the helpless little thing you are. You’ll cry for diaper changes. Cry to be let out of your crib. Cry for a bottle when your tummy rumbles. Cry when you want out of your highchair. Cry when you need a cuddle. Cry when that little cage gets too tight and achy. Cry just because you’re bored and want Mommy’s attention...”

She rocked me slowly, her tone almost soothing.

“No more words, baby. No more ‘Mommy I have poo poos.’ No more ‘peas please, no prunes.’ No more tottler words at all. Just babbles. That’s all you get from now on.” Her tone stayed light and playful as she listed everything I had lost. “You don’t get to cum anymore. You don’t get to use the potty anymore. You don’t even get to properly talk anymore. All of that is gone. You're nothing but a widdle cry-baby now.”

She leaned down and kissed the top of my bonneted head.

“And if you don’t give me the full ridiculous performance every single time? Well…Mommy will give you something to cry about! I’ll spank that bottom bright red until you’re sobbing. I’ll soap that naughty mouth until you’re bubbling and blubbering. I’ll leave you sitting in that messy diaper for hours until your skin is burning and screaming louder than you ever could! Squirming won’t help. Whining won’t help. Only real, big, desperate baybee cries will make Mommy come running.”

She set the empty bottle aside and lifted me to her shoulder for a burp, patting firmly. A small bubble escaped, and I let out a tiny, involuntary whimper.

She carried me out of the nursery and into the living room, lowering me into the large wooden playpen. The padded playmat was surrounded by all the trappings of my new life: colorful stacking blocks, a pile of soft crinkly books, a bouncy activity center, and several oversized stuffed animals watching me silently. She placed a colorful rattle in my mittened hand.

“I’ll be right over here if you need anything, baby,” she said, settling onto the couch with a book. “And what do you do if you need Mommy?”

“I c-cry—” the words had already started leaving my mouth before I could stop them. I barely caught myself in time, cutting off mid-syllable. For a split second I had almost communicated like a normal person again. Mommy’s eyebrow shot up instantly, a flash of warning in her eyes. I realized with a jolt just how much trouble I’d be in if I’d slipped up and used real words this early.

Instead, I kicked my legs weakly, shook the rattle clumsily with my mittened hand, and forced out the required sounds.

“Wahhh…wahhh wahhh!”

Mommy smiled, clearly pleased. She stood up, popped a pacifier between my lips, and gave my cheek a playful pinch.

“Good boy! You’re getting the hang of it…but you’ll have to do a lot better than that. Otherwise, those poopy diapers stay on until you learn.”

She gave the rattle a little shake for emphasis, then walked back to the couch, leaving me surrounded by my infantile world.

The rules were clear now. My needs weren’t rights anymore.

They were performances.

These are the plastic pants I was put back in with terry towelling nappies for bedwetting, and then daytime wetting too

CHAPTER 3 - Learning the Ropes

Link to Chapter 1

Link to Chapter 2

Another day. She said to herself. Another day in hell.

She pushed through the heavy double doors into the Nursery Wing. Day three. Only four hundred and eighty-four hours left on the clock, and the ankle monitor already felt like it had fused to her skin. She kept her eyes forward, sneakers squeaking against the polished linoleum.

The hallway was the same bizarre mash-up of hospital, nursery, and prison it had been yesterday. Pastel walls. Smiling elephants with frozen googly eyes. Soft block lettering on every sign. But underneath the cutesy paint job the sounds never changed: muffled coos and bath-water splashing from Block B, a high-pitched whine of protest from somewhere in the Sissy Ward accompanied by rhythmic clapping and unh-unh-unhhh, as well as sloppy sounding gluck-gluck-glucks. In the Nursery Ward, wet babbling and desperate little gulps drifted from D-3 like someone was being force-fed again. A rhythmic crinkle-and-sob combo came from D-5, another messy change in progress, probably. Someone was getting spanked in D-6 judging by the loud cracks and cries, followed by “Now get in the corner! Knees to the ground, nose to the wall!” A grown man crying with blubbering hiccups echoing through the door. 

The whole corridor smelled like the usual cocktail of talc, antiseptic, and warm urine trying to hide behind lavender air freshener.

She stopped outside Nursery D-7. The wall-mounted charting station glowed softly. She tapped the screen and it flickered to life with the early-morning report.

Participant: Corey Lassiter – Level Two

Assigned Primary Sitter: Danielle Monroe

Overnight / Early-Morning Summary (Morning Attendant Log):

Inmate had overnight leak. Diaper changed at 07:18. Sheets changed at 07:26am.

12 oz Stage 2 formula bottle administered at 07:47 (fully consumed).

Morning regression supplement administered (fiber, muscle relaxant, incontinence booster). No adverse reactions.

35 minutes of supervised screentime in common area. 1 episode of Barney, 2 Cocomelon songs. Subject stayed on playmat. Clapped to songs where appropriate. 

Art activity: Finger painting. Subject drew a Giraffe. Work showed too much control and detail. Needs further regression.

Scheduled nap at 11:15 observed and logged.

Compliance rating: High. No incidents.

Danielle read the chart over again. The Morning Attendants had already done their usual sweep. They were just rotating relief staff, there to handle the bare minimum when the primary sitters weren’t on duty. They woke the inmates, cleaned up their overnight messes, shoved a bottle in them, parked them in front of cartoons for a while, then put them back down for the scheduled nap. Apparently they weren’t considered “Sitters”, that was her lovely job. Danielle was the ‘Primary Caregiver’, the one who got all the ‘fun’ parts of taking care of a grown man in diapers. She was the one who had to do most of the feedings, changings, disciplining, and ‘relationship building’ as the training manuals had called it. Turning him into whatever the Matriarchal Court decided a “rehabilitated” adult was supposed to look like.

She pressed her badge to the scanner. The light blinked green. Her ankle monitor chirped in perfect, mocking sync.

The door slid open.

She stepped inside and froze.

The room was still in sleep mode, lights dimmed to a soft golden haze, lullaby playing low and tinny from the ceiling speaker. The crib dominated the far wall, bars tall and reinforced, looking more like a little prison cell than anything.  It only happened for a few seconds. A faint, rhythmic rustling. Plastic crinkling. Weight shifting against the padded mattress. Quick, guilty little movements like someone not taking a nap, but instead trying to finish something before they got caught. The blanket twitched. A shoulder jerked once, hard.

Then everything went perfectly still.

Danielle narrowed her eyes. The bars were high enough that she couldn’t see his face, but she could see the edge of the yellow giraffe plush clutched in one fist and the way the blanket had bunched up around his hips.

“Corey?” she said, voice flat.

A beat of heavy silence. Then he sat up too fast, knees snapping to his chest, pacifier still lodged between his lips. His short hair was disheveled, either from sleep or something…else. His cheeks were already flushed a deep, guilty pink. He blinked at her with wide eyes, trying way too hard to look innocent.

“G-good morning, Ms. Danielle,” he mumbled around the shield of the pacifier, voice small and shaky.

“What were you doing?”

“N-nothing, Ms. Danielle!” he squeaked.

“Drop the ‘Ms.’” She said for what felt like the 100th time, “Just Danielle.” 

She couldn’t help but feel like a mother walking in on her son doing something she would…rather not think about. So she didn’t. Or, at least, tried not to.

She crossed the room and dropped the crib rail with a metallic clack. The sound made him flinch.

“Out,” she ordered.

He rose unsteadily, bare legs trembling, the thick diaper forcing that familiar waddle. The front of his onesie looked slightly swollen. Danielle’s gaze flicked downward automatically.

“You wet?” she asked, suspecting she already knew the answer.

Corey’s eyes dropped to the floor. “I… I think so. A little.”

“From a whopping 30-minute nap?” Danielle said dryly.

Corey flushed darker. Danielle sighed. “Alright let’s–”

The charting station gave a soft, cheerful ping. A calm synthetic voice followed.

“Level Two protocol reminder: Inmates may not self-report hygiene status. Primary Sitter must perform visual and tactile confirmation before any determination is logged.”

Danielle glanced up at one of the many cameras adorning the ceiling, their little red lights staring down like unblinking eyes.

She exhaled through her nose. Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. She thought. They had to make this as infantilizing and degrading as possible. 

For both of them.

“Stay still.” she ordered. “Do not make this weird.”

He bit his lip and nodded.

She crouched low enough to hook two fingers into the crotch of his onesie and popped the little buttons one by one. The fabric sprang open with a soft snap-snap-snap, exposing the thick white padding underneath. It looked more disheveled than usual, like he’d been shifting and squirming quite a bit in the crib.

Then came the awkward part.

She reached in and pressed her palm flat against the front of the diaper, groping the warm, crinkly padding while Corey knelt there awkwardly, his stuffed giraffe dangling by its arm as he winced. Her fingers had to press and squeeze to feel how saturated it was. Inevitably, she could feel his little nub inside. It was…stiffer than normal, pressing back against her touch. She told herself it was just morning wood. Nothing more. Still, the whole thing felt far too intimate for two adults who barely knew each other.

His diaper was damp, but not quite heavy. She examined the blue wetness indicator line running down the front. The faint scent of urine rose with the movement. There was a little scale of numbers running along the sides of the line, like a little thermometer, but it measured something else. Wetness level 1 through 10. The blue line had only climbed to a 3. 

She knew the rule by now: He needed at least a 7 to be changed, a 5 if he was messy.

“Three,” she said, more to herself than to him. “You can wait.”

She didn’t bother resnapping his onesie. She simply let the fabric hang open, leaving the swollen, slightly yellow-tinged diaper on full display. There was no point in hiding it. Not here.

Corey’s cheeks burned darker. He didn’t argue. He never did. He simply knelt there, hands fidgeting at his sides, the pacifier still bobbing between his lips.

Danielle straightened, wiping her fingers on her scrubs. She hefted a heavy sigh and glanced over at the charting station. “So… what do we have planned for today?” Danielle muttered, stepping over to the tablet on the wall. She tapped the screen. “A feeding? Already?” she read, eyebrows raised.

She turned to Corey. “Are you even hungry?” she asked, hoping for a ‘no’.

Corey shook his head. “Not really.”

She sighed in relief. “I think you can wait,” Danielle muttered, turning away.

The speaker in the corner of the room buzzed sharply.

Bzzt!

Be advised that all Littles are on a strict schedule and regiment. All feedings and activities will take place as specified.

Danielle groaned and rubbed her temple. “Whelp. You heard it.” She said, “Up. Highchair. Now.”

Corey pushed himself up with a soft, defeated crinkle and waddled over, the damp diaper swaying between his thighs. Danielle fumbled with the highchair tray, grunting and scoffing as the latch stuck twice before she finally managed to click it free and swing it open. She pushed him into the seat, pressing down firmly on his shoulders until his padded bottom settled with a squelching squish. The tray clicked down and locked with a snap.

“Okay…” She sighed, trying to steady herself. “Well, I guess I’ll get your bottle read—”

Bzzzt!

Solid foods are to be administered by spoon at this time.

Danielle rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Okay, fine. Mush it is.” She stomped over to the kitchenette, muttering the entire way. “What a fucking joke...” She yanked open cabinet after cabinet, slamming them shut when she didn’t find what she needed. Finally she located the shelf stacked with mason jars of pureed food in varying shades of unappealing beige, purple, green, and orange. She snatched one of the large jars and headed back toward the highchair.

Bzzzt!

“Two jars of Stage 2 puree required.”

Her face flushed crimson in frustration at being micromanaged. She stomped back to the cabinet, grabbed a second jar, and slammed the door so hard the hinges rattled. She was halfway back when she realized she needed a bowl and a spoon. “Ughhh!!” she growled, rummaging through the drawers until she found a small plastic bowl with a suction cup base and a large baby spoon. She slammed the bowl down on the counter, popped both jars open, recoiled at the awful smell, and dumped the thick greenish orange slop into it. One jar at a time.

Bzzzt!

Attendant needs to ensure that all product is emptied from container.

“Agghh!” She snatched the spoon and angrily dredged the inside of each jar, scraping out every last stubborn smear until the containers were practically spotless.

Bzzt!

A scoop of Pixie Powder required.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Danielle was so livid, she didn’t even bother measuring properly. She just grabbed the container labeled Pixie Dust – For Regression and Pansification, scooped out a rough lump, and dumped it into the bowl, stirring with angry, violent circles. The mixture turned into a lumpy, glistening paste.

“Is that good??” she called mockingly toward the ceiling cameras. “Did I do it the right fucking way this time??”

She lifted the bowl from the counter, but the suction cup base caught for a second, then popped free. The sudden motion sent a thick splatter of mush flying upward…directly into her face.

Danielle froze. Greenish-orange puree dripped from her cheek, her forehead, even the tip of her nose. 

For a split second the room was silent. Then she screamed in pure rage. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” She snatched a burp cloth and furiously wiped her face, the cloth coming away smeared and sticky. Her scrubs now had fresh stains across the front. She was irate, breathing hard through her nose, eyes blazing. Storming back to the highchair with what remained of the bowl.

She gripped the oversized baby spoon, scooped a massive, heaping dollop of the slop, and raised it toward Corey’s mouth.

Bzzzt!

Bib required for feeding.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking KIDDING me!” she roared, snatching the bright yellow bib from the hook and fastening it around Corey’s neck with a sharp, vicious tug. The strap dug into his skin.

Corey groaned softly, staring at the greenish glop on the spoon.

“Oh don’t start,” Danielle snapped. “You know neither one of us get a say. Now open up!”

Reluctantly, Corey’s mouth quivered open. She shoved the first heaping spoonful inside. He recoiled, gagging as the grainy texture hit his tongue. She was already loading the next spoonful before he could even swallow.

“Mmph. It’s cold.” he whimpered.

“Too bad,” she said, shoving it in his mouth, already scooping the next bite. “I’m sure if I try to warm it up the fucking buzzer will go off again.”

“I don’t like cold mush…”

“Well, I don’t like grown men pooping themselves once or twice a day,” she shot back. “Yet here we are...”

She kept going, spoon after spoon. At first she tried to stay methodical, but her patience frayed with every wet, reluctant swallow. Corey’s cheeks bulged. Greenish-orange dribble began to escape the corners of his mouth and run down his chin in thick streaks, soaking into the bib.

The feeding sped up.

She loaded the spoon heavier and moved faster, forcing the mush in before he could fully swallow the last bite. More dribble ran down his chin. She growled and scraped the runaway slop up with the spoon, shoving it right back between his lips.

“Ughh, you’re making a fucking mess,” she snarled. “Disgusting. Just hurry up and swallow it. Let’s get this over with.”

He continued to whine and groan, doing his best to keep up. His stomach bloated, his diaper crinkling as he shifted in discomfort.

She shook her head at his pitiful whimpering, “I swear, sometimes it feels like I’m the one being punished more than you…”

Corey whimpered around the spoon, eyes watering.

“I’m the one that has to change your shitty diapers. I’m the one that has to watch you make a mess of yourself with this fucking slop. And I’M the one that has to wait on you hand and fucking foot all goddamned day!”

She still felt sticky and gross, the mush from earlier congealing on her skin. She gripped the burp rag again and wiped her face and chest with rough, angry strokes.

“You really think it’s as good as it sounds?’ Corey said now that he had a bit of a reprieve from the feeding. Danielle paused, crooking an eyebrow. 

“YOU get to go home at the end of the day.” He continued, “You get a full-sized bed. Not one that’s half your size and crunches and crinkles every time you so much as exhale.”

It was the first time he’d spoken to her in anything other than the small little petrified voice he always had. She stared in disbelief, but he wasn’t done.

“You get to stare at your phone, laugh at funny videos, you get to know what’s going on in the world. The only screen time I get is thirty minutes a day of obnoxious juvenile shows.”

She stood there, wondering where all this sudden animosity was coming from.

“I don’t even remember what it’s like to chew anymore. I can’t tell you the last time I’ve actually chewed anything other than a freaking teething ring! You get to have REAL food. Pizza. Sandwiches. Tacos. STEAK. Do you know how much I'd kill for a flipping steak?? But instead, all I get is this nasty, grainy, runny slop…”

He paused, letting the words sink in. Then he sighed heavily, dropping his tone, slumping his shoulders.

“You get to use a toilet.” He said softly, blushing despite himself. “Do you have any idea what it’s like? How degrading it is to crap all over yourself? To have to sit in your own shame and wait to be changed? To be scolded for doing something you have literally no choice but to do? Do you really think YOU are the only one being punished here? Would you like to switch places?? Because I would gladly do so.”

The spoon hovered in the air. Green mush dripped from it onto the tray in slow, wet plops. For the first time that morning, Danielle didn’t have an immediate sharp comeback. The words landed heavier than she expected. She stared at him. Really looked. His glassy eyes, cheeks flushed, the bib already ruined with streaks of mush. 

Something twisted in her chest. Not guilt exactly. Just the uncomfortable weight of a truth she didn’t want to carry.

“Just eat,” she snapped, voice tight. “You’re not allowed to talk about it. You’re not allowed to do anything without me doing it for you. That’s the whole fucking point.”

She kept going, but a little softer this time. Not as fast, not quite as relentless as before. She waited for him to choke each bite down before bringing the next one to his lips. An awkward silence settled over the room.

“You know, I—”

The door scanner beeped. The lock released with a pneumatic sigh.

In strutted a woman who carried herself like she owned the entire Nursery Ward. Tall, confident, with a sharp smile and the kind of effortless authority that came from too many years in these pastel hells, despite looking like she was merely in her early 20’s. 

“Awww, am I interrupting someone’s num-num time?” Her voice dripped with mock sweetness. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed under her voluptuous breasts, gum snapping loudly between her teeth as her sharp eyes swept over the messy high chair scene.

Corey tensed instantly, his shoulders hunched tight, and he audibly gulped, the nervous sound cutting through the quiet nursery. A deeper flush crawled up his neck as he stared down at the tray, thighs pressing together with a faint crinkle of his thick diaper.

Danielle straightened, spoon still in hand, a streak of cold mush smeared across her scrubs. “Who the hell are you?”

“Name’s Jenna,” the woman said, gum smacking as she sauntering closer. “I used to be Corey’s Sitter before they reassigned me to the Sissy Ward. Couldn’t resist popping in when I heard the new girl was on shift.” She gave Corey’s hair a quick, patronizing ruffle, making him flinch and duck his head lower. “You know, before the Matriarchy took full control and started putting about a third of the men into diapers, there were actually some who had a fetish for this kind of thing. Can you believe that? Weird little secret pervs who got off on the idea of being babied and helpless.”

Jenna’s eyes lingered on Corey for a moment, her smile turning knowing. “For most of them, it’s a genuine punishment. I’ve seen men’s psyches absolutely shatter from it all: the constant dependency, the humiliation, the loss of every last scrap of control. They break so beautifully. But some of them?  Some of them like it. Or maybe they loved it all along. The regression. The diapers.The total surrender.”

Danielle felt a flicker of unease twist in her stomach. She set the spoon down harder than necessary. “What’s your point?”

Jenna shrugged, snapping her gum again. “Just catching you up, newbie. That’s all. You’ve been with him a few days now. Have you caught him humping yet? Some of the quiet ones start grinding against their diapers when they think no one’s looking. Pathetic, right? Like they can’t help chasing that little bit of friction even while they cry about how much they hate it.”

Danielle’s gaze flicked to Corey, she couldn’t help but think of earlier when she first came in. The sounds she heard. Or thought she heard. The rustling in the crib. The way Corey had frozen.

Jenna smirked, clearly enjoying the shift in Danielle’s expression. “If you want, I can show you how to lock him up in a nice, tight little chastity device. There’s also a few tricks I can show—”

“He’s my assignment,” Danielle said tightly, surprised to find that she had taken a step forward, forming a little barrier between Jenna and Corey. Her voice came out sharper than she intended, defensive. “And he’s not some fetish case. He’s just…doing his time. Like I am.”

Jenna chuckled, low and amused. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that. But watch him close, Monroe. You’ll see it eventually.” She blew a bubble, let it pop loudly, and turned toward the door with a wink. “Good luck with your little project. Call me if the humping starts getting out of hand.”

The door hissed shut behind her, leaving the nursery thick with a heavy silence. Corey sat trembling in the high chair, mush still streaked across his chin and bib, his breathing shallow and uneven. Danielle stared down at him, her earlier frustration now tangled with something else. An almost possessive pull. 

Neither of them spoke. There was a long, awkward silence. Neither of them really knowing where to go from there. 

“I… I don’t like it,” Corey finally said, voice small and awkward. “The diapering and stuff. It’s… it’s not like that.”

Danielle didn’t reply right away. She wasn’t sure she cared, that she even wanted to know. It didn’t change anything. Instead, she simply loaded another spoonful of cold mush and brought it to his lips.

“You two have quite the history, huh?” she asked after he swallowed.

Corey shrugged weakly, eyes fixed on the tray. “She was with me from Level One into Two. She seemed to have a weird fixation on me. Always belittling me and going out of her way to punish and scold me. Even if I did nothing wrong.” he shivered, as if remembering some particularly painful memories. “She was…very mean to me. For no real reason.”

Danielle studied his flushed, miserable face, the doubt from Jenna’s words still gnawing quietly at the back of her mind. “Do you feel like I treat you the same way?”

He shrugged again, even smaller this time, staring down at the tray. “Sometimes…”

That made her feel a little guilty. Not that she should. Just because he was in diapers didn’t mean she always had to coddle him. He was a big boy, he should be able to handle it. 

She scraped the last of the cold mush into his mouth, wiped his chin roughly with the bib, and unbuckled the tray. Leaning down, she checked beneath it, poking lightly at the front of his diaper. The blue wetness indicator had only crept up to a five. 

A quick glance at the wall chart confirmed the next item: Supervised Playtime – 120 minutes

Danielle sighed and mopped up the rest of the mess on his face and onesie before unclasping the tray completely. “Alright. Playtime, I guess.”

As she got the oversized plastic blocks and soft toys ready on the padded mat, another sharp buzzer sounded from the speaker.

“Protocol reminder: Mittens required during all unstructured play.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hands.”

Corey held out his arms without protest. She slid the bulky, padded mittens over his hands one by one, clasping them snugly at the wrists. The annoying little bells jingling the whole time. 

Bzzt!

“Pacifier needs to be in at all times other than feedings.”

She snatched the oversized binky from the highchair tray. It was still drooly and glistening from earlier use. She stuffed it into his mouth.

Once his play area on the floor was set up properly (which they made sure to remind her every step of the way) she dropped into the plastic chair by the wall and crossed her arms.

The playtime was exactly as boring as it sounded.

Corey sat cross-legged on the mat, open onesie hanging loose around his hips, the damp diaper on full display. He had to use both bulky mittened palms just to pick up one oversized block, the little bells jingling pathetically with every clumsy attempt. He fumbled it constantly, dropping it several times before awkwardly wriggling it back into place. The tower grew slowly, lopsided and pathetic. Every few seconds he glanced up at her, seeking the tiniest nod of approval that Danielle only gave with mocking sarcasm.

The lullabies droned overhead. The only other sounds were the soft clack of plastic, the occasional faint crinkle of his diaper, and the constant, stupid jingling of the bells on his mittens.

Minutes dragged by like hours.

Danielle stared at the wall, jaw tight. This was her life now: watching a grown man in a pissy diaper try to stack blocks like it mattered. She lasted another full minute before the boredom clawed at her.

“Fuck it,” she muttered. She stood, walked over, and lowered herself to the mat beside him with a heavy sigh.

At least sitting on the floor and stacking blocks herself made the time feel slightly less endless.

After a stretch of silent, mundane “playing,” the speakers gave a soft ping. The synthetic voice returned, bright and cheerful:

“Regression protocol reminder: Inmates and Sitters must demonstrate age-appropriate vocalization during supervised play. Cooing and babbling required for compliance.”

Corey didn’t even hesitate. He let out a soft, awkward “goo… goo-ga… ba-ba…” around his pacifier, the sounds wet and lisping.

Danielle, however, wasn’t as enthused. They wanted her to coo and babytalk too. She couldn’t believe how low she was sinking. But the threat of more added hours kept her compliant.

She raised the pitch of her voice as best she could. “Awww! Look at the w-widdle cutie…” It sounded ridiculous coming out of her mouth. She was twenty-eight, on probation, babysitting a grown man in diapers… and now forced to babytalk him for someone’s sick amusement.

“Does Corwey wanna pway wiff blockies?”

Corey nodded quickly, adding another quiet “goo-goo ba ba…” while clumsily pushing a block toward the tower with both mittens.

Danielle picked up a red block and set it down next to his, trying to commit to the degrading act. “Ooooh, that’s a big tower! Look at you, little guy! You gonna build Jeffy a widdle house?”

She gestured at the yellow giraffe still clutched tightly in the crook of his arm. He gave a small, shy nod and let out another soft “guh-guh…bppptt…”

The longer it went on, the easier the babytalk came…even if she hated every second of it. At least she wasn’t the one fumbling blocks like a real tottler, mittens making every movement slow and clumsy, drool shining on his chin while his damp diaper crinkled beneath him.

“Yayyy!! Good job!” She ‘cheered,’ clapping her hands. “Dat’s a house you built! Look at jooo!!”

They continued the ridiculous charade for several more minutes. Danielle was just reaching for another block when Corey suddenly froze, his breath catching sharply in his throat for a long second. His mittened hands hovered awkwardly over the tower. Then, just as quickly, he resumed playing, though noticeably slower and more distracted.

Danielle’s eyes narrowed. She glanced between his spread legs. The front of his diaper was turning a deeper yellow, the padding visibly swelling and sagging heavier between his thighs as a fresh, warm wetness spread through it. A faint, muffled hiss could be heard from between his thighs, the heavy padding sagging lower with every second as it soaked up his piss.

The blue indicator line rose even higher. She was actually relieved to see it had passed the minimum 7 line. Almost to a 9. She never thought she would be happy to change a diaper. Anything to end this soul-crushing playtime where time stood still.

“Corey… did you go pee-pee?” she asked, the baby-talk still clinging to her voice.

Corey clutched Jeffy the giraffe tighter against his chest, as if the stuffed animal could somehow shield him from the fresh wave of embarrassment. His cheeks burned crimson, eyes fixed downward.

“Come on,” Danielle said, pushing herself up from the mat. “Let’s get your diaper changed.”

She laid out the changing mat on the padded floor with a resigned sigh, then retrieved the supply caddy. Gloves first. She snapped them on with sharp, clinical precision. Corey crawled over obediently, his soggy diaper hanging low and heavy between his legs.

Danielle untaped the diaper with quick, efficient pulls. Riiip. Riiip. Riiip. Riiip. The warm scent of fresh urine wafted up immediately. She folded the front down and froze.

He was hard. 

Not just a little stiff, fully erect, though the word felt almost generous. His cock was tiny. A pathetic, twitching two inches at most, dark pink and pointing straight up. It was the smallest penis Danielle had ever seen in her life…and she’d seen her fair share.

His cock pointed straight out, flushed and throbbing despite its pathetic size, the head glistening with a bead of pre-cum. Danielle stared for a moment, she’d ridden cocks of every shape and size back in her slutty phase. But this? This was laughably small. Almost cute in how inadequate it was. She’d changed several of his diapers already, but she’d been more focused on the disgusting messes than anything else. Now that she’d grown somewhat accustomed to it, his little thingy had her attention.

Corey’s face was a mask of pure shame, his eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip trembling around the pacifier. He knew she was looking. He knew exactly how ridiculous he looked.

Danielle narrowed her eyes, suspicion flaring. Jenna’s words echoed in her head. Some of them like it, you know.

She chose to ignore it for now. “Hold still,” she muttered, grabbing a handful of wipes. She started cleaning around his hips and thighs, avoiding the erection as best she could. The wet warmth of the used diaper clung to her gloved fingers. She wiped methodically, lifting his legs to clean the cracks and crevices.

A sharp buzzer cut through the room.

“Protocol reminder: All genital areas must be thoroughly cleaned during changes. Failure to comply will result in demerits.”

Danielle stared at the ceiling for a second, jaw clenched. Of course. The fucking freaks wanted her to touch it.

She looked back down at Corey. Their eyes met for a moment , his wide with humiliated dread, hers cold and reluctant. His tiny cock gave another helpless twitch under her gaze, another bead of pre-cum sliding down the short shaft.

Danielle exhaled through her nose.“Fine,” she said flatly, her voice laced with clear irritation. She paused for a moment, staring down at his pathetic, twitching erection with open disgust. “Do not move. Don’t make this any weirder than it already is.”

She took a fresh wipe and dragged the cool cloth slowly over his balls, cleaning the wrinkled skin with careful strokes. Corey whimpered softly, his thighs trembling as he fought to stay motionless under her touch.

Then she gave his tiny cock the first quick swipe, running the wipe downward from his pelvis and over his bits. The little shaft immediately sprang back up, harder and more desperate than before, bobbing in the air.

The second swipe had the same effect, but this time it didn’t settle. Instead, it started twitching violently on its own, pulsing in the cool air.

“Wait wait wait,” Corey gasped desperately, even though her hand had already pulled away. His voice cracked with panic.

But it was too late. His tiny cock convulsed hard, jerking upward in sharp, violent spasms. Thick ropes of cum spewed from the tip. One, two, three pitiful spurts shot pathetically across his own belly, landing in weak, sticky splatters. Another dribbled uselessly down the side of his shaft as his whole body shuddered and bucked on the changing mat with each pathetic pulse, mittened hands clutching Jeffy desperately as the orgasm rippled through him.

Danielle yanked her hand back, staring in appalled disbelief. “What the fuck, Corey?”

Corey looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him alive. Tears welled up instantly in his eyes as the last weak dribbles leaked from his softening little dick. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, voice thick with shame. “I couldn’t help it. I tried so hard to hold it back, I really did.”

“You came just from two swipes?” she exclaimed. “That’s genuinely pathetic.”

Corey turned his face away, sobbing quietly. “I know… I’m sorry. It just… it happens so easily now. They don’t let us touch ourselves here. Not ever. The mittens, the restraints, the constant supervision… it’s been weeks since I’ve been able to… you know. So when someone actually touches me, even just to clean…”

“Stop,” she cut him off coldly. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t need to hear about your sad and frustrated little masturbation habits. Or…lack thereof. It’s not my problem.”

But the ‘problem’ was splayed out before her, covered in its own sticky mess.

“I can’t help it.” Corey continued to sob. “It’s just…you’re so pretty.”

That caught her off guard. Danielle hated that she felt a little flicker from the flattery, twisting in her chest despite herself. She hated that it affected her. Even in a pathetic sort of way. Not that he had a chance of anything happening. But the fact that this cum-covered man in a soggy diaper could make her feel anything other than contempt was…unnerving.

She said nothing, but her movements became slightly gentler.

The cum was slimy and stubborn. She used a fresh wipe to smear the messy load across his belly, gathering it up in slow, deliberate strokes. It took longer than she expected to clean the sticky residue completely. She was careful not to touch his penis again, half afraid the pathetic little thing might start spewing again at the slightest contact.

Finally satisfied, she slid a fresh diaper under his hips. The thick, clean padding felt almost merciful after the mess. She powdered him generously, then taped it snugly into place. The new diaper crinkled loudly as she adjusted it.

The rest of the day passed rather uneventfully. She fed him two more bottles without complaint, changed another heavy, wet diaper. (Thankfully, no messes today). She supervised tummy time, making sure he didn’t get too…wiggly. Managed his snacks, and bathed him without incident. It was nearing the end of her shift, and she just got him into his jammies. By the final hour of her shift, she realized she hadn’t heard that damn buzzer in quite a while.

“Up,” she said quietly. “Bed time.”

She helped him to the crib, lowering the rail and guiding him inside. Without even thinking, she gave his nighttime diaper a final tug, ensuring it was snug. She refastened the tapes for a better, tighter fit. She didn’t want him leaking overnight, then she buttoned back up the onesie between his legs. 

“Okay…pacifier is in…” she muttered to herself, “blankie…” she tucked it around him, “Jeffy…” she didn’t need to check that. The damn thing never left his hands. She also slid little wool booties over his feet in case he got cold. The blankie was too small to cover much of anything. She went to raise the rail, “Oh! Mobile…” she clicked it on, the little moons and stars rotated overhead, chiming out a lullaby. 

Corey watched her quietly inside the crib, then murmured softly around the pacifier. “You’re getting the hang of it…”

Danielle froze for a second, fingers still on the rail. She had gone through the entire bedtime routine on autopilot. None of those fucking buzzers, no micromanaging from Big Sister, no cursing under her breath. 

She hated how natural it was starting to feel.

“Shut up and sleep,” she said, but the usual sharpness was missing.

Corey gave a tiny, defeated nod and closed his eyes, clutching Jeffy tighter against his chest as the colorful mobile turned slowly overhead.

After raising the rail and locking the latch on the first try, she stood there for a long moment, looking down at the regressed man in the oversized crib. The doubt, the obligation, the strange new pull of possession, it all swirled inside her in a confusing knot she didn’t want to examine too closely.

She lingered by the crib a second longer, fingers tightening on the rail, before she finally turned away without another word.

The lullaby drifted softly overhead as Corey’s breathing slowly evened out, leaving Danielle alone with her thoughts and the lingering feelings of something far more complicated.

To Be Continued