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Lydia looked down at the ground, gritting her teeth. She hated everything about this. She’d only wanted a little extra money to help pay for nights out at university! But there were no college parties in her future now. Even if she hadn’t been kicked out, there was no way her Mum would let her do something as grown-up as go out drinking, not now she had full authority over her again. For the next three years, in the eyes of the law she was nothing but a helpless child. There was only one silver lining – the white cotton undies that hugged her bottom under her skirt.

When the judge had told her she was forbidden to use the toilet for pee, and was to poo in it only, Lydia had felt like she was going to be sick. It was bad enough having her toileting habits discussed out loud for the whole courtroom to hear, but the thought of having to spend the next three years of her life wearing oversized Pampers, filling them with pee multiple times a day, taking them off only to go number two before having them strapped right back onto her bum, was enough to turn her stomach. If her Mum hadn’t whispered in her ear that she wouldn’t be making her wear nappies, Lydia thought she would have fainted in front of the judge. She supposed she ought to be grateful to her mother for that, even though it was suspiciously out of character… She wouldn’t have expected her Mum to go against the law, even though there was hardly any chance of being caught.

Finally, they made it home. Lydia was relieved to be out of the public spotlight, and more urgently, she needed to pee. She’d needed to go all morning, but she knew the staff at the courtroom would have just offered her a diaper if she’d asked for the bathroom there. She tried to make a bee-line for the toilet, but her mothed pulled her back, her grip tightening.

“Where are you off to, sweetie?”

“The toilet,” Lydia replied, trying to pull away again. “I need to pee.”

“Silly girl!” her Mum laughed. “The judge said you’re not allowed to use the toilet for pee-pee, remember?”

“B-but…” Lydia spluttered. She felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. “But you said I wouldn’t have to wear nappies!”

“That’s right, sweetie,” her Mum nodded. “No nappies for my little girl. The judge didn’t say you had to wear them, after all. He just said you’re not allowed to use the potty when you need a wee.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense!” Lydia said, huffing with frustration. “What do you expect me to do? Am I supposed to just pee my pants whenever I need to go or somethi-”

“That’s right, baby!” her Mum interrupted, smiling brightly. “Clever girl!”

Lydia stared at her mother with mounting horror. Was her Mum really suggesting she spend the next three years wetting her knickers without any protection? “But… but I can’t just…” She didn’t even know what to say. How could her Mum not see how insane this was?! “I’ll make a mess everywhere!”

“Uh-hu,” her Mum agreed, nodding, “but that’s okay. You were always making puddles for Mummy to clean up when you were little, and it’ll be no different this time.” She looked positively thrilled by the idea. “I’ll have to get used to washing your wet pants again!” she added, beaming. “Not to mention ironing your tights and skirts. Oh, and hanging your sheets out to dry after you wet the bed!”

Lydia was looking at her mother like she’d lost her mind. This was worse than being in nappies! There was a determined, almost hungry expression in her Mum’s eyes. She was clearly delighted by the prospect of having a twenty-one-year-old pantswetter for a daughter. Her wayward little girl back home, dependent on her Mummy once again.

“But I have to pee like four times a day!” Lydia whined, trying to get her mother to understand how awful it would be, how often she’d need to be cleaned up.

“Then you’ll wet your pants four times a day, little missy,” her Mum said, simply.

“Mum, please…” Lydia begged. She was clutching between her legs with her free hand. The need to pee was growing stronger by the second, but the thought of just letting go in her pants was disgusting.

“Mummy said no, sweetie,” said her mother, sounding a little more stern. “No more toilets for you, young lady.”

“Please just… just let me wear nappies then!” Lydia cried, her face scarlet. She was bouncing from foot to foot now, doing an absurd potty dance. “I’d rather wear nappies if the alternative is peeing all over myself! At least it’s more private!”

“I’ve made up my mind, baby,” her Mum said firmly. “As much as I’m sure nappies would fix your behaviour, I think being a big girl who always wets her knickers will put you in your place even better!”

“No!” Lydia squealed, and then she let out a gasp. Her potty dance stopped abruptly, and she pulled her hand away as a dark, wet patch blossomed on the front of her skirt. A stream of pee trickled down between her legs, puddling on the floor between her feet. More pee ran down her legs, soaking her tights and pooling into her shoes. “Ewww!” Lydia cried, tears spilling from her eyes as she soaked her white cotton undies. “Ew! Ew! Ew!”

Her Mum was watching with a wide smile. “Mummy’s little pantswetter,” she declared affectionately, stroking her daughter’s hair. “Did you have an accident, sweetie? Do you need Mummy to clean you up?”

Lydia burst into tears and nodded her head.

Two weeks of your little sister publicly checking your diapers. Two weeks of hearing her laughing when your mother dragged you away for diaper changes.

There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide on this damned boat. Nowhere to sneak away to load your diaper without drawing attention.

All you knew is it couldn't happen here, while you sat between your mother and sister. Between your mother’s overbearing concern and sister’s taunting, you’d rather throw yourself off the boat in shark infested waters.

No. You had to go somewhere, anywhere to get away from them.

"I'm gonna go look for dolphins," you lied, hoping nobody would follow.

You slowly wander to the back of the boat through the crowd. If anyone had a toddler, they'd recognize your walk for what it is: the desperate toddling of someone trying not to poop his diaper.

You get to the railing, squeezing it tight, fighting your body. “Not here. Just a little bit longer,” you plead to yourself.

“Hey! This is embarrassing but you’re staying at the Flamingo Sands, right? There’s literally no one our age there and I’m going crazy!”

You almost lose control when you look up at her. She’s beautiful and she came up to you! You try to play it cool, despite the foreboding cramping in your stomach.

“Yeah, I swear the average age there is 65!”

Your heart skips a beat when she laughs, much more than expected for that joke. Maybe…just maybe you have a chance.

“I know, it’s supposed to be a party resort, not a retirement center!” she quips, “well, maybe you want to get a dri—are you okay?”

A savage cramp forced you to grab the railing and squat down a few inches. Your face growing a violent shade of maroon.

The cramp mercifully passes without you loading your diaper in front of her. Recovering yourself, you try to play it off.

“Yeah, sorry, I shouldn’t have gone snorkeling when I was this hungover,” you lie.

“Hahaha, I feel that. I thought I was gonna die yesterday. Wayyyy to many Mai Tai’s!”

Just as you’re about to respond, you hear footsteps coming towards you. Before you can even see who it is, you hear her.

Your sister.

“Hey, buddy, Mom says it’s been a while since she checked that diaper of yours, so I volunteered to do it!”

“Wait, what do you mean? Are you…? You’re wearing a diaper?” she asks, both deeply amused and wildly confused.

“Yeah!” your sister answers enthusiastically, “this little stinker has never managed to get out of diapers!”

“Oh my god, no way! That’s so embarrassing! I was about to ask him to get drinks with me!” she says, dripping in condescension, “wait. Are you actually cramping cause you’re hungover? Or are you trying not to poop your diaper? Because my niece is a toddler and she does the exact same thing!”

“Oh I’m sure it was! He had the cutest little poopy dance!” your sister teases, “he’s due for a stinky anytime!”

You try and give your sister your best death glare, too humiliated to speak. All it does is make her giggle.

“I don’t smell anything, but let’s see,” she says pushing your shoulders forward.

You won’t let your sister check you in front of her. Not like this. But in your effort to resist, you unclench yourself.

The consequences were immediate. You realized your mistake as your knees buckled into a deep squat. You were powerless to stop it.

You were pooping your diaper in front of them.

“No way! You’re actually squatting down like my niece! You even make the same little grunts! That’s so cute!”

You’re unable to defend yourself, incapable of anything but squatting and pushing. Despite your lifetime of filling diapers, you’ve never been more humiliated than you are now.

To your horror, you realize this isn’t a little accident. Round after round of mush fills your diaper. Bulging out, searching for space.

“Does he always poop this long?” she asks.

“Oh yeah, he makes the biggest poopies,” your sister answers, “my mom makes him wear the biggest diapers on the market. No idea how you didn’t see them proofing under his swimsuit!”

“Well now I can! It looks like he’s pooped out a mountain!”

Just as you think you’re done, you hear another voice.

“Oh, honey,” your Mom coos, “I saw you squatting down all the way from where I was sitting! Are you all done? Let me see.”

You meekly allowed your Mom to check you like a toddler in front of two giggling girls, hoping a tsunami was barreling towards you.

“Sweetie, you really filled your diaper,” your mom says, “I don’t think you can sit down unless you want a blowout.”

“Just change him here,” your sister adds unhelpfully, “you can’t subject the boat to his stink!”

She laughs, “for as big as the lump in his diaper, he doesn’t really smell! He won’t get a rash?”

“The captain said we still have 45 minutes until we’re back on shore,” your Mom says thoughtfully, “maybe it would be best to change you now. I saw a secluded place in the front, maybe we can ask the captain if it would be okay to change him there.”

With that, your Mom pulls you after her, heading to the captain. The last thing you see is her laughing with your sister, lost in conversation.

What could you possibly say in a situation like this?

It was bad enough Mommy dressed you in nothing but an oversized Lil Swimmers diaper and dinosaur floaties around your former friends.

And in Robin’s case, former crush.

It was bad enough having to surreptitiously squat down and load that swim diaper.

But somehow, this made it even worse.

Here you are—blubbering an excuse after Robin caught you red-handed trying to hide in your poopy diaper.

Exactly like a shy toddler.

“Awww, don’t be embarrassed, cutiepie! It’s just a poopy diapie. Poor thing, were you trying to hide from us?”

“I…”

“Come here, little guy. You’re okay,” she coos, pulling you into a hug, “You’re safe. How about I grab your diaper bag and get you out of that icky diapie, hmm?”

“B-but…wha-what about my…”

“I can change you, sweetie. Your Mommy is having some fun, I’ll give her a break.”

She pulls your hand to the group of sunbathing girls, giving you no choice but to follow.

“Found this lil stinker trying to hide his poopy diaper.” She tousles your hair. “Anyone know where Liz put his diaper bag?”

You felt every eye on you as you waited for Robin to grab your diaper bag, your drooping brown diaper unmistakable.

To your horror, she places the changing mat right next to you.

“H-here?! Can’t we g-go to the car?”

“That’s all the way up the hill, honey. Your Mommy would kill me if I let you walk that far in a poopy diaper! Besides, you’ve been playing in nothing but your diaper all afternoon, nobody will be surprised it’s getting changed.”

The other girls laugh, but not you.

“Lay down, kiddo.” As you do, she slides a paci into your mouth.

She rips the sides of your Lil Swimmers.

“You know, when I first heard your Mommy did this after your accidents started, I thought she was crazy. I mean, diapers or not, I always thought you were a good guy. I even had a crush on you!”

Wait—she had a crush? On you?

“And then to have your adulthood ripped away like this…I mean, you’re genuinely no different than my three-year-old niece. It just seemed so…cruel. But now that I’ve spent time around you, your Mommy chose right! This is sooo better for you!”

She starts wiping you clean.

“Think about it. No woman would ever want to be with someone in diapers. And who could possibly respect someone who might poop his diaper at any moment? That’s no way for an adult to live. So why try? You’re already closer to a baby than an adult, so why pretend? Why confuse you?”

“Aren’t you better off without any big boy expectations? Free from the burdens of adulthood? Doesn’t it make this diaper change easier knowing I think of you as a toddler, not an adult?”

She lifts your legs into the air.

“You’re free, honey. Babies aren’t embarrassed by their diapers because babies aren’t judged for needing diapers. It’s the most natural thing in the world for them. Expected. Just like you!”

She rolls up your messy diaper, grabbing a new Lil Swimmer, baby powder, and rash cream.

“Your Mommy gave you a gift: your Second Babyhood. Now nobody will judge you as an adult. Isn’t that great? You never need to be embarrassed again!”

She boops your nose.

“You can run around to your heart’s content in your cutie swim diapie like it’s the most normal thing in the world! Because it is! All us girls think it’s the most adorable thing!”

She sprinkles baby powder on you.

“So no more running off to hide because you made a poopoo, okay, mister? That’s why your Mommy put it on! Let us worry about your diapies, your job is to build the biggest sandcastle ever!”

You finally find your voice as she slides your Lil Swimmers on you.

“O-okay…”

She laughs. “Silly boy, you can do better than that! Aren’t you excited to show your Mommy the sandcastle you’re making her?”

“Y-yeah!”

“Hmmm, what do you think, girls? Is he excited enough?”

A collective murmur of encouragement rings out.

“I thought so!” Now,” she coos, tickling your tummy, “Who wants to build a sandcastle?”

“Meeeee!” you wail, laughing from the tickles.

“Good boy! C’mon lil stinker, let’s go build a sandcastle!”

The next hour flies by. For the first time since you were demoted to babyhood, you weren’t worried about your lost adulthood.

You were having fun!

It didn’t matter that you were building a sandcastle in nothing but a Lil Swimmer, surrounded by pretty girls your “age.” It didn’t matter that every so often, the back of your diaper was pulled back to inspect it for poopoo.

Robin was right—you were finally free.

You aren’t an adult, so why be judged like one? Why live by adult standards? Why fight to be seen as an adult, when you’ll never be one of them?

You finally embrace your new life and let go of who you were before the diapers. Let go of worrying what the girls next to you think you.

This is who you are.

A carefree baby boy. You have Mommy to care for you. She makes all the decisions. What’s there to fuss about?

“Wook Mommy!” you squeal when you see her, “I builded a thancathle!”

Not a care in the world.

He could take your potty-training, autonomy, and independence, but he could never take the one last piece of adulthood you have left.

Your desire.

After a year of permanent denial, of having your princess parts chronically ignored—except during diaper changes, Daddy would never let you get diaper rash on his watch—you almost wished he could take it.

The longer your diaper-clad chastity goes, the needier you become. Your mind is a hazy buzz of desperation. You can’t think straight.

All you want is to feel Daddy’s loving touch again. Even the thought of it send jolts of pleasure through your body. You’d do anything.

Anything.

You take a breath—and make your move.

“D-daddy…,” you whisper, suckling your binky with each pause and giving him your best puppy dog eyes, “I mith Daddy th-tho much…an..an…M all…w-wet…pwease, Daddy…”

Daddy smiles, pulling the waistband of your soggy diaper. “I can see that, kiddo! You’re Daddy’s little tinkle fountain!”

You wince, hating the infantile response to your adult request.

“N-not wi-wike da wet, Daddy…wike…mmm… da other wet.”

You can’t even ask like a big girl anymore.

But it doesn’t matter, this isn’t the time for pride. If being Daddy’s sweet princess will get you some big girl time, you’ll do it.

“Hmm,” Daddy ponders, sniffing the air, “Did you make a runny boom boom?” He prods at the seat of your diaper playfully.

Crinkles erupt as you squirm in embarrassment.

“Daddyyyyy! No poopieth! J-jus…I…well…”

“Well, what are you babbling about, sweet pea?” A sweet, innocent grin plastered on his face.

“I..I jus wa..wan Daddy l..like how m used tah get tah haves Daddy! M..miss him so much.”

Daddy boops your nose.

“Babygirl, you’re the most beautiful girl in the world, you know that?”

You perk up. “W-weally, Daddy?”

Daddy’s hand rests ever so gently on your diaper. You shudder in anticipation.

“Of course you are, kiddo! But I don’t think you’re quite mature enough for that, yet. You’re far too sweet and innocent for such things!”

Your body deflates like a popped balloon.

“B-bu am big girl, Daddy, pwomith!”

“No, honey, you’re my silly babbly baby who has no need for such impure thoughts. Why else do you think Daddy only gives you binky kisses and plays with your hair?”

“D-don know, Daddy…”

“Well, baby, it has been a long time since you were a big girl hasn’t it? And you’ve been so well behaved without any fun with your princess parts. You must be sooo needy by now, huh?”

Your eyes light up. “Y-yeth, Daddy! T-tho tho needy for you! Good girl!”

“Yes, kiddo. A very good girl, giving up all your fun for your diapies! Just like a good baby should. I think you deserve a treat. What do you think?”

You’re practically bouncing with joy.

“Yeth pwease, Daddy!! Pwease pwease pwease!”

Daddy sits up, smiling ear to ear.

“Why don’t you come rub your soggy diaper on my leg, honey? Show me how thankful you are to make some cummies for Daddy!”

Daddy doesn’t have to tell you twice!

You’ve been so hopelessly denied for so long, even the prospect of humping your diaper on Daddy’s leg gets your diaper wet again.

“Good girl, just like that, babygirl. Make your crinkles for me. Prove how desperate you are to be a big girl.”

You straddle Daddy’s leg, positively vibrating in anticipation. Daddy grabs your waist, looking deep in your eyes.

“F-Fank you, Daddy,” you say before your hips start gyrating.

The effect is immediate.

You scream in pleasure—pleasure that’s been denied for so long. It feels better than anything you’ve ever felt in your life.

Nothing matters but the soggy mush squelching against your princess parts. You feel Daddy beneath it.

Daddy.

“D-dadddy!!!”

Twenty seconds after you start, a wave of ecstasy crashes over you. Unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.

Pure bliss.

As the world slowly starts reformulating, you see Daddy smiling at you, eyes full of love.

“Awww, someone loves her diapies, don’t they, Princess? Daddy loved your crinkle symphony, too! You’re so adorable, little one!”

You try to catch your breath, a mix of embarrassment at your actions clash with the ecstasy of your orgasm.

“C’mon, babygirl. Let’s get you changed out of that icky diapie.”

Daddy won’t tell you, but it’s all going exactly according to plan. You’ll do anything—anything—for that again. Even if it means going further and further into your second babyhood.

The best part? She begged for this. All she wanted was one night as a big girl. One night without diapers. One night dressed in the sexy, adult clothes she loved so much.

She insisted I was overreacting when I said she should be diapered. That her messy diapers were her choice.

Sometimes natural consequences are the best teacher.

So, I didn’t make a fuss as she slipped on her panties—the last pair she’ll ever wear—and her favorite little black dress.

After tonight, she’ll never wear anything like that ever again. And she’ll definitely never walk out of the house without a diaper again.

She managed to keep her panties clean longer than I expected. Not that it matters. She doesn’t get credit for delaying the inevitable.

And it was inevitable.

She couldn’t have chosen a more fitting way to announce she was a diaper girl: at a fancy restaurant, surrounded by her closest friends, in her favorite dress.

The juxtaposition of the whole thing was too perfect.

It happened shortly after the appetizers were served. Which, admittedly, was inconvenient because I’d been looking forward to the burrata for days.

Her friends didn’t pick up the subtle signs that trouble was brewing. Why would they? None of them have any children. They don’t know the silly tells of a toddler about to have an accident.

But I do.

Except my “toddler” is 27 and sitting next to me in the last black dress she’ll ever wear.

I silently enjoyed the drama unfolding before me, unnoticed by everyone else. It started with the subtle panic when the first urge hit her. Her eyes wide, body squirming.

Then came momentary relief with the urge passing. Her body relaxed thinking she was out of the woods.

It was adorable.

If she were actually an adult, she’d know it was just the calm before the storm. But she’s not.

It happened suddenly and violently. A loud toot exploded out of her—an unmistakable prelude to what followed.

Her friends—aghast at this turn of events—stared at her in utter disbelief.

Nobody would question her need for diapers after this. Only someone who truly needed diapers would mess themselves in the middle of a restaurant.

She proved to herself—and her friends—that her rightful place is in diapers. That she doesn’t need me to be her husband.

She needs Daddy.

I will admit it was difficult to watch. Even though I knew this is who she was and that this was necessary step for my babygirl, it wasn’t easy watching her face contort from terror to concentration as she pushed.

But I was powerless to stop it. All I could do was watch as her friends realized what was happening. Too stunned to even speak, silently watching their friend regress before their very eyes.

She whimpered all the way to the bathroom, but not uttering a single word the entire time I cleaned the mess off her and her dress, ensuring she no longer smelled like the baby she just became.

She didn’t even resist as I grabbed a diaper from my bag and taped her into it. There was no point arguing anymore.

“D-daddy,” she finally whimpered, sitting on the bathroom floor, “C-can we go home, please? I…I don’t want my f-friends to see me like this…”

“Oh, honey,” I cooed, “Why would we go home? Your friends finally know who you are—the real you! You don’t need to pretend you’re anything but Daddy’s pamper packer! You can finally be yourself.”

“B-but Daddy,” she whines, “It…it’s embarrassing! They all saw…saw me…Daddy!”

I kneel down, embracing her. Poor thing. I hold her until her breathing calms, wiping her eyes dry.

“I know baby, I know. Everyone saw you making stinkies at the dinner table. And it won’t be the last time they see you squat down and make pushies, either. But tonight is the last time you’ll ever be in public like this again, little one, so try to enjoy it!”

“W-what do you mean, Daddy?”

“Oh, babygirl, look what you’re wearing! A sexy black dress, lace pantyhose, high heels…do you really think I’ll let you wear big girl clothes after this? I mean, that dress doesn’t even cover your diaper! You need more appropriate clothes for someone in your position.”

“B-b-b-but…”

“No buts, baby. You don’t need sexy, fashionable clothes anymore. You need functional clothing with snaps that allow easy access to your diaper for checks and changes.”

She whimpered but didn’t argue.

“Tight, form-fitting dresses will become cute, frilly dresses with Disney characters and onesies! Pantyhose will become knee socks to keep your toesies warm! And high heels will become Mary Janes!”

“But I like my—,” she starts.

“What did I just say, little one? No buts. Tonight is the last time you’ll ever wear clothes like this. Why not enjoy it? Who cares if your diaper is obvious? You’re a diaper girl! You’ll never be out of diapers again. So, why not walk out of this bathroom with your head held high?”

She sat in silence for a minute, deep in contemplation. She may not believe it, but she’s never been more adorable than she is right now. Dressed in the clothes of her former life with a diaper drooping below.

Her past, present, and future all here in this restroom. And her best friends in the world are here for her as she transitions from adult to babygirl.

“O-okay, Daddy. Uppies!”

I help her up, kissing her cheek as I do.

Nobody would have ever suspected Megan was a mere intern at the office. Despite being over ten years older than her—and her direct supervisor—you were often confused for her intern by clients.

There was just something about her. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you felt the pressure her presence put on you.

Megan took one look at you, her eyes drifting down to the pool of your own pee, before walking straight toward you.

“Up,” she demanded. You obey. She inspects the damage, turning you around.

“Don’t worry, you’re okay. Give me your phone, I’ll call your husband.”

Too shocked to argue, you hand her your phone.

“Hi…no, this is Megan, Eleanor’s intern. She’s fine, well, kinda…no, no nothing serious! She just…well she had a little accident…oh, it’s not her first? Well that explains some things…great, we’ll be waiting in her office.”

She turns to you, smiling. “Your husband is on the way with a change of clothes. Just sit here, okay? I’ll make sure everything gets cleaned up.”

The next twenty minutes were some of the most awkward in your life. Megan never left your office. Finally, your husband, Jason, walks in with a bag of spare clothes.

He hands you the bag and you open it. To your utter horror, a pull-up is sitting on top.

“Eleanor,” Jason says calmly, “I think it’s time you wear some protection. This is starting to get out of hand.”

Before you can argue, Megan nods her head. “I agree, Eleanor. And Jason, I’ll be happy to help keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s not leaking and changing on time.”

That was six months ago.

Six grueling, humiliating months.

Somehow your intern now walked into your office like you were her subordinate. She didn’t knock. She just came in.

Megan walked straight over to you, telling you to stand up. And, no matter how much you wanted to argue, to stand up for yourself, you obeyed.

You let your intern—over a decade younger than you—walk into your office and check your pull-up. And if you were soggy, she’d hand you another pull-up and tell you to go change.

And your pull-up was wet far more often than before. Needless to say, your confidence was shattered. Your performance and work was slipping.

Every day, Megan would report your pull-up usage to your husband. Each day their conversations got lighter, their laughter intensified.

You loathed Megan’s power over you. The way everything she did was so effortless. She was graceful; she was strong. Most of all, you hated the way you always obeyed her.

And then it happened.

You felt a sudden, devastating urge. You needed to get to the bathroom now or you’d mess your pull-up. You wouldn’t let that happen. You waddled as fast as you could without losing control to the bathroom. As you got to the bathroom door, you felt a sigh of relief.

You were going to make it.

Until Megan opened the door. “What’s the rush, Ellie?”

It was too late. Before you could take another step—or even respond—you were squatting down and filling your pull-up.

Megan watched the whole thing, eyes locked onto you.

“Uh oh, did smelly Ellie make a stinky in her pull-up? I need to call your husband, we need to have a little chat about you.”

The next day, your husband insisted that he drives you to work over your objections. It was unusual—but so was the thick diaper between your legs.

After yesterday, your husband decided you’ll be in diapers until you can figure out your “potty situation.”

To your surprise, your husband opened your car door and told you to follow him upstairs, offering his hand.

“W-what are you doing?” you ask meekly.

“Your boss is expecting us,” he says matter-of-factly.

Without another word, you follow your husband as he marched to your bosses office, hyper-aware of the crinkling of your diaper.

You stop dead in your tracks when you see her in your bosses office. That same confident grin you hated so much.

Megan greets your husband like an old friend before everyone sits.

“What’s this all about?” your boss asks.

Without hesitation, Megan starts, “About my promotion, sir. Ellie is no longer qualified for her position, though I’m not sure she ever was.”

You look at her stunned. You move to stand up, but your husband’s hand prevents it. “No, Ellie,” he whispers to you.

Your husband turns to your boss. “Ellie is here to resign. It’s for the best. She’s clearly overwhelmed by this job and Megan is far better suited for the position.”

Your boss looks at you and Megan. His confusion gives way to a smile.

“Well, this certainly saves an awkward conversation. Megan is someone our company cannot afford to lose. And Eleanor’s performance has been, well, dreadful lately.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m happy to take over her position immediately,” Megan grins, “This is a win-win for everyone.”

Your boss nods. “But…may I ask why?”

Your husband answers for you. “Ellie isn’t made for the corporate world. She needs a slower pace in life. If she’s too immature to keep her pants clean, she’s definitely too immature to be a Senior Vice President!”

“So it’s true?” your boss asks, “I try not to be involved in office gossip, but it was all everyone could talk about yesterday.”

“Yep!” Megan answers, “Ellie had an oopsie-daisy in her pull-up yesterday. So we decided it was best for her to…move to a position more suited for her.”

“Well, that settles it,” your boss says standing up, signifying the end of the meeting, “Stick around Megan, I want to talk to you about your job after I walk Elean—Ellie—out.”

On the drive home, your husband explained exactly what your “new position” would be.

“Ellie, I love you. I’ll always love you. But things are going to change. You were never cut out for all this. I see that now. It was selfish of me to even let you try.”

You open your mouth to argue.

“No sweetie, just listen. You’re not like Megan. She may be 12 years younger than you, but she’s already everything you’re not. She’s smart, confident, and capable. I mean, she did take your job in six months—starting as in intern!”

“And what did you do while she did that? You went back to diapers. While she was taking your job, you were filling your pampers. So, if you’re going to act like a baby, then you’ll be treated like one.”

“I-I’m not a baby, it was just stress! I..”

“Oh, you’re not? Let’s see, Ellie. Babies need diapers—and so do you. Babies don’t have jobs—and neither do you. Babies cry when they’re upset or have an accident—and so do you. So what does that make you?”

You feel your diaper grow warm.

“I’ll help you out. It makes you a baby. And what do babies need, hmm? Caregivers! Babies need Daddies! And so do you.”

Your eyes grow wide.

“So from now on, I’m not your husband. I’m your Daddy. And your only job—now that you’re unemployed—is to be Daddy’s little angel. You don’t need to worry about a single thing anymore.”

Your husband—well, Daddy now—took his new role seriously. The guest room slowly transformed into a nursery. Complete with changing table, crib, and toys.

So many toys.

You found yourself losing more adult privileges every day, slipping more into the world of your second babyhood.

Your bedtime was no 7:30. You took a nap at noon every day. Your meals were served in a high chair—and never with any utensils. Your movies and tv shows were never rated above PG.

More troubling, you could swear you heard someone else in the house after Daddy put you to bed. But no matter how many times you asked, Daddy just laughed.

“Don’t worry about the adults, Ellie-welly, babies like you should be in dreamland!”

Which brings us to today.

It started like any other. Well, since your Daddy sent you back to babyhood. Daddy woke you up, changed your diaper with plenty of tummy tickles and raspberries. You ate your oatmeal in your highchair. You made your mid-morning stinky. And Daddy put you down for your nap.

All standard stuff.

You were laying on your bed, coloring and watching Bluey when it happened.

“Hi Da—!” you started, before realizing it wasn’t Daddy.

It was Megan.

“Hiya, Ellie!” Megan cooed, “Awwww, are you coloring for Daddy? Are you staying in the lines or is that still too much for you?”

“Wha-what are you doing here?” you whimper.

“Well, someone needs to watch Daddy’s little stinker while he runs errands. Babies can’t change their own diapers, silly!”

Megan reaches down and checks your diaper. “Not too wet, yet, Ellie-belly!”

You whimper like a scared baby who misses her Daddy.

Because that’s what you are.

”I can’t believe it,” Megan scoffs, “I knew you were pathetic when you hired me, but I didn’t know you were this pathetic. I mean, aren’t you like 33? Look at you! In a soggy diaper coloring on a workday?”

You look at Megan. She’s so beautiful, so sexy in a way you could never be. Not in thick, soggy diapers.

“And this room? I can’t. Well, nursery, is the better word. You even have a changing table! And look how many diapers! Isn’t it embarrassing to know you’re going to fill every single one up?”

“Or do you even care? I mean, I’d never let myself be some pamper packer while his Daddy is out fucking re—never mind.”

Despite your overwhelming humiliation, you can’t help yourself. “D-doing what?”

“Oh, honey, you don’t know? Did Daddy not tell you? Well, it does make sense, why would a Daddy tell a baby who he’s fucking? Wait…have you not even wondered? Are you THAT much of a baby you don’t even think of sex anymore?”

She’s lying. She had to be.

You blush violently, dreading the truth. You hadn’t had sex since the day you were fired. But that was just because Daddy was adjusting! Surely.

“Ellie, your Daddy needs a woman—not some baby in diapers. You understand that, right? Look at me. I’m everything your Daddy wants. I have a job. I’m potty trained. I’m mature. You’re none of those things.”

You want to yell, to scream at Megan. But the look in her eye—the menace—shuts you down.

There’s no point in trying. She’s in control. You’ll never be able to beat her. She’s right. She’s everything you’re not.

“Now, little one, let’s find something to do before your Daddy gets home. I think it’s good for us to bond in our new roles.”

“N-new roles?” you stutter.

“Did you just remember your place? The position you’re in? Did the bubble burst, cutie?”

“You have no idea how enjoyable this is for me, honey. I love watching the hope fade from your eyes as you remember you belong right here on this changing table.”

You squirm at her words, fearing what’s coming next.

“You’re a pamper packer. I’m a babysitter—your babysitter. Do you see the problem little one?”

She giggles like you told her the sweetest thing in the world.

“I see you for what you are. A helpless, sexless, diaper-dependent baby. And somehow you thought you had a chance with me?”

She grabs your next diaper, showing it to you.

“This is where you belong. In a diaper. This diaper. On your back waiting to be changed. Helpless. Pathetic. Sex should be the last thing on your mind.”

She laughs again, crushing the last vestige of your dignity.

“It’s funny. Your Mommy is probably on her back right now too. I saw that little red dress she was wearing. She looked stunning.”

You whimper pathetically.