sissy baby needs punishment

Clipped Section From: Slutty Bella Spanked and Diapered (ABDL Spanking)

“Oh nobody will pay you no mind at the rest stops! Its a road trip Ellie and you have potty accidents.” Vicky signaled her to do a little turn and Ellie did so like the good little mama’s girl the woman still was. “It’s just a small poof that your tushy has Elizabeth. You’re fine.”

“M-mama!!!!!” She devolved into little pouts and whimpers but she knew her pampers would stay on underneath the already juvenile clothes her mama had laid out for her that morning 😭😭😭

“Ellie do I need to call mommy here?”

Ellie covered her bottom with her hands. She knew that calling mommy meant she was getting some hard spanks to her thighs until she was squealing and crying like she did at eight years old (and probably wearing something very similar).

“Dont call mommy!” She whined, “I won’t complain mama!”

Vote to decide what happens next!

Previous Part

Your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness under her black skirt. In the grey haze you can see her penis laying there, waiting for you to use it if you wish. Sucking a penis-like pacifier that has given you a chemical addiction is one thing...willingly sucking a real person is a completely different thing. You hyper-fixate on the object just inches from your face. The smell isn't like the sweaty, musky, and manly smell your paci produces. It's milder, softer, and sweeter.

Your breath quickens at the conundrum in front of you and you start to spiral, judging your actions and thoughts. 'Why are you even considering this? What's wrong with you? You're crazy! You don't need this!' You want it so bad, and you're disgusted that you want it.

"Ssssh baby. It's okay." Lily coos.

Her hand presses gently against the back of your head. That's all it takes to push you over the edge. You open your mouth and ever so gently take her between your lips.

"There you go. Just latch, baby. ssssshhhh." It's like it's not even sexual for her. She's just calming you like an actual infant! Your cheeks burn bright red. Despite all your inhibitions and pride, the soft whispering cooing is working.

It's so different from your pacifier. Instead of hard plastic, your face is buried in soft, warm, smooth skin that moves slightly as she breathes. her pubic area is so soft...and warm...even her shrunken scrotum is feels soft and comforting.

Covered completely by the blanket and her skirt, your breath slows, and you begin to notice the subtle smell of baby powder and lavender, but you're far too sleepy to do anything about it. You're giving in, falling even deeper into whatever rabbit hole this is, and your mind is powerless to even comprehend the concept of resisting.

The last of your inhibitions fades to an inaudible whisper as you begin to suckle. She's so soft...so warm...and she has such a pleasant mild mild flavor. You're fully latched, suckling sleepily, and swallowing the little salty droplets she's making for you, and that's the last thing you remember before the physical world transitions into a soft pastel dream.

...

"Wakey wakey, little one." Your dream fills with light and then melts away as she lifts up her skirt. You open your eyes and blink, adjusting to the light. Your dream had been so vivid, but it's fading away so fast. It had something to do with words? You were finding words? Or were you trying to save them? The more fresh air you breath the harder it is to remember the dream. It had all seemed so important. You feel like you were struggling to maybe remember something?

Mama shifts and sits up. You reflexively whimper as her cock pulls from your mouth with a wet pop. You realize that both your face and her crotch are slick with your drool, although if Mama thinks that's gross she doesn't show it.

"Somebody was such a little sleepy-head!" she says and wipes your face with a tissue. She helps you to a sitting position. She tussles your hair and then stands, her skirt drops to cover her beautiful and delicious peepee

Mama? Peepee? You know those aren't the right words, but they just fit. What other words were there?

She looks down at you and purses her lips, as if she's thinking. Then she reaches forward and pokes at your chest.

"Ow! Why-" You begin.

"Nipples feeling a little tender? More sensitive than you remember?" She asks with a smile.

"Y-yeeaah.." You hadn't really noticed until now, but they were a little sore.

She puts her hands on her hips. "I thought I recognized the first bits of budding."

She turns and lowers her skirt and panties enough for you to see a patch stuck to her lower back. "This is my estrogen patch." Then she turns back to you and places her hand against your diaper "And it appears that this is yours."

"Y-you mean-"

She sits beside you and wraps an arm around you. "Your body is going to start seeing some changes, baby. But don't worry. I'm sure we'll have that thing off you well before you see anything drastic."

You look at her soft round breasts, the soft round curves, and remember her delicate little peepee. Were those changes bad? Were you really supposed to be scared or upset right now?

"I-I'm not worried, Mama." You say softly.

"Good Girl." She kisses the top of your head.

You feel the need to pee and decide to just let it go and hope she doesn't notice. Unfortunately the tender moment is ruined by your dipee coming back to life, rewarding you for going potty.

"Oh!" You press your hands against the front of your diaper, and Mama holds you as you rock back and forth, panting and moaning until you feel almost feverish with the need to cum, then the sensations stop.

"Looks like Mary and I were right." She says. "You just have to keep your pacifier out and it'll reward you a different way...but we've been texting and there's one more thing you have to do, are you ready?"

You nod.

"You have to go potty as often as possible. We're going to trick your diaper and put it on a diet. If it uses energy to reward you, then your job is to basically never stop going number one, okay? If you ever feel anything in your bladder, let it out. If you remember you haven't tinkled in the last five seconds, then you should be trying to tinkle."

"Only for peepee?" You ask

"Yes. There's practically no nutrients in urine according to Mary. It's probably getting most of its nutrients from your number twos. So if you can keep it expending energy, while limiting its feeding then it should eventually starve to death, or drop off of you to search for a better host."

Something didn't add up. You HAD to eat, which meant that you'd HAVE to feed your diaper.

"H-how do I limit that? I have to eat!"

"Mary and I have been brainstorming, and there's two ways. One of them is to try an all liquid diet. It'll mean less poop, and way more urine. Which may sound awful, but you'd be able to feed yourself." She motions toward the empty baby bottle.

"And the other way?"

"We do something like how Mary accidentally gave your diaper the thought of a pacifier. Something like a big butt plug that only comes out at certain times. That way you can hold in bowl movements longer...it would be very uncomfortable though."

"How big of a plug?" you ask tentatively.

"Oh, pretty big. It'd have to hold back a lot of pressure. And, full disclosure: if you use a big enough plug often enough, it may cause some incontinence issues later."

She pauses you let you think.

Vote to decide what happens next!

Previous Part

You force yourself to unclench your fists. Fine. You'll give in and color. Not because your a baby or anything. You're just bored.

Using both your mitts you reach for the box of crayons.

"Nuh uh uh!" Lily picks up the bottle and puts it between your hands. "You're probably dehydrated with all those laxatives. Drink your bottle, then you can color."

She hooks a finger through your binky ring and pulls it out. "Whew, I don't doubt that your paci tastes accurate! It smells like it just got back from the gym!"

Using both hands to drink the bottle feels humiliating, but she was right. You didn't know how thirsty you were until the cold milk filled your mouth.

"That's a good girl, drink all your baba!" You scowl and try to ignore the stupid baby-talk she's directing at you and suck harder to get it over with. When you finish she takes it from you. It feels almost like she didn't trust you to put it down where it belongs.

"Ah ah ah!" She's shaking a finger at you. You're not sure what you've done, all you did was move to put your yummy binky back in your mouth.

"We're going to keep that pacifier out for a bit." She removes it from your hands and lets it dangle by the ribbon. "From what I've been told and seen, it appears that you're building a dependency on it, and since it's numbing your mouth, it might be be releasing an addictive opiate or narcotic."

You scowl and your fists clench impotently in your mittens.

"Calm down, baby. I have a theory that it takes a lot of energy for the diaper to masturbate you, which is why it hasn't stimulated your princess parts for a while....it simply doesn't need to! Every time you suck your pacifier you become more addicted. So you're going to show me what a big girl you can be and not suck your binky. Can you do that, Sweetie?"

You fight the urge to yell and kick your legs, and just barely overcome the impulse. "Yeth." You say begrudgingly.

"Good girl! I'm proud of you! Now let's get you all set up for tummy time!" First she unwraps a condom and rolls it over your pacifier "To keep it from making a mess everywhere." Then she lays out the coloring book, pours out the crayons and turns it to the first blank page. "Ooh, this one has a tree! Can you make a pretty green tree for me?"

Her cloyingly sweet tone is so obnoxious, but you lay down anyway. Coloring is really really difficult as you need to pinch the crayon between both your mittens to hold it, and then you can't really see where you're placing the tip against the page. Turning the pages is easy though, even if you sometimes turn more than one at a time.

As much as you hated the idea, you find that it really does make the time fly. You don't know what's worse though, that you gave in and decided to color like a toddler, or that you're actually enjoying it. Still, you color the tree orange just to spite Lily.

After a few pages your mouth is feeling very empty, and your thoughts keep returning to the pacifier dangling from it's ribbon. You can smell that delicious musky smell. There's already a few loads of delicious milky fluid in the condom and every thought seems to end in a little fantasy of ripping the condom off and drinking all the yummy cummies. Was Lily right? Had your dipee made you into an addict? You try to focus on coloring but it's just too hard.

"I wan mai pathee." You try to make it sound like an honest request, but it comes out as a definite whine.

"I know, sweetie, but remember, you're trying to be a big girl right now. Do big girls suck on pacis?"

"Noooo..." You hate that you actually sound like an actual toddler getting weened off of an actual pacifier.

"Just keep coloring, baby."

"It'th tho hawd tho!"

"Tell you what, do another two pages really well and we'll play a new game. One I played an awful lot."

"Fine." She's not listening to you! You want your paci! You angrily pick up a crayon and decide to do the pages as quickly as possible. To your surprise you realize that you've once again lost yourself in the task and have spent an hour carefully filling in a page with a puppy and one with a kite.

"Done!" You exclaim. "Paci now!" The numbing effect has mostly worn off, allowing you to finally talk normally.

"No paci. I said we'd play a game, not suck your paci, remember silly?" She speaks slowly and calmly, like she's defusing a tantrum...and it's working.

"Uuuuugh, what game? I don't want to play a game!"

"It's the name game. Come. Sit next to me here on the couch, I'll teach you how to play. It's easy."

You stand and stomp over to her and sit heavily on the couch with a wet squelch that makes you blush.

"That's my girl! Now to start, we turn on a TV with a show we don't know. The game is to pick a name you hear on TV, and imagine your life with that name. You have to find one you love that's super pretty and perfect for your job, your personal life, and any situation you can imagine. It sounded perfect for you with your current identity crisis."

"That's not a real game." You look down at the condom full of delicious cummies...it's just waiting for you to drink it...

"Maybe not, but I used to-" She looks toward you "Hey, eyes on the TV. How do you feel about Olga? Could you be an Olga? Can you imagine your lover yelling 'Oh Olga, don't stop!' in bed?"

The question catches you off guard and makes you laugh. Somehow she manages to get you playing the game with hundreds of hypotheticals that she'd probably thought of long ago. You're surprised to find that out of hundreds of names on TV across several shows and commercials you don't find a single one that you like, and you're sure one of the ones you heard was even your actual name.

"Don't sweat it sweetie, I played this game for a long long time before I finally found my name. I'm sure you will too. I'll just keep calling you sweet little nicknames."

"C-can I please have my paci now?" You beg as the TV is turned off.

"Sorry, but no. In fact, I think it's about nap time for you."

"Nap time?!? I'm not sleepy! It's noon!" You exclaim.

"Sorry, baby. You can either nap here on the couch or in your playpen."

You are NOT letting her put you in the playpen.

"I'll nap here." You say grumpily.

"Good choice. It's softer." She shifts back so she's laying on the couch, sitting up against the armrest. She pats her thighs and tummy. "All aboard!" She says.

You cringe at cuddling with someone you've only just met, but she's so insistent and cheerful. You lay on top of her, resting your head against her soft warm tummy.

"Your elbows are a digging into my knees. Scootch down a bit" She says. "No, a little lower. There you go! Nice and cozy." Lily grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over you.

You really are quite comfortable and cozy, but you know you won't be able to sleep. Your mind is racing with a feverish need and your mouth is just so empty. You smack your lips a few times, imagining that your mouth is full with that wonderful musky smell.

"Can't sleep baby?" Lily strokes your head. Then she sighs. "You know, in my job at the dispensary I provide non-habit-forming alternatives for people with oral fixations. I guess I can do that for you too.

She lifts her black skirt and moves her panties to the side. There, inches from your face is her cock

"I'm only offering to help ween you off your little binky addiction. I guarantee that it won't be the same...but it might take the edge off. Use it if you want...or don't Whatever reduces your fussiness."

She pulls her skirt down over your head. The move reminds you of a mother modestly breastfeeding by hiding the activity with a shirt. You're alone in darkness, with the smell of her little balls and cock right in front of you.

Yukari Takeba is about to be auctioned as a Baby Slave! She does her best to resist and refute her captors, but it's obvious that she's destined to not just spend her life in diapers, but serve her new master without question (the maid outfit definitely isn't doing her any favors)~! How will things turn out for Yukari? Fine out in the next post~ (Coming out July 15th)

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Emily’s mother, Margaret, drove in silence through the quiet suburban streets, her disgraced daughter sitting naked in the passenger seat beside her. Emily’s hands were clasped tightly over her lap, trying in vain to hide her shaved pussy, but the cool leather seat and the weight of her shame made her tremble uncontrollably. At twenty-four, she was about to be dropped off at Little Treasures Daycare — signed up for a full week as punishment for sleeping with a married man. The paperwork had been handled coldly by her parents and Sarah. “Full infant treatment,” the form had read. No exceptions.

The car pulled up to the cheerful building with its bright murals and colorful playground. Margaret got out first, then yanked Emily from the seat by the wrist. Completely stark naked, Emily was marched toward the entrance, barefoot on the pavement, trying to cover herself with one arm while sobbing quietly. Her mother carried a large bag in the other hand — filled with childish underwear, pastel onesies, frilly dresses, and thick training pants.

Inside the sunlit classroom, three young female daycare workers in matching light blue polo shirts turned at the sound of the door. The room was pure toddler paradise: alphabet posters on the walls, colorful foam mats on the floor, low shelves of toys, and a Peppa Pig backpack already waiting in the corner. An older male staff member or volunteer stood near the exit, watching curiously.

“This is Emily,” Margaret announced matter-of-factly, pushing her naked daughter forward. “She’s twenty-four but she’s been a very naughty girl. She’ll be here all week as a baby. Here’s her bag of clothes and proper little-girl underwear. Dress her like the infant she is.”

Emily broke down immediately, huge sobs wracking her body as the three women surrounded her. “M-Mummy, please… not here… I’m begging you…” she whimpered, but Margaret simply handed over the bag and left without another word.

The staff wasted no time. They guided the crying young woman onto the colorful mats. Emily was made to lie back while they wiped her down with baby wipes, powdered her thoroughly, and slipped her into thick, crinkly training pants printed with little cartoon animals. Over that went a short pink polka-dot dress with a frilly hem that barely covered her padded bottom. A white lace bonnet was tied under her chin. She looked utterly ridiculous — a grown woman reduced to an overgrown toddler.

All day long, Emily was forced to do everything the real babies did. She crawled on the mats, played with blocks and rattles, sat in a circle for story time, and drank from a sippy cup. Every time she tried to speak like an adult, the staff corrected her firmly: “Use your baby voice, Emily. Big girls don’t belong here.” She was fed pureed food from a spoon, had her face wiped, and was changed on a mat in the middle of the room when she had a little accident. The humiliation burned deeper with every crinkle of her training pants, every patronizing coo from the caregivers.

By late afternoon, Emily was a broken, mortified mess — eyes swollen from constant sobbing, face flushed with shame. She had been fully regressed, doing every baby activity while the staff treated her exactly like the infants around her. Disgust and humiliation consumed her as she waddled around in the short dress, the bulky padding forcing her thighs apart.

Then the door opened.

Mark — the married man she had been secretly sleeping with for months — stepped inside. Sarah had arranged for him to pick her up “as a final reminder.” Emily’s heart shattered the moment she saw him.

At that exact moment, she lost control completely. A hot rush of pee flooded her training pants, soaking through the thick padding. It spread visibly, darkening the crotch of her childish underwear and trickling down her inner thighs. Emily froze, then dropped to her hands and knees in utter defeat, fresh sobs exploding from her.

The staff immediately responded. Two of the young women in blue polos gently but firmly positioned her on all fours on the colorful mat. Her pink dress was lifted high, exposing her messy, soaked bottom and the stained training pants. One caregiver knelt beside her, wiping the brown mess that had smeared across her buttocks and down her thighs —. Another staff member held her steady, one hand on her back, while a third prepared fresh wipes and powder.

Emily sobbed uncontrollably as the cool wipes cleaned her most private, exposed areas right in front of Mark. The wet, humiliating sounds filled the classroom. She could hear the staff chatting casually to him as they worked.

“Oh, you must be here to pick up little Emily,” one said cheerfully, wiping thoroughly between her cheeks. “She’s had such a babyish day today. She crawled everywhere, played with the toys like a proper toddler, and even had story time with the real babies. She tried to act grown-up at first, but we soon had her using her little lispy voice.”

Another caregiver powdered Emily’s bottom generously, the white cloud dusting her skin. “She wet herself twice — just like a real infant. And look at this mess… she had a big accident earlier. We had to change her on the mat in front of everyone. She cried the whole time, poor thing. But that’s what happens when naughty big girls need to learn their lesson.”

Vote for what happens next!

Previous part

You join Mary at the dining table, wincing as you sit. At least your soiled diaper makes for an effective cushion.

"Once again, I am SO sorry."

Martha has a notebook open and has already filled a page with hastily written notes. She's practically vibrating with excitement.

The windows have all been opened and the air is starting to clear, as is your head. You can't believe you spent all day watching cartoons without even noticing that the fruity smell was somehow limiting your mental faculties. It was a correlation Mary noticed immediately.

"Tell me, what you were doing about when you first encountered this thing?"

You motion to your pacifier and swallow more cum.

"Oh, right, I forgot about that." She gingerly pulls in the ring and it effortlessly slips from your mouth.

You stretch your jaw and taste fresh clean air for the first time that day. Your mouth feels weirdly empty and numb.

You clear your throat. "Ah wath sheeping." You blush at your toddler-like lisp. You rub your throat and try again, focusing hard on your pronunciation. "Ai wath sweepig."

"Interesting." She writes a few more sentences. "Mouth and throat numb?"

You nod. You're trying to remain calm. This had better not be permanent.

"Don't worry, feeling should come back within an hour. I'd wager that your binky secretes some kind of topical anaesthetic."

"Back to my original hypothesis though, what were you dreaming about?"

You shrug. You rarely remember your dreams, especially when you happen to wake up with slime monsters in your bed.

"Hmm. Say the first word that comes into your mind as quickly as you can. Do not hesitate." She pauses and waits for you to prepare yourself. "Baby"

"Giwl." You hate everything about how you sound.

"Babygirl diapers are:.."

"Pink" At least you could say that one correctly.

"Babysmell"

"Fwoot."

She laughs. "Why do you think that? You must not know much about babies."

"Becuth babieth aw shtikey n methy." You say. "I dunno wha they thmew wike."

"Personally, I think of a mix of baby powder, lavender scented wipes, and stale urine, but that's just me."

She writes for a bit then turns her attention back to you. "So...If I'm right, your diaper appears to be some kind of parasitic corprophage with some kind of low level telepathic ability. You were asleep in your tent when it either saw a baby in your dream or skimmed your subconscious to learn what you expect a baby to look like, then it latched onto you and has been trying to camoflage itself in ways that make you look and smell like your expectations of a baby. Unfortunately you know nearly nothing of babies, so it looks more like fetish stuff than an actual diaper."

"buh whya baybe?" You ask.

"Looking like babies is way more common in nature than you might think. This kinda reminds me of a species of caterpillar that emits pheromones to make ants think it's an ant larvae. They bring it into their home and give it food and protection. It'll do whatever it can to convince others to care for you. I'd wager the smell it releases when it digests contains all kinds of pheromones."

She returns to her notes "It must be able to skim mental pictures. Last night I said you were missing a penis-shaped pacifier and voila!" She motions toward the pacifier. "The exterior is exactly how I imagined it. The penis part though isn't from my imagination though."

"It'th my penith." You admit. "it wepwicated me."

"Makes sense. It's probably the only human penis it knew of." She laughs. "It could be worse. It could be a deer or bear penis!" You don't find it funny.

"How do we wemove it?" You ask. That's the only thing you actually want to know.

"Well, I have some ideas that we can try. Most external parasites like ticks, leeches, and mosquitoes drop off after they eat as much as they can hold. They're also repelled by citronella leaves, and lots of animals are repelled by capsaicin. Unfortunately, the outside of your diaper appears to have a waterproofband membrsne and most likely filters all the water it absorbs via that same membrane"

"Tho..."

"So the only way to expose it to stuff it doesn't like is to feed it to you first. It'll taste like shit, and you'll have to eat a LOT of it, but it's your best bet at getting rid of this thing."

She stands up and stretches. "Go ahead and watch some more cartoons. I'll make your dinner."

Your pacifier pulses, and a dribble of cum runs down the front of your shirt.

Mary winces. "That's fucking nasty." She uses to fingers to pick up the pacifier and pushes it into your mouth. "Sorry, but I am NOT cleaning jizz off my floors and furniture, and trust me, you'll want your mouth to be numb for what you're about to eat."

Dinner turned out to be a massive pot of oatmeal, gallons of the stuff, laced with an entire bottle of laxatives, enough hot sauce to make it orange, and several handfuls of purreéd citronella leaf.

"Before you eat, I have one precaution." She went to her hallway closet and returned with something rectangular. "I still have this from when I did babysitting." She sets it down and unfolds a collapsible playpen. "Well, get in."

You look at her, was she serious?

"Listen, if this thing jumps off of you it will need to be contained. Get in...unless you have some other kind of containment you prefer."

You sigh, and climb over the side and sit on the thin rubber mattress. She removes your pacifier and scoops a heaping helping into a bowl.

"Alright, here comes the airplane!" She teases, She brings a heaping spoonful of the mush to your mouth.

The meal does indeed taste like shit. Even with your numb mouth and throat you can taste it. It's so spicy that your eyes are watering and you're coughing after every spoonful. The citronella is so bitter that it makes you gag. The meal goes on for hours with breaks to drink water and suck your pacifier while your stomach settles and makes room for more.

That's all you do for the rest of the evening. Eat, drink, suck your own cum from your own penis, then repeat.

You have never eaten so much in your life! Mary just keeps shoveling spoonful after spoonful into you. Multiple times you try to cover your mouth or move, but she just grabs your nose, forces your head back, and waits for you to gasp for air to shove even more spicy bitter gruel into you.

Halfway through the oatmeal, your stomach is churning and gurgling loudly.

By midnight your face and shirt are covered with spicy burning oatmeal. Mary seems feverishly obsessed with separating you from this new lifeform so she can study it. Her hand keeps a death grip on your nose and your every breath comes at the cost of a mouthful of cold, bitter, spicy slop.

"All done!" She says, showing you the empty pan. She picks up a wet washcloth and begins wiping you down. Your skin is red wherever spilled oatmeal lingered too long.

"Now you're to hold it all in until you can't anymore. We want to really feed this thing more than it can possibly handle, which may require multiple feedings like this."

"MULTIPLE!?" you gasp.

"Yes, your next feeding will be in...say...three hours."

"B-but that's 3 AM!"

She either doesn't hear you or doesn't care. "I'm out of oatmeal now. I guess I can use Lentils? There's some frozen veggies I can blend too..."

She turns her attention to you and she looks almost like she's in a daze. She reaches for your pacifier and pushes it into your mouth.

"mmm!"

She stares at you, then blinks a few times and shakes her head.

"Have you...been having weird thoughts? Ones you wouldn't normally have? Strange words or hypotheticals jumping in front of your mind's eye?" She asks.

You shake your head and swallow more yummy cum. Your tummy rubles and you know you'll soon be going potty in your dipee.

"just wondering."

She closes the windows and latches them for the night, then heads to her bedroom for a quick three-hour nap. For a just a moment you think you smell lavender and baby powder.

While she's sleeping you're wracked by cramps. The playpen is far too small to lay down, or spread out. The most comfortable position is curled into a loose fetal position, but you aren't there long enough to sleep.

The urge is too strong to resist and hits you suddenly. You're powerless to stop the torrent. You barely manage to get into a crouching position before you start filling your diaper. It floods the back of the diaper in an instant and erumpts as hot, spicy diarrhea. Your diaper swells and droops until it's touching the surface of the mattress.

For a brief moment an image flashes into your head, it's from one of the cartoons you had been watching yesterday. It had a bunch of smiling animals with "potty time" in big colorful letters.

Your penis starts being stimulated to reward you and you drop to all fours as more hot spicy diarrhea floods the front of your diaper. It's so icky you want to throw up and it burns so bad!

Cramp after cramp pushes more into your ever swelling dipee. Touching your knees together is impossible. The only comfortable position you can find is on your back, your legs spread wide as you sweat and strain. Your mess now exceeds the original size of the creature. If this fails, it'll be eating for days while you suffer from an insanely bad case of diaper rash.

Just when you think you're done Mary's alarm goes off. She walks into the kitchen and scratches the top your head affectionately. "Wow, sure looks like you had a very productive time!" She giggles. "Let's try just one more feeding, okay Sweetie?"

"Mmmph!" You are NOT 'Sweetie'!

She's already turned to the fridge, she either doesn't notice your protest or she doesn't care.

Through the mesh of the playpen you watch her empty a bag of frozen veggies, an entire bottle of bright yellow hot sauce, a few zucchinis and a box of raisins into the blender. She purèes it into a smooth paste then pors it into a big pot with four cups of dried lentils and eight cups of water.

She opens a bottle of chili powder sprinkles some into the pot, then pauses in thought before dumping the entire container into the lentils followed by a tin of red pepper flakes. She opens the apartment door and retrieves a plastic bag from CVS. She must have ordered the delivery before going to sleep. She pours a bottle of milk of magnesium, a handful of Senna tablets and a bottle of castor oil into your upcoming breakfast. She finishes it off with a stick blender, turning it all into a homogeneous thick slop.

The smell of it cooking is absolutely abhorrent. Your stomach turns at the thought of even a single spoonful in your mouth, eating almost a gallon of it sounds downright impossible.

When she returns it's with a mixing bowl full of your food. She scoops up a large heaping spoonful of the slop and removes your pacifier.

"Are you going to be good and eat all your food or do I need to hold your nose and force feed you again?" She asks.

Emily’s face burned with a shame so deep it felt like her soul was being flayed alive. At twenty-four years old, she stood barefoot in the open driveway of Mark and Sarah’s suburban home like a toddler caught playing in her own mess. The bright afternoon sun left nowhere to hide. Anyone driving past or glancing out a neighbor’s window could see everything.

Sarah had chosen the punishment with vicious creativity, forcing the very man Emily had fucked for months to be the one to film it. “She’s young enough to be our daughter,” Sarah had said during the confrontation, her voice dripping ice. “So we’ll treat her like one. A naughty little baby who needs to learn her very first steps.”

Emily was dressed exactly as ordered: a skimpy, childish pastel training bra stretched tight across her breasts, and a thick, crinkling disposable nappy pulled up high on her hips — the kind meant for actual infants but sized for her adult body. Both were covered in garish Minnie Mouse prints, the cartoon faces grinning up at her mockingly. Sarah had dusted her liberally with baby powder from head to toe, the white talc caking her thighs, belly, and cleavage, turning her into a ridiculous, powdery mess. The scent of it clung to her nose, sickly sweet and infantile.

Her hands were locked behind her head, elbows flared out like a prisoner, pushing her chest forward obscenely. Her legs were spread in a wide, waddling stance, the bulky nappy forcing her thighs apart.

“Action,” Sarah commanded from the garage doorway, arms crossed, a cruel smile playing on her lips. Mark stood a few feet away, heavy camcorder on his shoulder, red recording light blinking like a heartbeat. His face was flushed with guilt, but he kept filming.

“Walk for Daddy, baby girl,” Sarah cooed mockingly. “Wobbly little first steps. Show us how a big girl who spreads her legs for married men learns to toddle. And use your baby voice — loud enough for the neighbors.”

Tears streamed down Emily’s powdered cheeks. Her lower lip quivered. “P-please… I’m sorry…” she whimpered.

Sarah laughed coldly. “Sorry isn’t baby talk. Try again, or we’ll make you crawl next and fill that nappy for the camera.”

Humiliation clawed at Emily’s insides. She bent her knees into an exaggerated, infantile squat and took a shaky step forward. The nappy crinkled loudly with every movement, the thick padding rubbing humiliatingly between her legs. Powder puffed into the air around her. Her breasts jiggled in the tiny bra as she waddled clumsily, toes pointed inward like a real toddler.

“Da… Da-da…” she forced out in a high-pitched, lisping baby voice, each syllable a fresh knife of degradation. “Fiwst steps fow Da-da…”

Mark’s jaw tightened, but he zoomed in closer, capturing every mortified expression, every wobbly step, every crinkle of the nappy.

“That’s it, princess,” Sarah taunted, circling slowly. “Look at you — the same little slut who rode my husband’s cock like a whore, now toddling around in diapers for him to film. Wiggle that padded bottom more. Show Daddy how proud you are of your big achievement.”

Emily’s face was scarlet, snot and tears mixing with the powder on her skin. She took another unsteady step, nearly losing balance, arms still pinned behind her head. The nappy sagged slightly from the powder, making her feel even more pathetic and exposed. “Goo… goo ga-ga… Emiwee wuvs hew fiwst steps…” she babbled as ordered, voice breaking.

Sarah stepped closer, lifting Emily’s chin with one finger so the camera caught her tearful, humiliated eyes perfectly. “Again. Louder. Tell the camera why you’re being punished like this.”

“B-because I… I swept with Da-da when he’s mawwied…” Emily sobbed in the baby voice, waddling in a slow, degrading circle. “I’m just a naughty wittle giwl who needs diapees and fiwst steps…”

Mark kept the camera rolling in silence, forced to immortalize every second of his mistress’s total destruction. Neighbors’ curtains twitched in the distance. The humiliation was absolute — her body on display, her pride shattered, reduced to a powdered, crinkling baby for the man she’d betrayed Sarah with.

When Sarah finally said “Cut” after the sixth agonizing take, Emily dropped to her knees in the driveway, curling into a fetal position. The nappy crinkled loudly as she hugged herself, powder still falling from her skin.

Sarah crouched beside her, stroking her hair almost tenderly. “Good girl. We’ll watch this together every single night until you understand your place. Maybe next week we’ll film potty training.”

Dialogue edition

Sarah: “Okay cutie pie, action time~! Walk for Daddy like a good wittle baby girl. Super wobbly first steps in your crinkly Minnie Mouse nappy~ Use your cutest, girliest baby voice, loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear, princess!”

Emily: (whimpering, lisping heavily) “P-pweaseee… Emiwee sooo sowwy… pwease don’t make me do dis…”

Sarah: (laughing) “Aww, sowwy isn’t baby talk, you naughty wittle homewrecker~ Try again or we’ll make you crawl and fill dat diapee right on camera for Daddy~! Now toddle, baby~ Wiggle dat puffy bottom!”

Emily: (shaky, high-pitched baby voice, sniffling) “Da… Da-da…? Emiwee doin’ hew fiwst steps fow Da-da… wook at Emiwee waddwing sooo wobbly in hew big thick nappy~ Crinkle cwinkle~”

Mark: (quiet, reluctant) “Just… keep going, Emily.”

Sarah: “Louder, princess! Tell Daddy how pwoud you are of youw big achievement~ The same slutty giwl who was riding my husband’s cock is now a powdery baby in diapees~ Wiggle more!”

Emily: (tears flowing, full baby talk) “Goo goo ga-ga~ Emiwee wuvs hew fiwst steps sooo much, Da-da~! Emiwee’s wittle leggies all shaky and hew nappy sooo puffy and cwinkwy~ Emiwee jus’ a naughty wittle giwl who swept with mawwied Da-da… Emiwee needs hew diapees foweva~!”

Sarah: “That’s it, my wittle diapered doll~ Look at those boobies jiggling in your tiny training bra while you toddle~ Again! Louder baby voice~ Tell the camera exactly why you’re being punished like this, cutie~”

Emily: (sobbing in exaggerated baby talk, waddling in place) “B-because Emiwee was a vewy bad giwl… Emiwee fucked Da-da behind youw back when he’s mawwied~ Now Emiwee has to do hew fiwst steps in fwont of Da-da’s camera, all powdewy and embawassed in hew Minnie Mouse nappy~ Emiwee jus’ a wittle baby swut who deserves dis humiwiation~! Da-da pwease fiwm Emiwee’s shame~”

Sarah: “Good girl~ Keep babbling, princess. Wiggle that padded tushy more for the neighbors~ We’re gonna watch this every night so you never forget you’re just our wittle girl now~”

Emily: (voice breaking, full lispy baby talk) “Emiwee pwomise to be good baby… Emiwee wuvs hew fiwst steps even if it’s sooo embawassing~ Goo ga-ga, hehe… pwease can Emiwee stop now, pweaseee~?”

Emily’s parents, Robert and Margaret, had been horrified when Sarah called them with the full story — and the video evidence. Their twenty-four-year-old daughter, the girl they’d raised, had been sleeping with a married man for months. The shame on their faces when they watched the driveway footage was nothing compared to the cold decision they made together with Mark and Sarah.

“She needs to be broken completely,” Margaret had said over the phone, voice tight. “Brought back to baby level in front of him. We’ll help.”

That evening, Emily was marched into the family living room by her own mother, already a snivelling mess. She arrived in nothing but a thin pair of white cotton knickers, now soaked dark and sagging heavily between her legs. The unmistakable smell of wee-wee followed her. She had wet herself in terror on the car ride over, the warm shame spreading as her mother scolded her like a toddler the entire way.

Mark sat on one sofa, wine glass in hand, face burning with a mix of guilt and reluctant arousal. Sarah sat beside him, smirking. Robert and Margaret took the other sofa, watching their disgraced daughter with stern disappointment.

“Strip her,” Margaret ordered calmly. “Right on the dining table. Our little girl needs a proper nappy change in front of the man she chose to ruin.”

Emily sobbed as her father lifted her like a child and laid her on her back on the polished wooden dining table, legs spread obscenely. The bright chandelier light left nothing hidden. Her mother peeled the soaked, clinging knickers down her thighs, exposing her shaved, puffy pussy still glistening with her own urine. Powder and wee-wee streaked her skin.

“Look at you,” Robert said, shaking his head. “Twenty-four years old and you wet your knickers on the way here because you know what you did. Sleeping with a married man. In front of his wife. Now your own parents have to change you like an infant.”

Sarah handed Margaret the supplies — wipes, thick baby powder, and a large crinkly disposable nappy. Emily’s legs were held high by her father as her mother thoroughly wiped her most private areas in full view of Mark. The wet wipes made loud, humiliating sounds. Emily’s face burned crimson, tears pouring down her cheeks as Mark stared, forced to witness every intimate detail of her degradation.

“P-please Mummy… Daddy… not in front of him…” Emily whimpered.

“You lost the right to dignity when you spread your legs for a married man, baby girl,” Margaret replied coldly, dusting her daughter’s pussy, bottom, and thighs with thick clouds of baby powder until she was caked white. The nappy was slid under her, taped tightly in place with loud crinkles. “This is what happens to naughty daughters who act like sluts.”

After the change, Sarah produced a childish striped sailor t-shirt. They dressed Emily in it — the short hem barely covering the bulky nappy — and nothing else. Robert then pulled his grown daughter onto his lap in front of everyone, bouncing her gently on his knee like a toddler.

Emily went bright red, squirming in humiliation. The thick nappy crinkled loudly with every bounce, pressing against her powder-coated skin. Mark watched silently from the sofa, wine glass trembling slightly in his hand. Sarah and Margaret sipped their drinks, smiling.

“Do the sign for Daddy, princess,” Margaret cooed. “Show everyone how much you love being your real Daddy’s baby again.”

Tears streamed down Emily’s face as she raised one shaky hand, making the pathetic “daddy” sign against her powdered cheek while bouncing on her father’s knee. Her sailor shirt rode up, fully exposing the childish nappy. “D-da-da…” she lisped in a broken baby voice, voice cracking with shame. “Emiwee wuvs hew Da-da… Emiwee sowwy fow being a naughty giwl who swept wif Mawwied Da-da…”

The room filled with soft laughter from all four adults. The knowledge that the man she had fucked for months was seeing her like this — reduced to a bouncing, baby-talking girl on her own father’s knee — made the humiliation almost unbearable. Emily hid her burning face against Robert’s shoulder, but he gently pushed her back so everyone could see her tears.

The final and most crushing part of Emily’s punishment took place at the quiet neighbourhood playground as the sun began to set. She was marched out barefoot, wearing only the short striped sailor t-shirt and the thick, heavily powdered disposable nappy. The bulky padding forced her thighs apart in a permanent waddle, and white talc still coated her skin, thighs, and the front of the nappy, making her look utterly ridiculous and infantile.

Mark stood off to the side with the camcorder raised, red recording light steady. Sarah, Robert, and Margaret sat on the bench, watching with a mixture of satisfaction and disappointment.

Emily was already destroyed. Her face was a puffy, tear-soaked wreck, eyes swollen, snot running down her chin. She stood in the centre of the colourful rubber matting with her hands locked behind her head, elbows flared out, trembling so hard her knees knocked together.

“Time to repeat your first steps properly,” her father said in a calm, adult voice. “Show us exactly what you’ve been reduced to.”

Emily shattered completely. A loud, broken sob escaped her as she began waddling forward in tiny, humiliating toddler steps. The nappy crinkled loudly with every movement. Only she was forced into the baby talk — the others spoke like normal adults, making her lisping babble sound even more pathetic and isolating.

“P-pwease… Emiwee is sowwy…” she cried in a high-pitched, broken baby voice. “Emiwee is jus a naughty wittle baby swut who swept wif Mawwied Da-da fow months and wuinied evewything… Emiwee has to do hew fiwst steps in fwont of evewyone wike dis…”

She took another shaky step, the sailor shirt riding up to fully expose the front of her crinkling nappy. Fresh tears poured down her face. “Emiwee’s pwivate pawts awe aww powdewed and on dispway… Emiwee wet hew knickies in da caw wike a stupid faiwuwe… Emiwee’s own pawents had to stwip Emiwee naked on da dinin’ tabwe and change Emiwee’s diapee wight in fwont of Mawwk…”

Sarah’s voice cut through coldly and clearly. “Louder. Keep going.”

Emily’s legs nearly gave out. She dropped into a wide, humiliating squat, nappy crinkling obscenely between her spread thighs as she sobbed harder. “Emiwee is destwoyed… Emiwee is nuffin but a diapee giwl now… Emiwee’s wife is ovew… Emiwee has to toddwe and babble wike dis whiwe Mawwk fiwms evewything… Emiwee’s own Mummy and Daddy awe watching theiw daughtew get huwmiwiated wike a weal baby…”

She waddled in a slow, degrading circle, voice cracking into ugly, hysterical baby talk. “Emiwee’s big giwl cwothes awe gone fowevew… Emiwee is a compwetewy bwoken, cheating diapee swut… pwease… Emiwee can’t take any mowe… Emiwee is wuinied fowevew…”