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Careful What You Wish For | Chapter 34 [Comm]
🕑 Added 2025-11-30 14:00:03 +0000 UTCChapter 34: Frustrations
The first thing Puppie noticed when she woke up was not the smell of baby powder or the sound of nursery lullabies drifting from the speakers hidden in the walls. It was not even the crinkle of the overstuffed nighttime diaper that cocooned her hips in its suffocating warmth.
It was that feeling, a constant, crawling itch of need radiating from between her thighs. A pressure that pulsed faintly with every tiny movement, an insistent throb that refused to be ignored.
Her new mound pressed against the swollen padding of her diaper like it had been designed for no other purpose than to torment her. There was no moment of relief. No shift of her hips that lessened the feeling. Even lying perfectly still did nothing to quiet it. It was an itch that could not be scratched, a hunger that could not be fed, and it followed her no matter what she did.
She blinked up at the mobile above her crib, pink ponies spinning lazily against the glow of the morning light filtering in through lace curtains. A sob threatened to break in her throat but came out only as a soft whimper, her soprano voice still unfamiliar and humiliating.
“Good morning, princess.”
The words came from the doorway, smooth and sing-song. Nanny. Of course. Her hoofsteps clipped softly against the floor as she entered, her apron freshly pressed, a bottle of formula in one hand and Puppie’s “Princess Morning Routine Checklist” in the other.
Nanny leaned over the crib rail and brushed Puppie’s cheek with the back of her fingers.
“Did my little girl sleep well? Or was that new little princess pussy keeping you up all night?”
Puppie turned her face away, cheeks burning as her new name, Puppie, rolled off Nanny’s tongue like it was always meant to be hers. She wanted to tell her how unbearable it was, how she could not sleep for more than an hour at a time without that awful tingling waking her. But when she opened her mouth, all that came out was a pathetic whine muffled by the night pacifier still strapped to her face.
Nanny chuckled, unbuckling the gag harness with quick efficiency and swapping the pacifier for the rubber nipple of a warm bottle.
“Drink up, sweetheart. Breakfast is coming, but we don’t want a cranky girl while I make your oatmeal, do we?”
Puppie could not refuse. Her arms were still pinned by the recovery restraints sewn into her crib mattress, her mittens useless against the straps. The nipple was pressed between her lips, and she drank without thinking, formula flowing over her tongue as Nanny gently cradled the back of her head.
Every swallow made the frustration worse. The sucking motion, the warmth of the milk in her stomach, it was like every part of her body now existed to remind her she was owned, changed, and utterly helpless.
By the time Nanny deemed the bottle “enough for now,” Puppie was cradled out of her crib like an oversized doll, the thick nighttime diaper making her feel twice as heavy.
Her highchair awaited in the corner of the kitchen, a towering, pastel-pink monstrosity with a five-point harness and a tray covered in cartoon unicorns. It was not just furniture. It was her own, personal throne of humiliation.
“There we go!”
Nanny cooed as she locked Puppie in. Straps crossed over her chest and between her legs, pulling the padding against her faux clit in a way that made her gasp audibly. Nanny noticed, of course.
“Sensitive this morning, aren’t we? That’s good. It means everything is working as it should.”
A bib was tied around her neck, frilly, white, embroidered with the words “Daddy’s Little Princess” in shimmering pink thread.
The oatmeal arrived steaming and smelling faintly of cinnamon. It was not the worst thing she had ever been fed. But the spoon was Nanny’s, and Nanny’s control meant the pace wasn’t hers. Every bite came with a condescending “Open wide for Nanny,” followed by exaggerated coos of praise when she swallowed without fuss.
Her bladder betrayed her halfway through the meal.
It happened without warning, a sudden warm flood spreading beneath her, soaking the already heavy padding with a slow, syrupy heat. The rerouted urethra made it worse. The trickle was constant and low, impossible to stop, as if her body had forgotten how to hold anything back.
Her thighs trembled. The warm padding pressed more firmly against her mound now, and the tingling spiked. She moaned, a high, breathy sound she did not recognize as her own, and slammed her mittened hands uselessly against the highchair’s armrests.
“Aw,” Nanny crooned.
“Did my baby just tinkle while eating her breakfast? Such a good girl for using her diapies like she’s supposed to.”
Puppie’s face burned. She wanted to protest. To yell that she was not a good girl, that she was not a girl at all. But her new voice betrayed her every time she opened her mouth, turning even the smallest grunt into a pitiful, feminine squeak.
“Maybe after playtime we’ll get you into a fresh one.”
Nanny said casually, spooning another mouthful of oatmeal into Puppie’s reluctant lips.
“Or maybe we’ll wait until Daddy comes home. I’m sure he’ll want to see how wet his little princess gets after her first night in her new body.”
Breakfast ended the way all meals did, with Puppie’s face wiped clean like a messy toddler’s and a burp cloth pressed against her chest as Nanny patted her back. Then came the next prison, her playpen.
Not just a simple pen either. It was a padded enclosure ringed with soft mesh walls, filled with plushies and toddler toys designed for motor skills far beneath her age. There was only one form of entertainment: the big TV screen mounted on the wall, already queued up with an episode of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.
The theme song blared cheerful and bright as Nanny lowered her into the pen, arranging her among the dolls like she was just another toy.
“Be a good girl while Nanny does the laundry.”
She said, patting Puppie’s head before stepping out of the room.
The pressure between her legs had not dulled. If anything, the quiet of the playpen made it worse. No distractions. No conversation to listen to but almost never contribute to. Just the constant buzzing hum of arousal she couldn’t satisfy, every slight movement of her hips rubbing her mound against the wet padding.
The cartoon ponies sang about friendship. Puppie stared blankly at the screen.
And then it happened again.
Her bladder emptied, again, without warning. A warm gush bloomed between her thighs, trickling toward the back of the diaper and pooling against her bottom. She felt it soak, spread, and press, diaper swelling and squishing against her new anatomy with each tiny wiggle.
Her thighs trembled again. A gasp slipped out. She loathed it. She hated that even this, peeing, felt like teasing. Like she was building toward something she could never reach. She grabbed at a plush unicorn with her mittened hands, squeezing it as though she could channel her frustration into the stuffing. It barely helped, the feeling did not even wane.
She wanted to scream.
Instead, she whimpered softly, curling in on herself as the bright ponies on the screen giggled and played, oblivious to the princess in her pen who could not escape the cage of her own new body.
The door creaked open with a soft squeak after what seemed like ages. Hoofsteps approached, slow and deliberate, the rhythm of Nanny’s stride sending a shiver down Puppie’s spine even before she appeared.
“Someone smells ripe!”
She announced as her shadow fell over the playpen.
“Did my little princess soak herself while watching her ponies?”
Puppie’s face burned as she avoided eye contact, staring fixedly at the plush unicorn in her mittens. She could not even deny it. Her diaper squished beneath her as she shifted in the corner, the saturated padding swollen and warm against her new anatomy.
Nanny’s soft chuckle cut through the silence.
“Oh, you’re so precious like this. I can practically see your ears glowing, sweetheart. You must be dying for some relief, hmm? Well, let’s get you changed before you leak all over my nice, clean floor.”
Puppie’s stomach twisted. She hated diaper changes now, not just for the humiliation of being laid bare, but because every touch, every wipe, every accidental brush against her mound turned into another unbearable wave of frustration.
Nanny unclipped the mesh gate and reached in to scoop Puppie up like a toddler.
“Up we go, soggy girl.”
She cooed, ignoring Puppie’s squeaked protest as she was hoisted into the air.
Carried to the changing table, Puppie found herself deposited on her back against its cold, vinyl pad. Her wrists were immediately secured into the table’s built-in restraints, her ankles lifted and locked into padded stirrups that left her new body completely exposed and vulnerable.
“There we are. Legs up, nice and high. Let’s give Nanny a good look at that little princess pussy.”
Nanny said with a cruel sweetness, tugging the frilly onesie up to Puppie’s chest and unsnapping the diaper cover. The tapes ripped free with a loud RIIIIP that made Puppie flinch. The heavy, sodden diaper was peeled away, the cool air rushing over her swollen, tender mound.
“Ohhh my,” Nanny said, pausing to take in the sight.
“Look at you. Still so puffy and pink from the surgery. You’re healing beautifully. Does it still ache, baby girl?”
Puppie whimpered, high and soft. She wanted to say yes, to beg her to stop looking, stop talking, stop making this worse, but her voice failed her, breaking into a pitiful squeak. Nanny smiled knowingly.
“Oh, I know it does. And I bet it tickles too, doesn’t it? Every time you move in your diaper, I bet that little clit of yours just buzzes. That’s what it’s there for, sweetheart. To remind you every second of every day what you are now.”
Her gloved hands descended, and Puppie braced herself.
The first touch of the wipe made her whole body spasm. It was ice-cold at first, sending a shock of sensation radiating through her hips, and then, when Nanny pressed it against her folds, it became unbearable. Not in pain, but in that slow, creeping way that her body had learned to interpret as arousal.
“Ohhh, poor thing.”
Nanny cooed, deliberately dragging the wipe over Puppie’s faux clit in slow circles.
“You make the cutest little faces when I clean you here. You can’t help it, can you? This isn’t like your little boy bits were. No control. No relief. Just helpless little tingles that don’t go away.”
Puppie groaned through clenched teeth, her mittens flexing against the restraints.
“Shhh, baby. Don’t fight it.”
Nanny whispered, leaning in close.
“This is who you are now. A soggy little princess who can’t even handle a wipe on her girly parts without squirming like a naughty toddler.”
Another wipe. This one slower, firmer, pressing into the crease where her new labia met the surrounding skin. Puppie’s thighs quivered violently against the stirrups, and she let out a choked, high-pitched sob.
Nanny giggled.
“Ohhh, are we getting worked up? Don’t worry, darling. That little pussy of yours isn’t for you. It’s for Daddy and Nanny to keep clean and pretty. You’ll never get to do anything with it but tinkle in your diapers and feel all fuzzy and needy. Isn’t that perfect?”
It was torture. Every pass of the wipe pushed her toward a peak that wasn’t there. Her whole body felt hot, electric, but nothing ever came of it. No release. Just need.
“Let’s get your little princess button nice and clean,” Nanny said, deliberately focusing on her faux clit. She pressed the wipe against it in small, teasing circles.
“There we go. Such a sensitive little thing. I bet you’d thank me for this if you could, wouldn’t you? I bet deep down you love it.”
Puppie shook her head furiously, tears spilling down her temples, but Nanny only laughed.
“Oh, honey. You do love it. You dreamed about this. Being Mommy and Daddy’s little sissy baby forever. We just made it real.”
The cleaning dragged on, Nanny making sure to linger on every inch of Puppie’s altered anatomy. She powdered her liberally, the cool, silky dusting only heightening the maddening buzz between her thighs, before sliding a fresh, thick princess-print diaper beneath her hips.
“There,” Nanny said softly, patting her tummy as she pulled the diaper snugly up over her mound.
“All clean and crinkly again. Just how a baby puppy should be.”
The final RIIIP of the tapes sealing her diaper felt like a judge’s gavel, marking the end of the ritual humiliation. But Nanny was not done.
“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you!”
She said casually, smoothing out the tapes.
“Daddy and I have been planning something very special for you.”
Puppie blinked up at her, chest still heaving from the overstimulation.
“This Saturday,” Nanny said, smiling wide, “we’re having a party. All our friends are coming. And they can’t wait to meet the new you. Isn’t that exciting?”
Puppie froze. A party. People. Seeing her like this. Her stomach dropped as Nanny continued cheerfully:
“We’ll get you all dressed up, poofy dress, lace socks, little bows in your hair. Everyone will see what a beautiful baby girl you’ve become. Won’t that be fun?”
Fun.
Her tears came harder this time, soaking into the soft pink bib Nanny had draped back over her chest. Nanny kissed her forehead like nothing was wrong.
“There, there, Puppie. Don’t cry. This is what you always wanted. And now everyone will see it too.”
As Nanny lifted her from the table, cradling her like an overgrown infant, Puppie felt her fresh diaper press against her mound, warmth, powder, crinkle, and that awful, unending buzz of need.
She was now a princess, a pet, and a diapered doll on display.
No way out.
