paddedlittleparadise
patreon
Flash Fiction Collection
🕑 Added 2022-08-22 14:38:28 +0000 UTCHi all! As promised, during this "Regress the Writer 3.0" event I'm going to be producing flash fiction for y'all to enjoy – not simply because I enjoy it, but because that's the only way I can earn changes, pull-ups, or other goodies! :-) I'll be adding as many flash fictions as I need to get through the week, so keep checking back on this post to see what new mini-stories have been added. Enjoy!
Total words produced: 4000
Total words redeemed: 3800
Balance: 200
***
Keep on Swimming
That was what I kept telling myself. Swim. Just swim.
Or more accurately, paddle. Because let's be honest: there was no way any adult could swim in a kiddie pool this shallow. Mommy and her laughing friends had seen to it that the deep end was roped off, leaving me with little more than a dozen feet of knee-deep water in which to kick and splash like an absurdly overgrown toddler.
Complete with appropriate attire, of course.
I could feel its dead weight, hanging heavy and thick between my struggling thighs. My diaper. Not a swim diaper of course. No, Mommy was far too conscientious about hygiene to allow me such a flimsy garment. No, her baby required thick protection. Plastic protection. Vastly absorbent protection… that reacted with water in an almost explosive manner.
"Aww, look at him go!", cheered one. "So adorable," chimed in another, over a sip of her cocktail. "I really think he looks so much better this way." "Yeah, totally," snickered a third, rolling her eyes and laughing outright as my knees touched bottom and I stumbled forward face-first into the chlorine-scented depths.
But Mommy did nothing but smile and nod, even as I came up spluttering and turned awkwardly once more to paddle toward the opposite end. I was a laughingstock… and she was okay with it.
I bit back a whimper of humiliation as I splashed slowly back. I could hardly believe it, but if anything my diaper was still growing: heavier… thicker… bulging more and more grotesquely between my bare – and smoothly shaven – legs. But of course it would, I told myself silently. I'd seen the pack Mommy had pulled it from this morning. I'd watched as she layered one of her favorite boosters inside, too. The thick one. The one that I knew, from many a squishy experience, soaked up liquids like a sponge and swelled to astonishingly squishy proportions…
She'd done it on purpose, of course. To have fun with me. To make me not only a dumb little cubby hubby in a pool for the grown-ups' amusement, but a pathetically babyish one.
And yet, I kept swimming. Of course I did: not only because Mommy had told me to, but Because much as I loathed this predicament, the thought of standing up and feeling my gargantuan water balloon of a diaper sagging to my knees… of being turned over Mommy's knee… of being spanked and scolded in front of these laughing women… well, it terrified me even more.
So I kept swimming in the bright water: my swollen diaper proudly on display, my chubby figure exposed for these giggling women to see. Just like the pathetic, blushing baby Mommy wanted me to be.
(Word count: 453)
***
Sucker for You
"Yes, yes, go on. Who's a good little cock-sucking slut, hmm? Tell me, baby. Is it you?"
Master's voice sounds in my ears over the wet slurping of my eager ministrations, and I find myself nodding mindlessly, my eyes rolling in silent acquiescence. Yes, yes, yes. Yes Master, I- I suck for you. Good, dumb little cock-sucker-
"See? She loves it!" Master's hands are descending to my head, the weight of their commanding pressure urging me onward. Fingers twine in my dirty blonde locks, and my eyes slip closed once more into the blessed depths of mindless subspace. I don't need to see. I need only feel. Feel and obey…
"Oh, it's not hard," Master continues, and if I were with it enough I'd know that he was on his bluetooth headset, chatting conversationally with one of his kinky friends over video chat. "Honestly, I think she's had an oral fixation as long as I've known her. But yeah – a bit of training, a bit of positive reinforcement, and boom! An insatiable little cock slut who wants nothing more than to suck me off night and day!"
Yes, suck. Me suck. Me love to suck. Suck, suck. Yummy, yummy cock. I might as well be drugged – or hypnotized – to judge by the coherence of my sordid thoughts. But the only drug inside me right now is Master's thickly swollen erection, already salty with the taste of his precum. The only hypnosis in my brain is the mantra of my own lascivious thoughts: thoughts of how fucking good it is to kneel, to submit, to give pleasure to the man I love so much…
"Oh, yes, she most certainly does! Swallows every drop – and begs for more, to be honest…"
God, yes. That sticky warmth in my throat… the grunts and animalistic thrusts and jetting burst of Master's salty sperm filling my salivating mouth… well, it's intoxicating. I know I shouldn't love it so much as I do, maybe. But right now, that doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Nothing but pleasuring Master, and in so pleasuring him, to pleasure myself.
"Oh, I dunno. I don't like to lend my possessions out to just anyone, you know. But I suppose if you want to get a demonstration sometime? I mean, an in-person one…?"
As the cool trickles of drool course down my front, I shudder involuntarily… but keep sucking. Master is doing the thinking. Master decides. Master tells me what to do; what to suck on. All I do is kneel… and suck… and obey…
Because I love him, and he loves me. Because we trust one another. Because, you might say, I'm kinda a sucker for him.
(Word count: 449)
***
Filled to the Brim
It's full. So full… so heavy between my legs. Every time I sit here on my play mat, the swollen weight boosts me higher, squishing softly and companionably in my ears. What a soggy baby. What a full-nappied, leaky, soggy little baby you're becoming…
If only Mummy would change me already. She said she'll come change me whenever my nappy has been thoroughly used, after all. And believe me: judging by the amount of juice and water I've downed since morning, not to mention the warm weight hanging around my waist, it had been most definitely well-used.
Maybe she wants me to beg her? That certainly would be like Mommy: to let her increasingly submissive, increasingly babyish boyfriend sit there stewing in his own juices under the impression that he'll get in trouble by asking for a change. Oh, that would be rich for her, wouldn't it? "Goodness, you've positively bloated that nappy of yours, baby!" she'd exclaim, with a provocative smack on my bulging ass and a condescending ruffle of my hair. "And yet you were far too busy playing with your baby toys to even notice? God, you really are becoming my brainless little rugrat, aren't you?"
No. Gotta risk it.
And up I go, letting my toy cars and airplanes drop with soft thuds to the carpeted floor. Forward I waddle, the swaying weight reminding me with every step of just how badly my nappy needs a change. I can't let her think I don't notice. It may be embarrassing, but that beats whatever mocking I might get otherwise…
"Oh, you want a change?" She wheels lazily away from her desk, the leather upholstered chair gleaming in the soft light of her cozy home office, and rises to her feet. "Come here, baby. Let Mummy see if you actually need one, or if you're fibbing." Strong, supple fingers probe at my waist, at my trapped manhood, at the swelling bulge of my obviously saturated nappy. She spins me around for examination, and I shuffle in place, waiting for the words that will set me free…
"Remember what Mummy said?" comes her voice from behind me, and as her hands spin me once more to face her, I find myself staring sheepishly up into her face. She may be my same height, but with my feet in nothing but pastel stockings and hers in three-inch heels, the fact that I now have to gaze up at her makes my inner submissive melt. "You're not getting changed until that nappy's been thoroughly used, baby – and that's final!"
What the-? "But- but-" "What do babies do in their nappies?" she raps out with the exasperated air of someone explaining the most commonplace truth to an inquisitive toddler. "Tell me!" "They, uh… they potty in them…" I begin, but she cuts me off with a sharp laugh. "They pee-pee and poo-poo in them, baby," she laughs, and gives an exaggerated shake of her head. "They fill them up to the brim, darling. Which is something you simply haven't done yet. Ergo, no change!"
"Wha- but I don't have to go like that-" "If you want a change badly enough, you will," she snorts, and turns dismissively back to her desk. "So go on, baby. You heard me. You want a change, you're gonna have to fill it. Completely. To the brim."
To the brim… God, not this! It was already enormously humiliating when she gave me an enema, or castor oil, or whatever other nauseating mixtures she'd concoct from time to time. You know, feeling your own body betray you and quite literally losing all control over your basic bodily functions was just about the most humiliating thing I could imagine. But this – her telling me I'll have to soil myself deliberately – is its own unique flavor of humiliation. One that's perhaps even worse.
Back to the play mat I trudge. Down I drop, the burdensome weight of my own waste squelching beneath me as if in mockery. And then, with a despondent glance around at my brightly colored toys, I gulp… I brace myself on all fours… and begin pushing.
How stupid I must look, I realize as I gasp and strain for minutes on end to shift my bowels into action. Here I am: not just sitting here like an oversized baby whose potty-training is practically non-existent. No, of course not. I'm kneeling here, face screwed up in concentration, straining purposely to shit my pants. Anyone looking on must think I'm such a hopeless and disgusting mess: so in love with the grotesque feeling of my own sticky waste in my pants that I'll force it out even when there's no need…
Yep, that's me. Not just a giant man-baby, but a giant man-baby pathetically in love with his own messy nappies.
That's how she finds me: squatted there, panting and sweating, practically in tears from my own inability to soil myself. "Aww, what a poor little thing," she coos, and in her saccharine-sweet voice I hear a note of sadistic elation. "Still haven't earned a change, have you?" She gives an exaggerated sniff, and then drops down on one knee, a little smile of triumph on her pretty lips.
"Such a shame, too! But see here, baby: I can help you. If you really want a change that badly, all you need to do is beg Mummy for a nice… big… enema. Mummy will fill you up so nice and full, all the way to the brim. And then, back in your lovely wet nappy you'll go! I really don't think you'll have any problems making a poo-poo then, will you? Hmm?"
Oh, god. And yet, it's so…appealing?
I've had enemas before, yes. They can be awful, as are the smelly leaks that will inevitably result and flow streaming down my legs. But then again, I can already feel the hot prickle of an imminent diaper rash. And god, that can be ten times worse: particularly when Mummy puts my mittens on, and cuffs me fast to my crib, and lets me itch and squirm and whimper all through the long night like her own overgrown, colicky infant…
So it is that I open my mouth, and I beg her in the most groveling way I can manage. "Please, Mummy. Fill me. Fill me up. I… I wanna make poo-poo in my nappy…"
The devious smile she flashes is like nothing else.
(Word count: 1077)
***
Dripping with Pride
The brush of his fingers against my sensitive clit. An unbidden, sleepy moan springing to my lips. And then, the tickle of his rough cheek against mine, and the sound of his low voice in my ear.
"No, baby. Not yet."
The bed shifts and creaks with the withdrawal of his weight, and I twist onto my side to watch through half-open eyes as he steps purposefully over to our closet. Bending down, his matchlessly lovely, naked ass on full display for me. Rising again… turning… holding something pastel in his hand…
"Wet little girls like you deserve some protection, baby." He's smiling softly, unfolding the Goodnites in his strong fingers, beckoning to me now. "Come on. Be a good girl and put on your pretty flower panties…"
And I do. Blushing. Rising and swinging my bare legs down to the floor. Shivering at the cool air and the thrill of his touch and the sensation of their cotton-and-plastic surfaces sliding up my legs. Until I stand there: a young woman, her babydoll nightgown unable to now conceal the adorably juvenile "protection" now around her waist.
"Perfect," he rumbles, and the smile in his voice makes me thrill with delight. "All safe. All protected. But baby… why don't you show me how much you like them, hmm? How much you need them? How much you love to need them?"
He- he wants me to- My still-sleepy brain takes a moment to register his meaning. Oh… oh, that. But my bladder is full, and I'm already standing up, and my desire to please him overrides any misgivings I might have. No, of course I'll do it. I'm his little girl, after all. He wants me to show him…
A moment of concentration. My eyes slipping closed, my muscles working silently. And then, in the silence, I'm rewarded by that first, delightful spurt of warmth between my legs. Growing to a trickle, then a stream. I'm good girl. I'm pottying for him. In my protection. Protection I love so much.
"Good girl," comes his voice, and I respond by redoubling my pressure. I'm good girl. I pee-pee my pretty panties for him. He says I'm good girl- And yes, I know I'm probably overloading this poor Goodnites. At any moment it just might spring a leak. But in this headspace, I don't care. He told me to. And so I am… like the good, obedient, wet little girl I love to be for him…
The first leak comes before I've even finished releasing: in a warm, quickly strengthening stream down my inner left thigh. To the cold floor it spatters, unnaturally loud in the silence, and I am momentarily jarred from my headspace. Opening my eyes reflexively, I find him gazing hungrily on, a longing expression on his handsome face.
"Such a good girl," he commends, and in his voice there is no hint of teasing or shaming: only love and admiration. "I'm so proud of you! You're so eager to please me, aren't you? So good at obeying. So good at using your pretty panties for me…"
I'm dripping in two ways now: my now-saturated Goodnites dribbling steadily to the floor beneath me, while within I can already feel my arousal mounting higher than ever. He- he's proud of me. He likes it when I do this. He commands… and I obey. Such a good girl… so wet for him…
And so I stand there smiling, while the urine trickles down my bare thighs, and my Goodnites swells and sags, and I gaze on with ardent love at the guy who knows better than anyone how to satisfy my deepest needs.
Sure, maybe in a moment he'll swing himself back up out of bed. Maybe he'll pull me close… spin me around and tear this nightgown from my warm body with his deft fingers… push me to the floor into the puddle of my own wet mess… tear away the soaked garment and thrust his cock, swollen with lust, deep into my aching womanhood…
But for this moment, just standing here is quite enough. A strong young woman, never more proud than when she's her master's dripping little girl.
(Word count: 698)
***
Just Desserts
No. No way this was happening. It- it wasn't possible. It was all some crazy stunt, some stupid, half-assed conspiracy theory. Besides, he didn't deserve anything remotely like it.
His brain was churning wildly that first day – as wildly as his captive muscles sought to free themselves. In vain, of course. The straitjacket was far too strong, the cuffs too tight, the locks too secure to even admit the possibility of escape. Masked nurses came and went, impassive eyes over masks regarding him with cool disdain. Tubes were inserted. Skin shaven clean. Drugs injected. Until at last, the patient dropped into an uneasy, chemical-fogged unconsciousness.
That was the first day, yes. But in a way it was also his last. For from that point on, he began to realize that time no longer had measure or meaning. It was impossible to gauge time in this hell that he now inhabited. The cool gloom of his sleeping cell… the harsh light of the examination ward… neither had any correspondence to the natural cycle of day and night. And so, he struggled and slumbered and struggled again, a helpless captive in the grip of this unimaginable nightmare.
Though even the struggles ceased after awhile.
There was no point, was there? His naked limbs were no match for these bonds, after all. He could twitch and tug and writhe in place while gloved hands probed and prodded at every intimate corner of his captive body, true. But it changed nothing. And so… after awhile, he gave it up. Far better to lie there in silent disdain, watching resentfully as these prim nurses conducted their ministrations upon his captive self…
Oh, and what ministrations they were, too. In flowed the formula, steady and slow and inexorable, down through his nasal tube to swell his prone belly. Into his arm sank a needle day after day, plunging downward and infusing a strange lethargy and weight into every muscle. And all the while, down around his nether regions other even more disturbing things were happening…
A tube, thin and glistening with its liquid contents, hung now from his limp cock – itself entombed in the uncompromising plastic sheath of a chastity cage. Gloved hands pulled thick layers of cotton and plastic around all, securing the man-baby in training within his now necessary diapers. From time to time, when the bulge and pungent odor of his now-involuntary excretions became too prominent, other gloved hands would peel them open… swab away the mess… wrap a fresh layer of cottony humiliation around once more…
And yes: every now and again, those same gloved fingers would slip deep into the prisoner's defenseless ass, gently working for minute after long minute. Behind his brutally effective gag the prisoner would blink and quiver at the invasion, his trapped cock swelling vainly within its confines. On and on the relentlessly tormenting fingers would work, until at last the milky dribble of ruined orgasm would emerge, dribbling shamefully out and down over the poor, deprived fellow's cock. Then, their mission accomplished, the gloved hands would withdraw, sealing the heavily-breathing fellow closed once more in his padded prison.
Disturbing, yes. But in the end, even these most distressing things began to seem ordinary. Commonplace. The new rhythm of his nightmarish life. Until at last there came a day when those gloved hands removed the restraints, one by one. Off came the cuffs. Out came the gag, this time for good. Until at last the man-baby lay there, free and naked save for his bulging diaper, free to move about for the first time in forever.
He stared vacantly up into those impassive eyes, no longer sure of anything. Who he was. What he should do… or think… or be. And in the silence, those lips, sealed for so long, parted at last. His mouth opened…
And out came the disconsolate wail of an infant: dismayed at the terrifying gift of freedom he had just been given. A wail of peevish dismay that begged for the familiar confines they'd trained him to love… and which would shortly be silenced behind the strangely comforting, rubbery bulb of his giant new pacifier.
The prisoner had indeed received his just desserts.
(Word count: 703)
***
Dazed and Confused
"Yeah, that's so pretty, isn't it? Keep watching, dear! I know you're gonna love this show…"
Her voice is so nice and happy, so heart-flutteringly soft in my ear. I'm watching the screen, the special 3D glasses she gave me securely on the bridge of my nose. And she's right here by my side: my new therapist, whose sweet smile and gorgeous figure has disarmed me completely. She says there's a show I need to see: a special show that will help me relax, learn to trust and let go…
"Yes, just like that. It's so well done, this bit. It's so very relaxing…"
The screen is glowing, swirling and pulsing gently, and I stare, fascinated by the brilliant effects. Is it something to do with the glasses I'm wearing? I don't know, but now's not the time for asking questions. Now's the time for staring… focusing… letting the soothing music and the beautifully colorful swirl of light fill my vision.
Her voice is seemingly receding when she speaks next, perhaps some minutes later. "You're doing so well, dear. So very well for me. The moment I saw you, I knew you'd be a good, obedient patient for me…" I nod dumbly, not daring to take my eyes off the shimmering spectacle before me. I can feel a warm pulse and glow within me too now, and I shiver with silent pleasure. I'm being good. I'm doing well. This pretty lady said I'm doing well…
"Aww, that's right. No need to think. No need to do anything but exactly what I tell you…" There is only the voice now, and the light show, and the pulse and swell of the music around me. I'm floating, warm and safe and happy, and all is well in the world. My limbs are loosening… softening… becoming limb and inert…
"So very relaxed," says the voice, and I know it to be true. "Here, I'll take care of you now. Here's a nice, soft bib to take care of that little oopsie, okay? It happens when we're so good and so happy and so very relaxed." Maybe there's a tugging around my neck, but I don't really feel it. I feel only the warm happiness within, and the soft cool trickle of drool down my chin, and the limp pleasure of my limbs as I sit and stare in wordless delight.
And on and on I journey, with the pretty voice coming now and again, reminding me of just how much I love listening to her.
"No need for those silly clothes anymore…"
"See, isn't that much better? So clean and cool and comfortable without clothes. You're doing so very well for me, honey…"
"Here, I have something else for you, dear. Just lift a teensy bit for me… Yes, just like that. Aww, you're such a good boy for Mommy, aren't you? Don't worry – you can call me Mommy from now on, baby. I don't mind…"
"Here, I have something super yummy and special for you, baby. Come on, open up for Mommy. Yes, such a good boy. That's right – suck on it, nice and steady for me. Oh, you're going to love your new paci, I can already tell…"
I'm gone in a transport of spine-tingling bliss. This voice, the lights, this beautiful music: it's all perfect. Mommy is speaking to me. I'm obeying. I am good boy, good baby for Mommy. It's all just as it should be. I just want this to go on forever: seeing these pretty things, hearing her pretty voice in my head, doing everything exactly as she says so she will commend me and tell me what a good boy I am for her…
(Word count: 620)
