PeculiarChangeling
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Baby Sat - Act 2
🕑 Added 2023-05-06 05:34:39 +0000 UTCContains: Blackmail, rules, power play, power reversal, humiliation, makeover, feeding, messing, mittens and booties
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“Alright, alright,” Molly said. “Give him a little air, he won’t be any fun if he goes all funny in the head from huffing your poopy diaper.”
Damian squirmed. Ness had not been shy about rubbing his face in things, and that didn’t just refer to his predicament. She’d loaded up her diaper right over his nose, which barely qualified as the cherry on top of his morning.
He’d expected to give his three Little friends another day of play, fun, and activities. Instead, they’d ganged up on him, forced him to the floor, and trapped him in a diaper. And, if Molly’s threats were anything to believe, the bratty little snot might not let him change until Monday morning.
Ness gave another wriggle–she smushed her diaper seat over his nose, and didn’t bother hiding her moan when she did it. “But it’s so fun,” she whined, gyrating her hips from side to side.
“Be a good girl, Ness,” Molly warned. “No grinding on your playthings unless they say they’re okay with it.”
(Her playthings,) Damian repeated in his head, aware of how low that status was. Molly was bigger than Cammie, who was bigger than Ness–and he had been relegated to one of Ness’s toys.
Mercifully, though, Ness scooted forward, groaning, “Okaaaay, Miss Molly.” Her mushy tush was still right up in his face, but at least he could breathe without the air filtering through a layer of sodden pulp.
“What do you want to do with our new dolly, girls?” Molly asked, walking around to stand over his head. He could see up her dress to her diaper, and he was sure that was the point of her power stance–she might be effectively a toddler, but she’d still ended up in charge.
“I wanna do his makeup!” Cammie added. “Can I? Can I?”
“No–” Damian began.
“Of course!” Molly said. “Anything else?”
While the girls thought, Damian realized he had a chance–just a chance–to knock Molly down a peg: By the convoluted set of rules she’d put together, she couldn’t get permission to change by anyone except him.
Assuming she was obedient to the rules of the game–and, knowing Molly, she was nothing if not a rules stickler–all he had to do was make her need a change. Then he’d be able to make her negotiate–maybe he’d have to promise to stay in diapers all weekend, but that wasn’t so bad. He liked diapers, he even liked being Little, but he’d promised to caretake this weekend.
He could have laid on the guilt. ‘I put all this together for you, I wanted you to have a fun weekend where I took care of you,’ all that. But… the girls were having fun. His weekend plans were working, in a sense, even if it wasn’t at all what he’d imagined.
And besides, Molly had made this into a game. He’d play it out.
It’d been a long time since he’d actually made space for himself to be Little, now that he thought about it, but that didn’t change his promise. He would try to be their Big for the rest of the day, no matter what it took.
Regardless–it was time to get Molly into a messy diaper. “Can we finish breakfast first, at least?” he asked. “You still haven’t eaten, Molly.”
“Right,” she said, nodding. “That seems fair–baby dolls need their energy, too. Girls?”
They knew what to do. Ness crawled off his chest, giving Cammie room to flip him onto his belly and drag him forward, towards the high chair. He couldn’t struggle–he couldn’t stand without the spikes in his booties torturing his feet like a hundred tiny lego, and trying to crawl away to safety would be so ridiculous he couldn’t imagine making a serious go of it.
As they dragged him, Ness snagged his pants, towing them off so he was exposed from the waist down. All he had left on his bottom half was the diaper and the booties.
“Come on, girls–” he started as they pulled him into the chair, but it wasn’t much good. They shut the tray so it was over his arms, forced his wrists into the restraints, and giggled when he furrowed his brow in annoyance.
Molly reached for a bowl.
Her bowl.
The one she’d asked Damian specifically to dose up with, quote, “So many laxatives I forget what a potty even looks like.”
“Molly!” he snapped. “That’s–”
“For you!” she said, swirling the spoon in the bowl and lifting out a large scoop of the dosed oatmeal. “I know, aren’t I so sweet? Giving you my special breakfast?”
His plan withered. If he’d convinced her to eat it, she’d be begging for a chance by the early afternoon, but she’d been counting on this all along.
Damian shut his mouth, sealing his lips.
“Open wide!” Molly said, moving the spoon towards his face. “Here comes the poo-poo choo-choo!”
He kept his lips sealed, and when the spoon got on his face, the goopy breakfast got everywhere but inside his mouth. Molly rubbed it in a bit, smearing it on his face, on his lips, letting it drip down his chin–emphasizing what a ‘messy eater’ he was–but his defense held.
She readied another spoon. “Come on, aren’t you hungry? We’ve got to help your diapers grow up big and full!”
Damian almost replied, but caught himself before opening his mouth–Molly was ready to shoot forward with the spoon and cram the food down his gullet. He shook his head instead, proud at catching the trick.
Molly hesitated.
Then she said, “Damian, I need to talk to you as a grown up for a moment, ok? Indigo.”
He exhaled. “Indigo,” he repeated. It was a special safe word–one that meant, ‘We’re not babies for a little while.
“I don’t know your limits on blackmail,” she said. “I want to make you eat this, and I’m sure I can come up with something, but I don’t know if we’ve ever talked about how you feel about stuff like blackmail and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
He hesitated. He knew she’d planned all this–of course she had–but he’d been so caught up in the moment that he’d never considered. This was all part of the scene. All planned. He could have safe-worded at any point, and still could.
But…that would mean giving up the game. He didn’t want to give up, he wanted to win.
“Keep it in-house,” he said. “I can’t do blackmail that feels like it would ruin my life.”
She nodded. “Is sending pictures to Sam a good threat?”
He felt heat in his cheeks rise, and nodded. “Fuck–yes, goddammit.” Sam wasn’t ‘in the scene’. He knew Damian was into Little stuff, and he didn’t mind, but he never participated and had never really seen how far Damian got into Little stuff. Having his boyfriend see him like this, trapped in a highchair in an obvious diaper, oatmeal smeared over his face…that would be the closest thing to public humiliation he could experience, and the simple thought of it made his face burn.
That was a good threat. It was a great threat.
“Call this a chance to prove things one way or the other–if you can get back in charge, you’re a grown up. If not, well…Ness needs her dollies.” Molly smirked. “Don’t forget to safe word if it’s too much, though, ok?”
“I won’t,” Damian said. “And if I figure out a way to get back on top–”
“Then I’ll deserve whatever spankings you’re handing out,” Molly confirmed. “Trust me. I’m loving watching you squirm, but I’m happy no matter which way this game goes. Everyone else okay?”
Cammie nodded. Ness, quietly, asked, “I didn’t go too far, did I? With the–on your face?”
Damian sniffed his nose, the phantom odor still stuck in his nostrils. “No, you were fine. A brat, but fine.”
“Violet?” Molly asked, signaling the end of grown-up talk.
He nodded. “Violet.”
Molly picked up his phone, and held it up so the face-unlock caught his horrified expression. “Let’s see…mom, boss, grandma… I’ve got the right person. Say cheese, ‘Grown-up’ Dayday!’” She snapped a photo, and with his hands strapped into the high chair, he couldn’t even cover his face.
Turning it around, she let him see–half dressed, diaper showing, helpless, blushing, face covered in food, and…
(Ugh, no,) he thought to himself. Molly had been particular about where she held the camera, and it was easy to notice that his diaper was bulging out. He’d hoped nobody would notice his erection.
He’d hoped wrong.
“Be a good doll and eat all your num-nums, or your boyfriend will see that you’re actually just a big, silly baby,” Molly threatened.
“Oooh,” the other girls said, in awe at the threat.
He knew she’d do it, too–Molly wouldn’t back down from a proper taunt like that, not when he’d told her it was a kosher bit of leverage. He could eat his oatmeal, and probably blow out his diapers in a couple hours, or he could keep his seat clean and lose every scrap of dignity he had in Sam’s eyes.
Meekly, he nodded, mouth hanging open.
“Good boy,” she praised. The girls giggled as Molly scooped the oatmeal into his mouth, and Damian felt the shame rise as he dutifully swallowed every spoonful, one after the other, knowing what he was setting himself up for.
Something he hadn’t considered was that the laxative he’d picked would make things rather bitter–Molly hadn’t asked for sweeteners, and the lax tabs he’d dissolved into the bowl were a particularly dark variety of chocolate. So, in addition to filling up, he had to gag on every spoonful, choking it down.
“Every last bit!” Molly said, dragging the spoon around the bowl to get the last chalky remnants of laxative that hadn’t stirred in properly. She wasn’t going to let him off light.
He hesitated. She reached for his phone. He stopped hesitating, swallowing the last spoonful.
Or…not the last, because she then scraped the spoon across his face, getting the dribbles of oatmeal that he’d left on his chin. “What, you think I’d let you skip a spoonful just because you were fussing?” she asked.
Cheeks turning redder than ever, he ate the last spoonful and finally–mercifully–was done eating.
But he wasn’t let out of the highchair, not yet.
“He’s all yours,” Molly said, setting aside the empty bowl, letting the girls get at him. She picked up her own oatmeal–the one that Damian had intended to eat himself–and dug into it, smirking at him as she savored the first spoonful. She didn’t need to say it out loud, he got the message: (I get to feed myself like a big kid. You don’t.)
Ness, already overwhelmed with excitement from the secondhand humiliation, dropped to all fours and crawled off to abuse a stuffie with her diaper. Cammie had stepped in, and Ness wanted to enjoy the show from a distance.
Then Cammie was wiping his face with a napkin, and he had no more attention to give to neither Ness nor Molly.
“Hey–” he winced away from the aggressive napkin as Cammie got his face clean, spitting onto the napkin to get it wet so she could really scrub him down.
“No fussing,” Cammie said, blowing a raspberry at him. “Hold still or we’ll put ya’ in time out!”
Time out didn’t scare him, so Damian continued to fuss.
When Molly cleared her throat and tapped a finger on the back of his phone, he sat up stock still and obeyed. She may as well have had him on a lead. Her leverage was strong enough that he felt completely helpless, totally unable to resist. He had to be Little, he had to be the girls’ plaything. He couldn’t fight it, he could no longer try and assert his grown-upness.
He was their diaper dolly. There was nothing else he could be.
That didn’t mean he played along, not yet. He still winced away and fussed, grumbling when Cammie got out a brush and concealer, whimpering when she got the rest of her makeup kit.
Brushes, sponges, tweezers, and even Cammie’s thumb–moistened by sticking it in her mouth–all got employed on his face, and she was hardly delicate about it. He wondered halfway through if making him squirm was the point, and when she applied lipstick over his mouth in a broad oval that definitely skewed way off and up on his cheek, his suspicion was confirmed–she wasn’t trying to make him look good, she was using his face as a coloring sheet.
She wasn’t quick about it, either. Damian had no way to tell time in the high chair, his only clock had been his phone, but it felt like an eternity had passed. Ness had even gotten tired of her stuffie, and Molly was gently playing with her, while Damian was stuck being the makeup test subject.
“Are you going to be–” Daniel started, spitting as Cammie stuck a bit of lipstick forward and got it in his mouth. “Eugh–done, any time soon?”
“Almost done with the front!” Cammie confirmed. “You’re looking so pretty, I just gotta get glitter!”
“The front?” Damian demanded, exasperated. “What the heck are you going to do in the back?”
“Duh!” Cammie said, making a face at him. “Your hair!”
“Molly!” Damian snapped. “Come on!”
Molly dismissed Damian’s complaints with a casual shrug, “Cammie’s just making you look pretty! Be grateful!”
Cammie did eventually go around behind him, pulling a comb through his loose mane of glossy black hair. The tangles came out slowly, and it felt as though she was trying to make the process as annoying and uncomfortable as possible, pulling his hair one way, then another, hemming and hawing over what look she wanted.
Cammie preened and combed and braided, undoing and redoing things to her liking, humming little songs. She eventually went and got some little ribbons, laying them out on his high chair tray so she could try out different colors.
“Come on, pick something!” he demanded, finally, when his patience had run out. Maybe it was that his bladder had started to fill and discomfort made him grumpy, or just that she’d kept him like that, helplessly restrained in the high chair, for what felt like an eternity but had to have been more like two hours.
“Molly, he’s fussing!” Cammie whined. “I want to keep playing with his hair, it’s so long!”
“Pick a style,” Molly called, looking up from the book she’d been reading Ness and taking a quick break to slurp on a juice box. She’d been shooting occasional smirks Damian’s way, though, just to rub in that she could walk around the nursery and he couldn’t. “Ness hasn’t even had a turn with the dolly yet, you’ve gotta share sweetie. Don’t you want to be a good girl?”
Cammie groaned, “Fiiine,” but got to work giving Damian his final look for the day.
When it was all said and done, glitter and ribbons and all, Molly took another picture, this time not as blackmail but just so he could see:
He looked ridiculous.
Like a toddler had gotten into mom’s makeup box and gone to town. His face was purple and pink and splattered with shimmering glitter stars, and the lipstick was more like ‘facestick’, it’d been smeared haphazardly on his upper lip, skewed onto his cheek, and Cammie had even drawn a heart by his eye with it–despite that being far from the right tool for the job.
Falsies made his eyelashes flutter, and it didn’t matter that his blush was hidden by all the makeup, because Cammie had applied an artificial blush that would stay plastered on his face all day. It didn’t change much, his real blush was practically permanent, anyways.
And, to top it all off, she’d gone with pink-bowed pigtails. (Of course.)
“Alright,” Molly said, walking over, making eye contact with Damian. Her amused, ‘I’m-bigger-than-you’ smirk made him squirm. “Damian–I’m soggy, and I don’t like it. Lemme change my diaper.”
He wanted to glare and fuss, but she had a hand on the straps that would release him from the high chair. “A diaper change,” he confirmed. “You’re not gonna be naughty and put on big girl panties?”
“I’ll follow the rules,” she said. “I’ll be good. But I wanna change, and you’re the only one who can say I get one.”
“Let me out first.”
She undid the straps holding his hands into the high chair and lifted the tray, though she did nothing about his mittens or booties. “Alright.”
“No.” Damian stuck out his tongue, “Nyeh.”
She frowned and fussed, stomping her feet back and forth in annoyance, on the verge of a tantrum. “No fair! I’m soggy and I don’t like it!”
He half expected her to use her blackmail card there and then, but she didn’t–as a nuclear option, it just wouldn’t have been fair. She wanted to play the game, so Damian threw her a bone.
“You can ask me again when you have a stinky diaper or a leaky diaper,” he said. “And maybe I’ll say yes, as long as you’re nice to the other girls, but if you try and be a Miss Sassypants, I’ll still say no.
“Fine,” Molly fussed.
Damian grinned. He still had a little power, even if ‘walking’ and ‘using his hands’ were not among the options available to him. Trying to use the leverage to help himself wasn’t going to work–that had been made pretty clear–but he could still push the other girls around in little ways, and make sure they had fun, steering things from the bottom.
Now that he was free of the high chair, he could finally see his diaper, too–a blue Trest. Not the most cutesy, perhaps, but it certainly had capacity. Her threat to deny him changes floated back to the top of his thoughts.
“It’s Ness’s turn,” Molly added, eyes flashing as she began concocting a way to get back at him for denying the change. “Nessy, baby, what do you want to do with the dolly?”
“I want to dress him!” Ness called from the floor. “And snuggle him! And–ooh, another tea party!”
“But–” Cammie started. “I wanted to dress him!”
“You got to do his face and hair! I wanna dress him!” Ness insisted. “He’s so much more fun than dressing up a normal dolly.”
Damian pursed his lipstick-smeared lips. “Do I get a choice in the matter?”
“No,” all three girls said in unison.
Pulling up the back of Ness’s skirts, Molly asked, “You can dress the Dayday dolly, sweetie, but do you want a change first? You’ve been in that stinky diaper a while.”
Ness shook her head, and her wicked smile showed her real intent–she might eventually dress Damian, but she really just wanted to use him first. Ness was as horny as she was Little, and right now, stewing in a used diaper and playing with teddies and blocks, she was extremely Little.
She shook her head. “No thanks, Miss Molly! I’ll change later.”
“Alright–well, since it’s almost lunchtime, so I’m gonna go get some food ready, ok? Don’t worry, Damian–I won’t use anything dangerous without adult supervision.”
Damian wasn’t listening, his heart had dropped somewhere into the pit of his stomach, and then as though to make room, his stomach dropped too. His breakfast gurgled noisily, deep in his bowels.
(Oh no.)
