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The Regression Sentence - Part 2
🕑 Added 2022-03-02 20:55:04 +0000 UTC“Mummy, please!” Hannah sobbed, kicking and squealing over her mother’s knee as her plump bare bottom got redder and redder. “I’m sorry!”
“You’d better be sorry, young lady,” her mother said, still raining smacks down on her exposed rear. Hannah’s nappy had been pulled down to allow more access to her rapidly reddening tushy. “I’m not going to tolerate naughty tantrums, missy! Mummy didn’t set up a lovely nursery for you just to have to stomp your feet and say it’s too babyish! You’ll be sleeping in a crib for the next five years, so you’d better get used to it!”
“I’m sowwy!” Hannah cried, her diction falling apart as tears fell down her cheeks and she started taking in heaving, gasping breaths. “Pwease, Mummy! I’ll be a good giwl!”
Finally, Mrs Whitehouse stopped. “That’s better, sweetheart. Mummy knows you just need a little time to adjust. You need to start thinking of yourself as a big two-year-old, okay darling? Nothing’s too babyish for you anymore.”
Hannah sobbed and nodded her head, even as she cringed and seethed on the inside.
“Now, come along, baby.” Her mother taped her diaper back into place and pulled her to her feet. “It’s lunchtime! Off we go to the kitchen. There’s a good girl.”
With her mother holding tightly onto her hand, Hannah was led out of her new pastel-pink nursery and down the stairs. She hated the way her nappy bulged between her legs, giving her the awkward, unsteady gait of a young toddler – if he mother wasn’t holding onto her hand, she’d probably topple right over and fall on her bottom. She hated too how loud it was, how it crinkled noisily with every step she took, a constant reminder of what she’d been demoted to.
The two of them entered the kitchen, and Hannah stopped dead. “What… what’s that, Mummy?” she asked, falteringly staring at the thing in front of her.
“That’s your highchair, silly!” said her mother brightly. “It’s where Mummy feeds you.” She patted her daughter’s bottom – even through the thick padding of her nappy, it was enough to make Hannah wince. “Now climb in, honey. Time to get some num-nums in your tummy.”
Her face nearly as red as her bottom, Hannah clambered into the oversized highchair that sat at the kitchen table while her mother busied herself with the cupboards. She winced again as she sat down; her bum was throbbing painfully. A few moments later, Mrs Whitehouse approached her daughter with a broad smile and plonked an enormous bowl of baby food down on the tray in front of her. She scooped up a spoonful and said, “Open wide, baby! Here comes the aeroplane!”
Hannah kept her mouth sealed shut. She wasn’t going to eat baby food!
“Come on, sweetheart,” her mother cooed, pressing the spoon against her daughter’s lips, leaving a smear of baby food over them. “I promise it’s very yummy. It’s specially designed for women undergoing regression sentences, so it has all the nutrients you need. I’ve used your bank account to pay for a whole five years’ worth in advance!”
“You did wha-?!” Hannah demanded, but before she could get all the words out, her mother had shoved the spoonful of baby food into her open mouth. The taste wasn’t as bad as she’d been expecting, but something about the mushy texture turned her stomach.
“There’s a good girl!” her mother praised. “Good baby, Hannah!”
Meekly, Hannah allowed herself to be fed the rest of the bowl, and by the end of it, her stomach felt full to bursting. She was normally very careful about her diet, making sure never to overeat and ruin her figure – how many calories were in baby food?
But her meal wasn’t over. Her mother went away to put something inside the microwave, and thirty seconds later, she took out a large bottle of warm baby formula. Hannah felt queasy just looking at it. It was huge!
“Back to your nursery now, little one,” her mother said sweetly. “Mummy will feed you there and we can have a little cuddle.”
Hannah cringed again, but her sore, red bottom was still fresh in her mind, and she obediently allowed her mother to take her hand and lead her back upstairs, into her new bedroom. It was the room she’d had as a child, only her bed had been replaced with an enormous crib, complete with a hanging mobile above, the walls had been painted a soft pink and decorated with various babyish designs that matched the ones on her nappy, and an adult sized changing table stood in the centre of the room, with a large diaper pail squatting beside it. Her mother took her over to a rocking chair that sat in the corner, and, pulling Hannah face-up across her lap, she took a seat.
Hannah squirmed in her mother’s lap. She felt so helpless, so exposed, so infantilised being held like this, with her mother’s arm cradling her head.
“Time for your baba,” Mrs Whitehouse cooed, gazing down adoringly at her adult daughter, reduced to a babe in arms. She pressed the nipple of the bottle to Hannah’s mouth and slipped it between her lips. There was a moment’s pause, when Hannah looked as though she might be about to protest, but then she averted her eyes and began to suck.
The rich, sweet baby formula slipped down her throat, settling heavily in her stomach with the baby food, and as she suckled, Hannah started to feel so warm and relaxed that she thought she might even drift off, no matter how humiliated she was at being bottle-fed like an infant. Slowly she sucked and sucked until all the milk was gone, and her mother continued to hold her in her lap. She was half asleep when something suddenly jolted her back to full awareness. A powerful, growing achiness in her bladder.
She started squirming almost unconsciously, and before her mother could stop her, she’d slid out of her lap and stood up, pressing her hands to her groin.
“What’s the matter, sweetie?” her mother asked lightly, but there was a note of amusement in her tone.
“I’ve got to… I really have to…” She had to get to the bathroom now! Hannah blushed furiously and turned to leave the room, but her mother reached out to grab her arm.
“Uh-uh, little one. Where do you think you’re running off to? You need to stay where Mummy can see you.”
“But Mummy,” she whined, “I need to use the toilet!”
“Silly baby,” her mother tittered. “That’s what your nappies are for!”
But Hannah was barely listening. She was doing a full on potty dance now, squirming and bouncing on the spot with one hand pressed against her crotch. She wasn’t even sure she’d make it even if her mother let her go! “I can’t hold… Please! I need to go right now! Why do I need to go so badly?!”
“Just a little something in your baba, baby,” her mother said sweetly.
Hannah looked up quickly, her mouth hanging open. “What did you do to me?!” she shrieked.
Her mother cocked her head innocently. “It’s nothing to worry about, sweetheart. It’s just a little cocktail to help you lose that pesky potty training a bit faster. It’s recommended for all girls going through a regression sentence. Once you’ve been drinking it for a few weeks, you’ll be right back to where you were when you were two years old – not toilet trained at all!”
“No!” Hannah cried, looking utterly horrified. Her mother wanted to drug her up and make her incontinent!? “You can’t!”
Her mother raised an eyebrow at her sternly. “Hannah,” she said warningly, “Mummy’s already had to give your naughty bum-bum a spanking once today. If you think you’re too grown-up to use your pants as a potty then you’ve got another thing coming, young lady. You’re just a big two-year-old now, and two-year-olds aren’t potty trained.” Mrs Whitehouse delivered a sharp smack to the top of her daughter’s thigh, and Hannah gasped as her bladder released, and she started flooding her nappy with a powerful rush of pee. She felt the warmth spreading across her crotch, soaking into the thirsty padding of her diaper and causing it to sag down between her thighs.
“Ew! Ew! Ewww!” she cried. She reached for the tapes, intending the rip the disgusting thing off her bottom, but her mother slapped her hands away.
“No-no, Hannah,” she said slowly, shaking a finger at her like she was scolding an actual toddler. “That’s a no-no. You don’t play with your nappy. Mummy will change you when you need it. But right now, you’re acting very fussy, and I think you could do with a nap.”
“But it’s so disgusting!” Hannah cried, shifting from foot to foot and screwing up her face in revulsion as the heavy, pissy padding squished and sagged between her legs. “And I don’t need a nap! And I don’t want to drink any of that formula ever again!”
Mrs Whitehouse just shook her head with a patient smile on her face. “Babies don’t know what’s best for them,” she said condescendingly.
Hannah gritted her teeth with fury, but her bottom gave another painful throb, and she bit back her retort. She felt pathetic, but the truth was she didn’t want to go over her mother’s knee again. And she didn’t want to go to prison either. And she especiallydidn’t want to be sent to a state run adult discipline nursery. Was this really going to be her life for the next five years of her life? Being spanked like a child and made to take naps in a crib wearing wet fucking diapers?
Her mother stripped her until she was standing in her bedroom in nothing but her drooping baby pants. With an encouraging pat to her padded bottom, she climbed into her crib and lay on her back while her mother pulled up the side and locked it into place, leaving her trapped. She flicked a switch, and the mobile above Hannah’s head came to life. Cartoonish farmyard animals dangled from it. It started turning gently, and a sweet, tinkling, irritatingly infantile tune began to play.
“Have a good nap-nap, baby,” her mother said in a sickeningly sweet voice, and she turned out the lights and left Hannah alone in her nursery.
Clenching her eyes shut and holding her pillow over her ears to block out the tinkling lullaby sounds, Hannah did her best to ignore the hot, wet mass of padding between her legs, and slowly drifted off to sleep in her soggy pants.
