This ebook is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is entirely coincidental.
© Amanda McCoy 2019
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Nannied and Nappied: The First Bundle of the Beloved Series
An ABDL Regression Therapy BDSM Erotic Bundle, Volume I
By Amanda McCoy
Sneak Peek at Part I
Nannied and Napped: An ABDL Story of Regression Therapy
“G ood morning, Polly,” a strange, older female voice with a harsh German accent. “My name is Hennie Paezel, but you can call me Mrs. Paezel.”
I pulled my arm from her grasp and wrapped myself back up in my blankets. “Go away, I’m sleeping.”
“Your parents did the right thing by calling me,” she said as she pulled the curtains open and let the sun stream back into the room. “You’re in worse shape than I thought. I’m a babysitter who specializes in something called ‘Regression Therapy.’ Children who are irresponsible usually create bad habits due to parents who are not able to properly train them. Regression Therapy puts you back in that headspace so that your behavior can not only be corrected, but you can create good habits and act more responsibly - like an adult.”
“I am an adult,” I grumbled, eyes squeezed shut.
“That’s not what it looks like from where I’m standing.”
I squinted and saw a tall, thin woman who must have been in her early fifties with long flowing ash blonde hair. She wore a white blouse and a long black pencil skirt, with a slit from her knee to her mid-thigh, revealing tan, toned, pantyhoed legs.
She tied her hair up into a bun and walked over to my bed, ripping the blankets off me and pulling me back up into a sitting position by my arm.
“It’s mid-morning,” she said. “If you were an adult, you wouldn’t still be in bed,” she said. “It’s time to clean you up. You still have makeup on from yesterday. Adults wash their faces before they go to bed - or take a shower if they reek of booze and partying like you do.”
I writhed against her as she pulled me into the bathroom, but the pounding headache prevented me from being able to get away.
“I’m going to give you a bath and if you’re good, we’ll get you some breakfast right after,” she said calmly. “But if you keep up this childish, disobedient behavior, I’m going to punish you first.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I said, still only half listening. “I’m hungry - I’m getting something to eat, you old witch.”
“What was that, young lady?” she said, the warning in her voice audible.
“Let me go,” I said. “You can’t manhandle me like this.”
“That’s no way for a child to speak to an adult,” she chided, still dragging me to the bathroom. “If that’s how you want to play it - I’ll wash your mouth out with soap too. Is that what you want?”
“I don’t want any of this,” I said petulantly. “What about that do you not understand?”
She shoved me into the bathroom and closed the door, shoving my desk chair underneath the handle so I was locked in. “Wait there,” she said like I had any choice. “If you want to act like such a brat, I’ll treat you like one.”
“Open the door, you hag!” I screamed, banging on the barricaded door. “Let me out of here!”
I heard her footsteps fade away and leaned back against the door, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked even worse than I felt.
My formerly beautiful updo was a rat’s nest and my makeup looked like I’d been giving $5 blowjobs all night before working a morning shift at a stripclub. My eyes were red with large bags under them and there was a line of drool dried to my chin.
I stripped off my panties and the oversized t-shirt I’d changed into last night and pulled the bobby pins out of my elaborate updo. If she was going to lock me in here, I may as well take a shower. Maybe it would help me feel a bit better.
I took a sip of water out of the sink and turned the water in the shower on. I waited until it warmed up and stepped in, letting it hit my face.
The sound of the door opening as I was about to turn around startled me. “Get out! I’m in the shower, you relentless old woman!”
The shower curtain opened quickly, the rings holding it up rattling as it was pushed aside.
“Get out of there,” the woman said sharply.
Startled and trying to cover myself, she pulled me out of the shower, hair only half-wet as my body dripped onto the bathroom floor.
“I told you, if you wanted to use dirty words, I’ll wash them out of your mouth,” she said, turning off the shower, tightening her grip on me. She closed the toilet lid and sat me down, naked on the frigid porcelain seat.
She had put an apron on and brought a bar of Dove soap with her. The faucet ran and she worked up a lather on the bar of soap, holding in front of my face. I set my mouth in a thin line and turned away, but she wouldn’t have it. She held my nose so I was forced to breath through my mouth and slipped the bar of soap in until I choked on the awful taste.
“Maybe now you’ll think twice before cursing at me or calling me anything other than Mrs. Paezel or Ma’am, you naughty girl,” she said, putting the soap down and holding a handful of water to my lips after I spat the soap into the sink. I pushed her hand out of the way and used my own to gargle the soapy taste out of my mouth.”
She stood behind me, arms crossed. “Time for your bath, Polly.”
“Stop calling me that,” I said. “My name is Paulina .”
“Just because you weren’t listening to me earlier doesn’t mean I’m not going to treat you like the petulant little girl you’re pretending to be,” she said firmly. “Regression Therapy is the only thing that’s going to help you become a successful and productive adult rather than the irresponsible, disobedient child you are. I don’t care if you don’t want to, that’s what I’m here for and if you have to be taught to obey the hard way, that’s your prerogative.”
“What the h - ” I started, still feeling the taste of soap in my mouth as I received a stern look from Mrs. Paezel. “What is ‘Regression Therapy’?”
“Sounds like we need to work on your listening skills too,” she murmured. “As I said before, it’s the practice of regressing you back to when everything went wrong. We will work on creating good habits, obedience, and correcting the stubborn attitude that started when you were a young child.”
“What does that mean?” I said nervously, clinging to what little modesty and dignity I had left. I gripped my left breast, a firm, comfortable handful, with my right hand as I pressed my arm against the other and used my left hand to cover my lower half. I had gotten a brazilian wax for the first time for prom and the lack of hair still felt unusual.
“It means that I will help you regress to a simpler time so that we can correct the root of the problem. Good children become well-adjusted adults and that’s really why I’m here,” she said. “I’m contacted my parents who feel they are out of options.”
I rolled my eyes. Of course my parents chose their only opportunity to resort to such extreme measures. “So what does that mean in practice?”
“You’re going to regress to two years old so I can train you to become an obedient and well-mannered child so you know how
to behave properly,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I’ll reward you for good behavior and punish you for bad behavior so that you understand the consequences of your behavior and learn what it means to be an adult.”
My jaw dropped. I was not going to be treated like a toddler all weekend.
End of Sneak Peek
Continue Polly’s Adventure Inside...
Table of Contents
This Bundle Includes the First Three Parts of the Nannied and Nappied Series
Nannied and Nappied: An ABDL Story of Regression Therapy (Part I):
At eighteen years old, Paulina is the perfect daughter, but her parents only have eyes for their deadbeat son. So when she stays out well past curfew on prom night, her parents decide their only choice is to hire a babysitter who specializes in a very niche variety of Regression Therapy to take care of her while the rest of the family is away for the weekend.
Paulina finds out just how unprepared she is regress…
Pampered and Paraded: An ABDL Story of Regression Therapy (Part II):
Eighteen year-old Paulina had no idea what her babysitter, the determined and unflappable Mrs. Paezel, had in store for her when she first introduced the idea of helping her regress in order to correct her bad behavior. Now, there's little she wouldn't do to go back to such a blissfully ignorant state.
With a punishment looming, Mrs. Paezel takes little Polly to the grocery store with her. Paulina soon realizes that her humiliating attire should be the last of her worries...
Overexcited and Overexposed: An ABDL Story of Regression Therapy (Part III):
Despite her precociousness, eighteen year-old Paulina seemed to constantly fall short of her parents' expectations. She knew she was far from their favorite but when they hire a nanny to watch her while they're away for the weekend, she has no idea what she's in for.
Now, Mrs. Paezel is the one at her wits' end with Polly and takes her to her mentor Nanny Susan as a last resort to remedy her bratty behavior and active disobedience. When Polly proves to be beyond Nanny Susan's tried-and-true training - punishment, submission and public humiliation - Nanny Susan has to get creative.
Little does Polly know that she has been invited to a very unique type of cocktail party and it's Nanny Susan's turn to provide the entertainment…
Cradled and Coddled: An ABDL Story of Regression Therapy (Part IV): Between stern Nanny Susan and strict Mrs. Paezel, eighteen year-old Polly's foray into Regression Therapy has been a baptism by fire. She has proven far too disobedient for any of their tried-and-true punishments to be effective. When Nanny Susan comes up with the inspired idea to bring their misbehaving charge along to a cocktail party hosted by her benefactors, neither she nor Mrs. Paezel know what they have in store for little Polly.
It is not long before the party becomes an exercise in pain, pleasure and public humiliation in which Polly is the shining star of the show. With her first punishment looming, there's no telling what she's in for...
***
Nappied and Nannied
An ABDL Story of Regression Therapy
Part I
I had promised my parents I would come home immediately after prom. It took months of relentless begging, humoring, and canceled plans to stay in for family night to even let me go in the first place so when I got home a little past four in the morning - an hour or two before sunrise, my parents weren’t happy.
I don’t know why they stayed up so late. I told them not to wait up for me since they normally went to bed between ten and eleven and my curfew was eleven. But in their classic helicopter-parent fashion, they didn’t trust me to do anything by myself.
Before I’d left - even the week before prom - my mother had no shortage of horror stories of eighteen year old “girls” - women , I corrected every time - who fell victim to some melodramatic peril. I had no doubt there were eighteen year old women who endured terrible things, as all if not most, women did, but we lived in a quiet, affluent suburb with little to no crime and our prom was being held at a venue so close to home, I could have walked back.
When I finally got them to agree, after buying my own dress and promising my friends I would ‘have an answer next week’ for months, they finally relented. My younger brother, of course, had only continued his usual exploits - doing things I wouldn’t dream of behind my parents’ backs because all they cared about was what I was doing.
He’d jeer at me silently as my parents scolded me for getting 100% on an exam when I had the opportunity to get 105%. I’d gotten into Georgetown on a full academic scholarship and they joked about how great it would have been if I was going to a real Ivy League school.
On an unfortunately conscious but repressed level, I resented my parents for keeping such a close eye on me while they praised their underachieving degenerate of a son like he was outperforming me by ten miles in a half marathon. He reveled in it, taking advantage of them and their blind spot for him at every opportunity, while I seemed to get twice the punishment he actually deserved.
Every other night of the year - every other night of my life - I had gotten home well before curfew, I behaved better than expected, consistently performed well above my peers and did everything I could to earn their appreciation at the very least, and still, I was treated like a criminal in my own home.
I would say times like this only reinforced what they already thought of me, but this was the only time I had disobeyed them. In the past thirteen years, that is. I’m sure there was an episode or two at four or five.
When I unlocked the door with the key my parents had allowed me to borrow, which was a spare made from my brother’s copy, they were both sitting in the foyer, clearly startled awake.
After shouting at me so loudly, I hoped my brother woke them up in a few hours to cuss them out as he did on occasion, they told me to get some sleep and we would continue the ‘discussion’ in the morning.
I always loved how they rationalized the absurdity of their behavior to themselves.
As irritated as I was in my slightly tipsy, incredibly overtired state, I slipped out of my dress, took off my heels, and fell asleep before brushing my teeth or taking my makeup off. I was woken up briefly at eight in the morning by the sun streaming in through my windows so I crawled out of bed, shut the curtains and went back to sleep, the dull thud of my first real hangover setting in.
A couple hours later, my mom opened the door so loudly, I thought she must have kicked it in. My dad followed closely behind her.
“Paulina,” my mom said.
I groaned and rolled over, turning my back to them.
“That’s fine, Paulina,” my dad said. “If you want to act like a child, we’ll treat you like one. Your mother and I are getting away for the weekend. Your brother is staying with a friend and clearly you’re in no place to go anywhere.”
“Have fun,” I said sarcastically, hoping they were already packed. My voice was raspy and hoarse from the night before and the less-than-stellar night of sleep I had gotten.
“You have shown us that you’re not responsible enough to stay here by yourself, so we’ve hired a babysitter to take care of you,” my mom said. “As soon as she’s here, we’re going to leave.”
As if on queue, the doorbell rang.
“Alright, Paulina,” my dad said, irritated - whether it was because I wasn’t going to see them off or the fact that I came home so late the night before, I didn’t know and I didn’t care. “We’ve told her the type of night you’ve had so she’s going to help you feel better and understand why we have the rules we do.”
I was already halfway back to sleep.
Their footsteps faded away and just before I fell back asleep, curling my petite 5’2 frame into fetal position.
Before I knew what was happening, someone grabbed my arm and pulled me into a sitting position.
“Good morning, Polly,” a strange, older female voice with a harsh German accent. “My name is Hennie Paezel, but you can call me Mrs. Paezel.”
I pulled my arm from her grasp and wrapped myself back up in my blankets. “Go away, I’m sleeping.”
“Your parents did the right thing by calling me,” she said as she pulled the curtains open and let the sun stream back into the room. “You’re in worse shape than I thought. I’m a babysitter who specializes in something called ‘Regression Therapy.’ Children who are irresponsible usually create bad habits due to parents who are not able to properly train them. Regression Therapy puts you back in that headspace so that your behavior can not only be corrected, but you can create good habits and act more responsibly - like an adult.”
“I am an adult,” I grumbled, eyes squeezed shut.
“That’s not what it looks like from where I’m standing.”
I squinted and saw a tall, thin woman who must have been in her early fifties with long flowing ash blonde hair. She wore a white blouse and a long black pencil skirt, with a slit from her knee to her mid-thigh, revealing tan, toned, pantyhoed legs.
She tied her hair up into a bun and walked over to my bed, ripping the blankets off me and pulling me back up into a sitting position by my arm.
“It’s mid-morning,” she said. “If you were an adult, you wouldn’t still be in bed,” she said. “It’s time to clean you up. You still have makeup on from yesterday. Adults wash their faces before they go to bed - or take a shower if they reek of booze and partying like you do.”
I writhed against her as she pulled me into the bathroom, but the pounding headache prevented me from being able to get away.
“I’m going to give you a bath and if you’re good, we’ll get you some breakfast right after,” she said calmly. “But if you keep up this childish, disobedient behavior, I’m going to punish you first.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I said, still only half listening. “I’m hungry - I’m getting something to eat, you old witch.”
“What was that, young lady?” she said, the warning in her voice audible.
Nappied and Nannied Bundle Page 1
