Nappied and Nannied Bundle

by McCoy, Amanda

  I grimaced instinctively and took in the rest of the store. Had it not been for the shoppers - older women and girls dressed like infants and toddlers walking a few steps behind or crawling - it would have looked like any other grocery store.

  Mrs. Paezel forced me to keep pace with her as she led me by the leash through the store.

  A couple times, she stopped briefly to make small talk with the other nannies whose wards actively avoided eye contact with me. One girl was gagged with a pacifier, down on all fours entirely naked and had a curly pigtail sprouting from her naked bum. She was also leashed and collared, making me grateful that she was avoiding my gaze.

  I was so distracted that I almost missed her nanny telling Mrs. Paezel that the girl still being spanked up front had “gotten lost” and “nearly ran out of the store.”

  She must have tried to escape but apparently this guise of regression went much deeper than even I thought.

  “And what did you do, naughty piggy?” I heard Mrs. Paezel coo at the girl on her hands and knees.

  “She thought when I told her I wasn’t going to buy her a chocolate bar, that meant she could just steal it, eat it, and fib about it,” the nanny said admonishingly, clearly still frustrated.

  Mrs. Paezel laughed and spoke to the older woman as if both the pig-girl and I weren’t there. “I was thinking about trying something public on this one but considering what I’ve already tried, I’m not sure it would work.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, dismissing Mrs. Paezel with a wave of her hand. “What better time than the present?”

  “You’re the expert,” Mrs. Paezel said in surprising reverence. “You wouldn’t happen to have the time to take the lead with this one? I may have a good track record but yours is unimpeachable.”

  I was both put off and concerned by her less-than-subtle brown-nosing. This woman who had infantilized me and treated me like an unruly puppy had presented herself as this unstoppable force and now, here she was, groveling to some stranger with a pig-girl on a leash.

  That was until she tugged me by the leash, nearly choking me with the brat collar as she handed it over to the woman.

  “Polly,” she said, warningly - whether it was for the woman’s benefit or my own was unclear. “You’re going to listen to every work Nanny Susan says if you know what’s good for you. Maybe if you’re a good girl, I’ll consider making this your punishment for disobeying during naptime. If you’re a bad girl, we’ll make this a practice run. The real show will be at a grocery store closer to town after I send a message out to all of your friends inviting them to come watch.”

  My cheeks burned at the thought of being put on display even without knowing what Nanny Susan had in store for me.

  She tugged on my leash as she handed the pig-girl over to Mrs. Paezel.

  “She still has some sense of shame,” Nanny Susan noted. “Which should help keep her in line. And you’ve tried all the usual methods, Hennie?”

  The sound of someone calling Mrs. Paezel by her first name was as bracing as ice water. I looked at my new handler with a combination of bewilderment and awe.

  Nanny Susan looked like she had a few years on Mrs. Paezel’s early fifties. Her hair was styled in the same a-line bob that Sharon Osbourne made popular twenty years ago and since then became infamously associated with several TLC stars and the “Can I speak with your manager?” meme. Her hair was the same frosted, brassy blonde as Farrah Fawcett’s and her heavy makeup was reminiscent of Julia Roberts in the first ten minutes of Pretty Woman . She wore heavy, dark eye makeup on her eyes, had startlingly lightly-lined skin and a dark red lipstick that made her look both older and younger. She was average height and weight, though Mrs. Paezel’s tall, lithe frame would make anyone look average by comparison.

  “Come on, girl,” she spat, yanking at my leash again. “When I’m done with you, you’ll think twice before misbehaving.”

  She dragged me forward, making me hyper aware of all of the nannies and their girls watching conspicuously. Some of the younger nannies looked away as we passed - they must have been in their late-twenties - early-thirties at most. I turned back (as much as I could with the collar on) and saw them watching discreetly.

  Nanny Susan must be notorious to garner such cautious attention. The realization made my heart skip a beat. Whatever I was in for was probably going to be worthy of the fear and admiration I saw in the expressions of every nanny and little girl we passed. Whatever she was going to do to me would be a display of that ominous authority.

  “Where are we going, Nanny Susan?” I said in a small voice.

  She stopped and turned back slowly. “From here on out, you’re not to ask any questions, Polly. All I want from you is silence and instant obedience. And if you need to address me, it’s ‘ma’am’ or ‘mistress,’ is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I squeaked as she turned around before I could respond.

  She led me to one of the many bathrooms marked “Family Room.” She seemed entirely unconcerned when I lost one of Mrs. Paezel’s pumps as yanked me through the door, locking it behind me.

  “Strip,” she ordered, putting her hands on her hips as she watched me hobble to far corner of the immaculate square-tiled bathroom.

  I pulled the dress over my head slowly, worried what she would do if I hesitated. As I slipped out of the remaining pump, she closed the distance between us and untaped my diaper so that I was entirely nude in front of her.

  The chill of the bathroom made goosebumps rise on my arms as I crossed my arms over my chest.

  Nanny Susan pulled my arm away and turned me around. When she had a moment to look me over she laughed and tapped on the buttplug.

  My blush spread down my neck, making my skin feel clammy.

  “Get on your hands and knees with your legs spread,” she said bluntly.

  “On the fl - ”

  Smack!

  I squealed as she spanked me hard across the cheek.

  “What did I say about questions?” she said sharply. “Instantly obey!”

  I bent down on all fours as a chill ran down my spine.

  She steadied herself on my lower back and pulled the plug roughly out of my ass. I grunted at the feeling of it exiting my sphincter like a painful bowel movement. She squatted down next to me and pulled what sounded like bells out of her bag and before I could even guess what was happening, clipped one on each of my nipples.

  “We’re going to put on a little show,” she said, sounding unnervingly self-satisfied. “If you can’t do as you’re told, you’ll have both me and Mrs. Paezel to answer to. And you’re going to spend the rest of the night crawling on your hands and knees like the little piggy you are. Now come, Polly.”

  She stood and dragged me out of the bathroom, walking so quickly that I nearly face planted against the shiny linoleum floor.

  “Gather ‘round, everyone!” she yelled as I followed her, crawling toward the front of the store. “Little Polly here needs to be taught a lesson.”

  Instead of going through one of the aisles that would have afforded me a modicum of privacy, she pulled me through the wide open produce and bakery section, which was both humiliating and freezing against my already clamped and overstimulated nipples, announcing my embarrassment in jolly twinkling rings.

  Near where the girl had been spanked on our way in, there was a pillory with three holes that was lower than my eyeline as I crawled toward it.

  Nanny Susan, snapped the latch open and lifted the top half, pulling me toward it.

  “Hands in the small holes, neck in the big one,” she said impatiently as I looked on, my eyes wide in horror and disbelief. “Now .”

  I crawled slowly over to it and did as she ordered. The short pillory was just high enough that the small bells clamped onto my nipples could move freely while forcing me to contort my body in a way that put my backside completely on display.

  “Thank you for coming, ladies,” Nanny Susan said loudly. “I know we all have a l
ot of shopping to do so I promise I will make this an educational experience for all.”

  I looked up and saw that about twenty nannies and their little girls were all watching me. My flushed face burned so hot that I must have been beet red as she explained to them that I was having trouble being obedient and that even Mrs. Paezel who has such a great track record was having trouble getting through to me.

  I was so utterly shamed by the public humiliation that when I felt the hot tingling warmth of wetness between my thighs, I could have cried with embarrassment. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to calm my breathing as my heart pounded against my ribcage.

  “Polly is going to get a milk enema that she has to hold for ten minutes as she gets a spanking and Mrs. Paezel teases her with this,” she said, earning a gasp. I opened my eyes but Nanny Susan was standing behind me, making it impossible for me to see what she was holding. It was only when I heard a loud buzzing pulse of vibration that I knew what it was.

  My arousal increased tenfold as I realized how impossible it would be to do as she asked. I was being set up for failure. Even worse, I felt my juices began to drip down my thigh. I’d be lucky to last one minute, let alone ten.

  Without warning, I felt the cold, lubricated poke of the enema nozzle press against my crack. When it found my plug-stretched hole, it slipped in easily.

  In seconds, I felt the cold milk filling my belly. It only took a minute or so before my stomach began to distend uncomfortably as I was wracked with painful cramps.

  “Clench, Polly,” I heard Mrs. Paezel say. “The ten minutes doesn’t start until the nozzle is out.”

  I clenched as hard as I could, trying to breathe evenly through the discomfort of the cramps and the nozzle sliding out of me. As soon as it was out, I took a deep breath, which was cut short as I heard the vibrator start to buzz.

  Mrs. Paezel pressed it to me and I flinched, the painful pleasure of its pulsating whirring making me moan, pressing my nails into my palms to keep from expelling the enema on the floor in front of everyone.

  For a brief moment, I thought it might be possible.

  “The hairbrush, Hennie.”

  I whimpered.

  As if I weren’t overstimulated enough, I had completely forgotten the spanking - with a hairbrush no less.

  Crack!

  The clamps jingled with the force of the first blow. My mind went blank as a sharp sting emanated from the center of my fleshy cheek to my very core.

  Crack!

  Crack!

  With the vibrator pressed firmly against my engorged clit as Mrs. Paezel spanked me mercilessly with the round wooden hairbrush, it became more and more difficult to keep the pressure of the enema against my anus at bay.

  I cried out as my inner lips spasmed in climax, fluttering against the vibrator, forcing me to release the contents of my bowels all over the gleaming linoleum floor.

  The absolutely appalled expression on Mrs. Paezel’s face and the collective gasp of the other nannies and even some of the girls made me think I’d just made the worst mistake of my short life...

  To Be Continued...

  Overexcited and Overexposed

  An ABDL Story of Regression Therapy

  Part III

  I squirmed awkwardly.

  The two planks of wood that closed around my neck and wrists as if I were a medieval thief in the town square held me low to the ground. Unfortunately, not low enough to be able to avoid the stunned silent gazes of the nannies and their little girls watching me with such horror and mortification that I was almost relieved I couldn’t see Nanny Susan.

  In the moment of silence that followed my… accident, the events of the past day played in my head. I had never given much credence to the phrase “my life flashed before my eyes,” but I was beginning to reconsider.

  What blissful ignorance I enjoyed before today.

  ◆◆◆

  I t had all happened so quickly that it almost seemed like I was watching someone else’s memories.

  When my parents had gotten upset with me for staying out late after prom, I had assumed that would treat it the way they usually did - by grounding me and adding it to their seemingly infinite and eternally growing arsenal of my offenses.

  I’m not sure if it was my perfect academic attendance, the fact that I helped around the house, or my recent acceptance to Georgetown on a full academic scholarship that set them off, but they always favored my absolute deadbeat of a brother. How he got away with half the things he did while I was scrutinized at every move was so beyond me, I tried to avoid thinking about it altogether.

  So, yes, it all began after prom.

  They stayed up, waiting for me to get home. I mean, literally waiting for me to get home. Like sitting in the foyer at four o’clock in the morning when I - admittedly tipsily - tried to sneak back into the house.

  My parents had woken me up a couple hours later, using my hangover in her favor, and told me that they were going away for a few days while my brother was at a friend’s house for the weekend (which usually meant getting up to any number of questionable activities). I was so sleep-deprived, dehydrated and mildly hungover that as my parents ranted at me, the only thing I caught - the only thing I retained - after that was how I wasn’t responsible.

  Now, in my fleeting omniscience, I realized that I had been forewarned.

  The next thing I knew, an older woman with a harsh German accent was wishing me good morning. She introduced herself as Hennie Paezel and said I was to call her Mrs. Paezel.

  Needless to say, that did not go over well. I grumbled at her, hardly concerned with anything that wasn’t my worsening headache or sleep.

  She did not respond well.

  As she opened all the curtains in my room, flooding it with blinding light, she explained to me that she was a babysitter who specializes in “Regression Therapy.” She said something about parenting and training so that I could act like an adult, to which I responded that I was, in fact, an adult.

  I was eighteen years old, after all.

  Mrs. Paezel was the type of older woman that you couldn’t even tell how attractive she must have been when she was young because she was still so good-looking. She looked to be in her early fifties. She was tall, thin but shapely, and her hair was ash blonde. When she tied her hair in a bun, with her white blouse, black skirt, and pantyhose, she looked like she belonged in some type of kinky porn.

  Little did I know, she may as well have been.

  I really didn’t take her seriously. I’m not sure what I thought or why I thought she was there but who hires a babysitter for their eighteen year old daughter? I was a virgin, for Pete’s sake, on the brink of getting out of their house - what did they think I was going to do?

  When she told me she was going to give me a bath, which was easy enough to dismiss, until she dragged me to the bathroom and locked me in. Since there was no getting back in bed and - to be fair, I hadn’t washed my prom make-up off and my hair was a disaster - I figured I may as well shower.

  That was when it became all too real.

  I had just gotten into the shower when she came into the bathroom, ripped the curtain back and dragged me out. My less-than-polite protests prompted her to wash my mouth out with soap.

  If I had to guess what hell was like, having my mouth washed out with a bar of Dove soap by a strange woman as my head pounded and I stood naked and half-wet, dripping onto the tile, feels like a good place to start. It was the taste of that soap in my mouth, the threat of ‘being punished’ and being told the longer I waited, the colder the water would get that won her my begrudging obedience.

  She bathed me, dried me and put my hair in pigtails. When I asked to get dressed, she agreed and led me to an adult-sized changing table and that was when it all started going downhill.

  I cursed at her, completely shocked by the thought of being put in a diaper. She reprimanded me for swearing and for being disobedient as she pulled me over my knee and spanked me for the first ti
me in my life. After that, she noted how I looked a little unwell and decided to take my temperature. Not only had I not know that there were thermometers that went in your ass, I had to learn the hard way.

  A method I would become all too familiar as this unending day continued.

  She spread my red bottom and slipped a thermometer into the tighter of my virgin holes.

  After that, I let her diaper me, reluctantly let her feed me in a highchair, before earning a time out for sneaking away to use the toilet instead of my diaper and not asking permission to go in the first place.

  Timeout meant being tied in a playpen, being bottle fed a liter of milk and thinking about what I did. It was about halfway through that the urge to pee started and had the timer gone off any earlier, I might have avoided soiling my diaper during timeout.

  Instead, I was made to crawl to the backyard like a baby so that she could wash me off because “going potty whenever I wanted like a dog meant I would get cleaned off like a dog.” If the thought of being hosed off, naked, where anyone could see wasn’t bad enough, she gave me a coffee enema before filling my puckered hole with a buttplug with ‘brat’ on the handle and giving me another spanking - this time with a belt.

  After my nap, tied spreadeagle with clamps on my nipples and a pacifier in my mouth, she put another diaper on me and dressed me in a pink frilly tutu so that we could go grocery shopping.

  I was absolutely mortified.

  She put me in a car seat in her car and we drove for a long time. The car finally stopped and it wasn’t until we were inside the supermarket that I realized where we were. Not where, but why we had come so far. She put a collar with a heart-shaped tag on me and led me by a leash into the building.

  Inside, a girl was being spanked over the knee of an older woman with several other nannies and women dressed as little girls watched. Another girl I saw was naked on a leash, down on all fours, and had a tail poking out of her backside.