Sian had once been the proud rising star of the company, leaving everyone else in her dust as she climbed ruthlessly to the top. In public her manner had been carefully polished—kindness layered over steely determination, every word calculated to win allies and silence critics. Behind that façade her colleagues seethed with jealousy. They planted the seeds of her downfall with meticulous care: fabricated ledgers, planted evidence of embezzlement, a paper trail so airtight that even Sian’s sharp mind could find no clean way out.
Innocent though she was, the case against her was too clever, too calculated. Taking it to court meant the risk of years in a real prison. Faced with that choice, Sian sobbed and agreed to the alternative: six months of total regression, spent entirely inside the same office she had once commanded. She would live every day as a helpless, diapered baby under the eyes of the people she had once outshone.
Now she sat pouting inside the playpen that had been installed in the corner of the boardroom, thick nappy bulging between her thighs, an infantile top stretched over her chest, the plastic of the playpen bars cold against her skin. The same room where she used to issue orders and make decisions that mattered had become her nursery. She was nothing more than a smelly, regressive little baby, and every colleague who walked past made sure she remembered it.
She already knew Emily—the new rising star who had stepped neatly into the vacancy Sian left behind—was planning to push the humiliation further still. It was only a matter of when.
During her first nappy change Sian had broken down completely, sobbing while her former subordinates watched with expressions that mixed pity and barely concealed satisfaction. The wet heat, the powder, the casual way they lifted her legs and strapped the tapes shut had stripped away whatever scraps of dignity she still clung to
Halfway through the afternoon meeting Emily grew bored of presenting her own mediocre ideas. Her gaze drifted to the playpen.
“Siany-pops,” she cooed, voice dripping with false sweetness. “Why don’t you crawl up onto the table? Big-sis Emily has a special surprise for you.”
The once-rising star hesitated only a second before obedience overrode pride. On all fours she crawled out of the playpen, padded bottom swaying, the thick nappy audibly crinkling with every movement. She climbed onto the long conference table, rising until her face was level with the men and women she had once surpassed. The sharp scent of her own wet nappy rose to her nose; she had already done a wee-wee and everyone in the room could smell it. Shame burned across her cheeks.
Emily held up the pacifier just out of reach.
“Erm, no thank you, Siany. We don’t just take the paci without saying our magic words.”
Sian’s face went even redder. She gulped, voice tiny.
“And what do we say?” Emily prompted, still gentle, still relentless.
Sian’s whisper was almost lost under the hum of the air-conditioning.
“We… we say please and thank you.”
“What a good girl,” Emily praised. “We say please and thank you. But since you forgot, I think we need a little punishment. Just so you remember next time. If Siany wants her paci, she should get up onto her knees and beg for it like a dog. Tongue out. I want to hear panting and whining. Otherwise we might have to think of a different punishment… like calling Sian’s mummy to come in and spank her in front of everyone.”
Slowly, trembling, she pushed herself up onto her knees on the polished wood. Her hands came up to her chest like paws. She stuck her tongue out, the tip wet and shaking. Humiliation crashed over her in waves as she began to pant—short, needy, animal sounds forced from her throat. She whined, high and broken, the noise of a dog begging for scraps. Her thick, wet nappy sagged heavily between her thighs; every shift made it rustle and release another waft of urine-scent. Tears spilled down her cheeks while she rocked slightly on her knees, tongue still lolling, making soft, desperate little yips and whimpers.
“Please… please may Siany have her paci… woof… please…” The words were muffled around her outstretched tongue, half-sobbed, half-whined. She panted harder, shoulders shaking, eyes locked on the plastic teat as though it were the only thing in the world that could save her.
Emily’s grin widened. She reached out and rubbed Sian’s head roughly, then scratched behind her ears exactly the way one would praise an obedient pet.
With that she pushed the pacifier firmly between Sian’s lips and held it in place until the broken, once-proud woman began to suck—slow, rhythmic, babyish pulls, eyes squeezed shut against the final, total collapse of everything she had been.
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