Bloom of a Plucked Flower
TW: Dark ABDL Themes, non-con/murky consent, sexuality, psychological/emotional manipulation, exhibitionism, brief alcohol use, public humiliation/degradation. All characters are adults: Vivienne (34), Amrita (31)
A preachy reminder: Kinky fun is just that—fun. Real manipulation from either party outside playtime isn’t worth the trauma, regardless of the orgasms. Wearing someone down is not a path to a happy relationship. If you find the story is making you uncomfortable, take a break! Put it down, never come back to it, if you want. Take care of yourself.
Bloom of a Plucked Flower,
I have always wanted to see an ego die.
You’ll have to forgive me if I’m underselling the facts. I adore a bit of mystery, a bit of intrigue. I was hoping you might blush at so blunt an admission.
I won’t pout if you need to leave. If you want to stay, I promise to explain.
I have always wanted to witness an ego curl into rigor mortis, safe forever in my murderer’s palm. I have always wanted to press my thumb into the bud of a plucked flower and force it to bloom.
If you haven’t left yet, let’s talk.
With the brutality of my naked desire clear, I don’t mind sharing the honey. I always wished I could suffocate a self-image with the relaxing scent of baby-powder. I wanted to drown an adult’s protests in a deluge of my breast’s milk.
I would coddle, care and coo. They would hardly need to do a thing. Once they submitted, I would be their all-devouring everything. How I would praise them for every little thing. The measure of their life would come to fall in the dimensions of a playpen—“Shin-high is high enough, Mama’s good baby knows not to leave their cage.” Their highest achievement would be a regular bowel movement in the soft plastic of a diaper—"You made such a good mess for Mommy, she loves you so much!”
What would they even have to trade away, really? Nothing but a trifle—nothing but their agency. And think how lovely it would be to never worry about a thing. Discard any thoughts about the tough decisions that Mama would handle for all time hence. Think of how nice it would be to give in, to let a living death creep into your mind, so Mama could kiss the booboo.
I wanted to burn away a person’s life that I would become their everything. All they had to do was break. Break, for Mommy.
Oh, darling, I’m so glad you’re still listening. Perhaps you want this yourself? Or, perhaps you wish to learn from Vivienne, Mama extraordinaire?
Don’t be too fussy, but I need to tell you that I’ve already done it. I have reached the goal that long tantalized me. I’d love to tell you how I did it.
I went through five targets before my eyes fell on my dearest little Amrita. Her downfall started so simply—a visitation to certain websites on public Wi-Fi. Why, what a foolish thing, to do, to watch grown women in diapers mewl for their Mommies, on a public connection? Surely, I knew, Amrita needed proper guidance. A little birdie behind a computer had been ever so kind to provide me with a short portfolio on Amrita, a trifling request in age of data-brokers.
The poor dear was a whiz in the courtroom. A defense attorney for only the most depraved of the rich. She had money, power and respect, that truly toxic cocktail. I am a woman of means, I’ll never deny, but the rich, as a class, are parasites—engorged royalty who take no joy in their vacant greed. At least I’m willing to have fun.
Of my previous unknowing applicants, Amrita had that special quality I desired most to destroy. Amrita was prideful. Success after success and the admiration of her peers had bloated her with an ego ripe for my reaper’s touch.
What would they say when they saw Amrita under the care of Mama Vivienne? I salivated at the answer: she would break.
At an innocent cocktail party, I struck up the band to play the first tentative overture of her destruction.
Amrita stood, draped in elegant maroon, on the balcony. She had stepped out for a cigarette. A sly gesture, meant only to disguise a carnivorous smile as her ears were tickled by the whispered awe of partygoers she could still hear. Her hair caught a breeze and the black strands flowed like a ship’s captain on the prow.
She was so absorbed in herself that she didn’t hear me. I leaned my back against the balcony railing in my black column dress and oh-so-innocently allowed my thin, purple boa to tickle her arm. I watched her quickly hide the shark-teeth of her smile. Her lips warped into a damnably charming grin.
“Hey, little girl.” Amrita greeted me. With a dextrous wave, she popped a cigarette out of her case, offering it to me. “Need help finding your Mama? Or are you looking for a new one?”
I was innocence and seduction, entwined. I plucked the cigarette from Amrita’s lips. I took a deep drag and pitched it from the balcony as I exhaled. “I’m Vivienne. Why don’t you come inside? I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill or take a spill. Balconies are dangerous. All that champagne in those high heels? You’re liable to take a tumble.”
Oh, how she, in her pride, thought she was an active agent in my games. “What,” she replied in question, “and leave this lovely conversation?”
I leaned my head back over the balcony. “Arrogance is so unbecoming, Amrita.” With the movement of a shadow, I slipped behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. I whispered warmly into her ear. “If you really must stay out here, I’ll have to keep you safe.”
She leaned back into me. “Not a bad idea, now that you mention it, Vivienne. You seem to know my name—but I could take you into the guest bedroom here and give a proper introduction.” Oh, that pride. I was going to enjoy dismantling it.
“No need for privacy.” I answered. “I’ll check you right here.” I slid my hand up Amrita’s leg and dragged a finger along her slightly dampened panties. “You’ve had a little accident, my love. Aren’t you a bit immature for lingerie?”
I felt her stiffen in my embrace. I continued, “Oh, hush. It’s quite alright. Playing big girl is fine within reason. But if you refuse to listen to Mama, we’ll have to put you back in diapers.”
Amrita loosened herself, with grace, from me. “So, you’re that kind of Mama, huh?” She shook her head. “Then let’s leave it here. All that baby stuff isn’t my thing.” She put out a hand. “I’m going back inside. It was lovely meeting you. I wish you all the best in your hunt.”
I took the offered hand. I didn’t shake. I held it firmly. “If you won’t be a good girl, will you at least give Mama a kiss goodbye?”
Amrita leaned in towards me. “It’s only polite.” She intended to lead, but as her lips neared, I seized them in mine. I could feel her muscles relax—I could feel her submit. I took my time, tamping down her tongue with my own so I could explore every inch of her mouth at my leisure.
When I pulled away, her mask of defiance had gone askew. “You’ll dream of me, even though you deserve discipline instead of a reward. But next time,” I warned, “don’t say no to Mommy.”
She thought that I had left the party after our encounter. But a quick change in the bathroom and a pair of glasses afforded me the chance to watch her. She spent the evening playing grown-up, yes, but not well. I saw her eyes scanning the party when she could—a little girl looking for her mother.
I just so happened to chance on my Amrita in her nearby coffee shop the very next morning. Oh, do you doubt? It was perfectly innocent, I assure you. But remember also that Mama Vivienne makes her own fortune.
I slid into the chair across from Amrita. I looked at the case files spread out before her. I silenced the quiet hum of her laptop by pressing the screen shut. “Looking for the next big case is a cute idea.” I produced a small package of crayons and slid it forward. “Wouldn’t it be more fun to draw a pretty picture for me?”
She protested, but I could see how her eyes lingered on the crayons. “Vivienne. I see you didn’t have luck finding another victim at the party last night.” She pushed the crayons back towards me. “I’m quite alright, thanks. I’ll get you a coffee.” She smiled. “To-go, of course. I’m busy. The firm is throwing me a party tonight and I want to get my next case picked out.”
“Oh, darling, my poor feelings.” I mockingly pouted. “I don’t need a victim. I have you. And I could hardly let you attend a grown-up party all alone.”
Amrita’s diplomacy was failing her. “You’re a smart lady. Have you heard the word No?”
“It’s my favourite word.” I replied. “But if you really want me to go, just say…oh, how about Aspirin?”
Did she hear herself when she next spoke? Did she stumble on her words? Did she want me to leave her be? I couldn’t tell, and I can only guess, because what she said was “Ibuprofen. Do you really get off pushing people towards something they don’t want?” She asked.
A playful shrug. “What is it you don’t want?”
Amrita gently packed up her papers. Perhaps to flee, perhaps to follow. “To clarify what you seem to think is going to happen. I go with you to a hotel room, let you put me in a diaper. You have me eat you out and then you let me cum in cartoon padding? Doesn’t sound too great.”
I tut-tutted. “A suite, dear Amrita. A Mommy of my caliber lavishes my sweetlings with only the best. It’s right across the street. A nursery, with everything you can imagine, all in your size. All you need to do is come with me.”
She seemed to consider the offer. “And what if I don’t like it? I say the word, we shake hands and say goodbye—” she caught herself, “—though I guess it’s a kiss goodbye with you.”
“We’ll see.” I said, standing, offering one of those maternal promises of maybe that have no guarantee. “Depends on how well-behaved you are.”
From the coffee shop to the street, to the hotel, to the elevator, I held firm to Amrita. An innocent embrace of two lovers from the outside. But Amrita felt the strength in my embrace. Her eyes darted about, a blush rose to her cheeks, she was afraid that others would see the truth—she was a little thing, under Mama’s guidance.
“Hush, baby girl.” I slipped a pacifier between her lips as the elevator approached the top floor. “No need to shiver, it’s warm here with Mama.”
She didn’t protest, she allowed herself to explore the feeling of the rubber bulb in her mouth. Her muscles relaxed as we stepped from the elevator into an empty hallway. I allowed her to ooze into me. I guided her to the suite, caressed the lock with my keycard, and we entered.
Oh, Amrita tried so hard. She tried not to allow awe in her gaze as she looked upon the brilliantly upholstered nursery suite. Plucking the pacifier from her mouth, she said “I didn’t think you were serious.”
“Mama is always serious.” I chided. I lifted her satin skirt. “Not even a smiling kitty on your panties? That won’t do.”
“M-maybe we take it slow. Talk for a while.”
“Don’t fuss, dearie. I think you’re hungry. And when I put your pacifier in, it stays in until I take it out. Understood?” I slid the soothing toy back between her lips.
She almost replied. She caught herself, and simply nodded.
Under my guidance, we walked to the loveseat. I sat first, then brought her down with me, resting her head in my lap. With a flourish, I undid the buttons of my blouse. I freed my breast from my bra and dangled the milky nipple above Amrita’s wide-eyed stare.
“Eat up, then we can play.” I watched her eyes, helpless. She was trying to find a way to communicate that the pacifier’s shield prevented her from consuming my delectable nectar. I softly pressed a finger against her nose. “That was a test. You did such a good job for Mommy.”
A moment after I removed the offending soother, she latched. She drew hungrily and deep from me. It was as if she had never eaten a day in her life. In short order, she slowed, and began feeding at a natural pace. An outsider could have regarded this as temperance. Perhaps an outsider with more knowledge would see the slowing as pricked with fear. They might imagine Amrita merely realized how she wanted this moment to last. But they wouldn’t have Mama’s eyes, they wouldn’t have Mama’s perspective. I saw the glaze trickle into my baby’s eyes. She nursed at a new pace because she knew this was merely the first of many. She was mine, now.
We luxuriated in the nursery suite that afternoon. As the final drops of milk petered out and Amrita relaxed in the cradle of my arms, I told her to let go. She did. Her bladder emptied into her clothes, onto me, onto the loveseat. That prideful adult didn’t even whimper. That prideful adult had withdrawn within.
My patronizing remarks did nothing but make the heat within Amrita rise. I brought her into the bath, climbed in with her, and languished in washing us both. In the warm bubbles and perfume, she suckled her soother and allowed herself to submit.
I left her only in a diaper as we explored the nursery. She had fallen completely into her role. The only prickling of that vaunted pride and damnable ego came in moments where I let my hand linger on her diaper a moment too long. As I introduced her, by name, to all her new stuffies, she repeatedly tried to superstitiously pleasure herself on them. But time and again, I whispered, “Not until Mama says it’s time.”
You might think that this would be enough for me. You might imagine that I’d become satisfied with my work. I was satisfied, yes. But I told you what I wanted. This haze unto which the adult Amrita had descended was only temporary. Once the day had passed, she would return to herself. Perhaps shame would fall. Perhaps she would come to hate herself and me for allowing it all to happen. How else could I protect her? I had to break her.
I fostered her submission, her half-catatonic daze. I fed her, changed her, held her as she had an afternoon nap. I ceased speaking to her with words. I allowed the jumble of gentle colours and sensations to lull her completely.
As a test, I called her phone. Her ringtone sounded, but there wasn’t a hint of recognition in her for the sound. It was time to move ahead.
When I dressed her in a baby-doll dress that pressed tight against her breasts, she didn’t squirm. She let out no words and no whimpers as I fastened the toddler-harness onto her and took the leash. For the moment, she saw nothing but Mama, even as we left the suite and got into the cab.
It was only when the doors of the rented ballroom opened that she flickered back into herself. What an exquisite pain she must have felt as her firm, colleagues and friends saw the sight of her. I played with one of her black pigtails. “Aren’t you excited to say hello to everyone? The party is for you. I thought it would make a grand occasion for your coming out.”
Amrita’s eyes of fear and anger glared at me. I can only imagine the curses she wished to throw at me. But, she said nothing, because even in her fury, she knew that the pacifier only came out on Mama’s command.
“You’re going to tell them who you are. What you are. You’re going to punctuate it by filling those adorable pampers for them. And when you’re done, Mama will give you relief. If you do as you’re told, I’ll never deny your huffy humpies again. I’ll be Mommy forever.” I lifted a small vibrator from my purse. “Don’t you want to do a good job for Mommy?” I removed the pacifier.
The tension was excruciating as she turned from me.
I was proud to see her walk forward into the crowd. Her hand reached to her other arm and clutched it tightly. What better sight for a loving Mama than to see her baby step bravely into the world, no matter the fears that tugged at her?
A few murmurs. Confusion. A hint of betrayal, even? Questions passed among the crowd. “Is she having a breakdown?” “Should we call someone?” Disgust was a wave about to crash over my sweetling. The bonds she’d long worked to forge strained against the impossible sight of her, waddling to her downfall. I tightened the leash of her harness. The gesture said: “Far enough, darling.”
If you ask someone who has made a life-changing choice, they will tell you many things. Upon reflection, minutiae gain the significance of woven fate. If I hadn’t worn that hat, or if I had picked a different movie to watch, maybe I would have never gotten here. In reflection, events can calcify into deterministic fact. It was always going to come to this, I never had a chance for things to turn out differently. As a woman who prides herself on understanding the minds of adults who want to give everything that they are up for the infallible love of Mommy, I am aware of the truth. Every thought before the mind’s command to its body in the physical world? Only noise. The moment of choice, no matter how grand the consequences, is the easiest part.
Amrita breathed in to steady herself. The breath was ragged, and she only shivered more as she hollowed, dug down to the pillars upon which she had built an identity and knocked them loose with a gravedigger’s shovel.
“I’m a big baby. I need my Mama.” Tears pricked her eyes. A line of snot flowed from her nose. “I can’t wipe my own nose, or my bum. Mama feeds me. Mama takes care of me. I need her, and I can’t do anything myself. I ride in strollers and chew on soft toys. I can’t even be trusted to go to the potty by myself.” The tears poured forth, but she did not sob. She pulled up her skirt, bent her knees, grunted, and pushed. All eyes saw the back of her diaper expand with her waste. “I made poopies.” She said, voice quavering. She looked as if she were about to fall.
I was there to catch her. From behind, I brought the vibrator into her diaper as I held her up. She moaned, her eyes trying to close, to escape into herself. “Mommy says look.” Amerita obeyed.
As she moved towards a terrible climax, I whispered. I drew her gaze around to the horrified audience. I knew all their names and I knew the spaces they occupied in Amrita’s life. I reminded her of the life she was losing and how much these people meant to her. Their faces showed disgust. I allowed her to see the disparity between who she’d once been and never would be again. Darkened countenances glared down at her as she descended, and I forced her to watch every second. The wretched snapping of social bonds played percussion to her coming orgasm. When, finally, I was the only connection left, I whispered, “Come for Mommy.”
She obeyed. She gave a shuddering mewl of pleasure—the soft pastel fracture within her opened completely.
But as any good instructor, I made sure to test my work. I spoke to the crowd. “I’m truly so sorry. I thought she might be able to handle a party with the grown ups.” I looked down to see if my doll gave any reaction.
She gave none. She stared up at me. She thought nothing, she saw nothing, except me. I was the only thing in the world.
My flower had finally bloomed.
You look a sight. Are you afraid? You knew what you were getting into. I was very clear at the outset.
Or is it something else? Do you want to learn more, so you can prune your own treasure from the soil?
Maybe you’d rather something else. Maybe you’d like to know if my darling Amrita needs a sibling. Perhaps she does. But she’s ever so much trouble sometimes. She crawls about and gets into everything. She drools on all her pretty things, and lord help me if she doesn’t get cummies after her makes a stinky. If she were to have a sibling, they would have to be even less—someone that makes her look like a big girl.
Thanks for reading! I’m super happy with how this one turned out. I’ve been writing my whole life, but this is my third attempt at writing “smut” proper. I had a blast with it. Vivienne’s sociopathic glee was a treat to explore.
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