18+ for 18+! I'm Ophelia, abdl/little when my heart needs it, and rebellious and passionate steampunk- trans girl the rest of the time ^-^ . I'm a french girl and I have been a little for ... hum , 1, 2, 3... ( give me a minute, i'm counting on my fingers ) 4, f...-ish? no ... well... a lot ...
This is sort of a replacement to the bouncer. Tumblr seems to love my first story but I’m having difficulty figuring out where to take it, so no part 2 at least for the time being.
The First Step
Your eyes flutter open to a ceiling spotted with hanging fluorescent lights. As you stretch your extremities, you feel a soft, padded surface blanketing your every movement.
Turning your head to the side, you notice something peculiar. Surrounding you is what appears to be a baby’s playpen with mesh sidings and supports clad in a farmhouse-animal theme.
Underneath you is a toddler’s play-mat split into jigsaw pieces, each one with a letter of the alphabet and a matching animal. The mat isn’t made of the usual rugged foam, but of a fuzzy plush material you can’t help but run your fingers through.
To your left and right sides are a sippy cup filled with what you assume is water, and a small pink pacifier. Strangely, and almost instinctively, you plop the pacifier in between your lips.
You bring yourself to sit up with surprising effort, as if your joints had been frozen and thawed out again. Every movement is unusually labored, even the turning of your head as you get a glimpse at your further surroundings. You yawn deeply as you take everything in, your mind much foggier than you remember.
Your jaw goes a bit slack as you look up. The room is massive, with iron supports running throughout the imposingly high ceiling, kickballs wedged in between many. Looking further, you realize it’s exactly the same as an elementary school gym, only scaled up considerably.
The walls are made of painted white bricks, with hand-made decals of cartoon characters in sports-attire. On either side of the structure stands two basketball hoops at league-standard height. With a deep breath you take in a faint scent of baby powder and urine, typical of a nursery you assume is just down the hallway.
Despite the infantile theming, the whole facility seems hand tailored for someone an adult’s size, down to the size of your meshed-line confines and the court markings now covered almost entirely by hundreds of padded play-gyms the exact same as yours.
Someone sits up in the unit immediately to your right, her brow creased in confusion. From what you can see of her, she’s wearing childish pigtails and a plain pink blouse with ruffles on the shoulder, just barely disclosing a small band-aid also in pink.
Looking down at yourself, you can’t help but panic in confusion. You’re clad in similar attire, a t-shirt with a background of your favorite color, and Disney characters displayed in a repeating pattern all over. On your right arm is that same band-aid, in the same color as your shirt.
You aren’t wearing any bottoms whatsoever. In their stead is an impossibly thick plain, white diaper in smooth cloth-backing. Covering your hands and feet are mittens and booties almost the size of pillows, preventing any practical movement when coupled with the alarming reality that your mental capacities are becoming increasingly fogged over.
Your bandaged arm feels sore. You’ve been doped up with something, and it’s taking your wits with it. With what feels like your last bit of knowhow you take account of the others in the room now pulling themselves up, all clad in similar tops and with the exact same matching bandage.
With that, a wave of exhaustion overtakes your body, eroding your strength and leaving you prone on the floor in the same exact position you started in: writhing on a colorful play-mat like a toddler with no concept of the idea of mobility.
Your racing, panicking mind slows and slows, until forming even a simple sentence would be a grueling task. A spittle of drool forms at your chin as a gentle voice comes to life over loudspeakers lining the gym exterior.
“Hello sweethearts! Welcome to the Back-to-Basics Unlearning Program! By now you’ve noticed the effects of our patented regression formula, and are all cozy and snug for your first training video! Eyes up, little ones! Naptime comes later.”
A projection screen the size of the room itself is slowly unfurled by mechanical arms just underneath the iron supports, completely occupying your range of vision.
The lights around you dim, and a few quieted murmurs and moans can be heard from your new playmates, the only signs of protest to be managed through the effects of the regression serum. You nervously suckle on the pacifier as you stare into the space above.
The gigantic screen springs to life, depicting an elegantly dressed woman wearing a blue pantsuit emblazoned with an emblem on the right of her chest reading, “B2B” in gilded lettering. She’s positioned next to a chalkboard, its rough edges indicating a green screen.
“Hello again! Today marks your first day here at the academy! We don’t want to stress your little heads out too much this morning, but we do need to set some things straight in those mischievous little noggins!”
She pauses for a moment, adjusting her collar and producing a retractable pointer from her pocket. You squirm nervously, unable to conceptualize much but the soft padding around every part of you pillowing your each and every adjustment.
Around you, the groaning of discomfort from the others begins to increase in pace, as if something is further distressing them. You can hear some start to suckle gently on the items placed to their sides as you’d already done.
Bluntly and with enthusiasm, she begins again, “By now, you’ve probably all noticed you need to do something everybody does, go to the potty! Can you say potty?”
A few weary voices respond, their minds still clinging onto reality if only marginally. You realize through the haze that your former cognition is fading, without your full awareness, into a faint memory. It’s not until then do you even take account of an aching sensation deep within your body.
You don’t even really recognize this terrible pressure in your bowels and bladder as anything more than a need to be relieved in some way, in any way. You manage to cross your legs and focus, forgetting your discomfort for a moment as the instructor continues.
“Very good! Now, big kids get to go to the potty in something called the toilet. But look at all of you! You’re not big kids anymore.” Her grin widens as she kneels over with her hands on her knees, looking deep within the camera. “You’re babies now! Can you say baby?”
Less of the group responds this time, with only a few managing out a slight gurgling noise somewhat resembling the word baby. You’re too far gone to even notice the nursery rhymes beginning to blare through tiny speakers imbedded into the walls of your play-gym. There’s no way out now. Your every sense is occupied by something obnoxiously infantile.
The aching sensation grows as the kind lady continues, leaving you a squirming and wriggling mess, allocating every ounce of control left in your body to the simple task of not soiling yourself like an infant. You take a deep breath in for comfort but are only bombarded by the telltale sent of a well-used nursery.
“How adorable! Now, one of your more willing classmates will give a demonstration, and I want you all to try your best to follow!” The chalkboard surface to her right fades, leaving in its place a top-down view of a trainee in particular distress.
That trainee, to your dismay, is yourself. You watch your mirror image squirm as the woman continues, still desperate to relieve the sensation building in your lower regions, the discomfort of which is now on full view to an audience of your new peers.
“From now on, your potty is your pants!” She pauses, and her words are echoed loudly overtop of the nursery rhymes:
“Your potty is your pants! Your potty is your pants!”
She continues again, the camera zooming in closely on your padded private area. The frame of view splits in two, with one displaying your pristinely white Huggies and the other getting a close view of your facial expressions. She switches to a sterner tone of voice:
“Now, our little helper will demonstrate exactly what that means. Go on,” she says, staring deeply into the camera yet again, “it’s time to let go.” The screen begins to swirl into a spiral, pulsating rapidly with all the colors of the rainbow, her final words echoing through your speakers like the ones just before:
Let go! Let go! Let go! Let go!
It’s all too much for your overstimulated self, and try as you might you just can’t help it. Not just your bathroom urges, but your urge to give in. To fall to the serum’s spell, and the woman’s voice. To be a baby.
You don’t even really think about it. You furrow your brow a tiny bit, lift your knees a tad, and void control completely. The screen displays it all in glorious detail, the once-white diaper around your waist staining and swelling, and your soft little expressions of release and contentment to match. This is much to the amusement of the instructor, who applauds as if you’d just learned your first words.
Around you, other classmates follow suit. Audible in their soft moans of contentment and the quiet crinkling of diapers actively being soiled in an otherwise quiet room, they break in the same fashion as yourself.
“Very good! Doesn’t that feel soo much better?” Her voice goes stern again. “Now remember lovelies, you are a baby. Babies wear and use diapers, and only their diapers. You don’t need to know anything else.”
With that, the screen pulses in three white flashes, and your adult mind vanishes completely. You’re nothing but a blank slate now, a canvas for the academy to mold into a proper adult. You bring your legs close together, feeling your soiled diaper slide and squish in between, and giggle softly as the lights blare back to life.
Scans from “Nevski Night,” a 1977 collection of nighttime cityscapes in the Nevski district of St Petersburg.
There honestly are not a lot of well-known Soviet photo books so I was very pleased when I came across this seemingly unknown and innocuous book and saw what was inside.
The library was nice and quiet. I sat in my usual corner, a stack of books beside me, watching the world move in slow, deliberate motions. That’s when I saw him, Lukas, the young librarian, always so polite, always so trying. His brow was furrowed as he helped an elderly patron find a book, his voice patient but strained, his shoulders tense. He looked like he hadn’t properly slept in days.
I smiled to myself. Poor thing. He needed a break.
As the last patron wandered off, Lukas let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples. The library was empty except for the two of us. I stood, smoothing my skirt, and walked over to him. He looked up, offering me a tired but warm smile.
“Can I help you find something?” he asked, already reaching for the keyboard.
I leaned in slightly, my voice soft. “Actually, Lukas, I think you need something.”
His eyes flickered with confusion, but before he could respond, I let my magic unfold. It was subtle, a warmth spreading through the air, a shift in the fabric of reality. Lukas blinked, once, twice, and then his body seemed to settle. His shoulders relaxed, his posture softened, and suddenly, the crisp button-down shirt and slacks he’d been wearing were replaced with a tiny blue onesie, the fabric snug around his belly. His hands relaxed. His eyes widened, the weight of adulthood lifting from them like a fog.
“M-mommy?” he whispered, his voice high and uncertain. His thumb found its way to his mouth, his cheeks flushing as he realized what he’d said.
I knelt in front of him, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “That’s right, sweetheart. Mommy’s here.” His eyes lit up, the stress of his adult life melting away. He wiggled in place, the crinkle of his diaper loud in the quiet library.
“Wook, Mommy!” he lisped, pointing at the bookshelf. “Stowy time?”
I chuckled, taking his tiny hand in mine. “Yes, baby. Story time.” I led him to the children’s section, where bright, colorful books lined the shelves. He bounced on his toes, his diaper puffing with each movement. I picked out a well-loved copy of Goodnight Moon, and we settled into a cozy corner. Lukas curled into my lap, his thumb slipping back into his mouth as I began to read.
His eyes were glued to the pages, his breath soft and even. Halfway through, I could her the long drawn out hiss of a bladder relaxing. His body relaxed against me, his diaper sagging just a little more with each passing minute. I could see the tension draining from him, his mind quiet and at peace.
When the story ended, I set the book aside and lifted him onto the changing table I’d, conveniently, manifested beside us. His giggles filled the air as I undid the tapes of his soaked diaper. “Oh, someone’s been a little floody boy,” I teased, wiping him clean. He squirmed, his face red with embarrassment and delight.
“Sowwy, Mommy,” he murmured, his voice thick with shame and trust.
I kissed his forehead, fastening a fresh, fluffy diaper around him. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy takes care of you.” He sighed, his body going limp with relief.
But all good things must come to an end. I stroked his hair one last time, whispering the words that would bring him back. The magic shimmered around him, his onesie dissolving into his familiar librarian’s clothes, his mind sharpening, his body returning to its adult form. Lukas blinked, shaking his head as if waking from a dream. He looked around, then at me, his expression softer than before.
“Did I… zone out?” he asked, rubbing his temples again.
I smiled. “You needed a little break, that’s all. How do you feel?”
He stretched, rolling his shoulders. “Actually… really good. Lighter.” He glanced at the children’s books, then back at me, a hint of confusion in his eyes. But there was no fear, no resistance. Just the quiet understanding that something wonderful had happened.
“Now, who needs a visit from the Magic Mommy next?”
I’m really not a fan of messing. Tried 2x before 21 and tried a few more times by force 2+ years ago 😅 I let it be a punishment in my current dynamic but he hasn’t really threatened that so I think I’m safe for now haha
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