Big Times for "Baby" Girls – Chapter Three (Commission)

Thanks to an anonymous patron for commissioning this one! Note to readers and moderators: this story features strong ageplay content, in which consenting adults choose to act in babyish ways. Like ALL my writing, every character in this fictional story is an adult over the age of 18.

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"Now now – hold still, Molly! Today's a super-big day for you, you know? Hold still and let Mommy Trish get you all ready…"

I blinked up in chagrin, willing my fluttering heartbeat and nervous limbs to calm down. Here I was, a solid week after the humiliating events of last week – and just as expected, I was more thoroughly babied now than ever. Here I lay flat on the floor – naked legs spread, naked body shivering at the cool air and the touch of the lotion on Mommy Trish's hands. She was beautifully dressed up as if she was headed to the opera, her low-cut blue dress tantalizing with its flashes of generous cleavage. She was changing me now, out of my soaked nighttime diaper and into something more fresh. But along the way… hmm, I could already sense that she was doing more than just changing me.

But before I could inquire fearfully about the greasy sensation of things penetrating my bum hole, and the shiver-inducing feeling of something slipping between my lips and deep into my pussy… well, the first diaper was being taped firmly shut. Followed by a second, and then a third, bulky cloth diaper over that.

"You're going to look so precious, baby-doll," Daddy rumbled from beside the bed, and as Mommy helped me struggle to my feet with all the ungainly grace of a toddler, I quivered in mute, shameful resignation. This was my husband, supposedly: Dan, my sweetheart. Looking hotter than ever right now in a suit and tie. He's the guy who'd once seen me as his wife… but who now knew I was nothing more than a cucky little baby toy. A baby toy who couldn't even give him head without dumping a smelly load in her pants.

Clumsily I stepped into the waiting plastic pants, and then the frilly diaper cover as well. Mommy Trish was bubbling the entire time about how adorable I was, and how this was a perfect outfit for a perfect day. And I… well, I could only follow along uncertainly, nursing my pacifier for comfort and hoping against hope that the greasy, burning sensation I was already beginning to feel in my bum wasn't what I feared.

"And now for the dress, sweetie! Here, look – it's perfect for you! Perfect for baby's big day…"

I shivered as the frilly, lacy monstrosity descended. I had never been one for dresses, even when I was an adult. But this thing? Well, it was more of a babydoll nightgown than anything: pure white, frilly, and perilously short, with a poofy tulle-and-cotton skirt that came barely halfway to my knees. I gulped as the snaps and buttons pulled tight and the shirred bodice compressed my already petite curves out of existence. This was probably exactly the sort of thing a toddler might wear to their first ballet recital… or when their Mommy was getting married.

How horribly close to the truth I was on that last point!

"Ready to tell her, Dan?" Mommy Trish was straightening up from putting on my lacy ankle socks, gazing merrily first from my mutely questioning eyes to Daddy's amused face. To which he nodded and came forward, giving a paternal pat to my pigtailed head.  "Molly, baby – this is a really big day for you! Now, remember how sad you were last week? When you showed us how you aren't big enough anymore to have fun times with Daddy or Mommy?"

I nodded shamefully, the mortifying memory filling my mind. Ugh! I'd loaded my pants mid-makeout… soiled those silky panties Mommy Trish had lent me… lost my grownup privileges once more…

"Well, we wanted to cheer you up, sweetie," he beamed. "And of course we can't help that you've become such a little baby. But we do know how much you love your stuffies like Mister Oreo, right? And we thought… Even though you're too little to be Daddy's real wife anymore, you're just perfect to be Mister Oreo's new baby wife!"

Out through the doorway of the bedroom they tugged me, while the import of what they'd just said crashed down upon my bewildered brain. Mister Oreo…? Wait, no, he's just a stuffed panda! But- but-

"Hehe, see him waiting there?" Daddy gestured toward the fireplace in the living room, and my wide eyes spotted Mister Oreo, his black eyes and nose gleaming, his furry bulk constricted now in a handsome suit. "Oh, don't look at us like that, baby! We've both seen the way you love humping on him. Go on, Molly… babies like you need to crawl, obviously. On all fours now! Daddy will be walking beside you to give you away…"

Oh, frick. Frick, frick, frick! But that's exactly what I did: gulping in shame on my paci the entire time, wincing as the combination of shame and churning in my gut set my body aquiver. Before I knew it, amid their delighted cheers and the tinkling sound of a music box rendition of Mendelssohn's Wedding March, I reached the fireplace. And there I knelt, staring up in mute mortification: a hopelessly and helplessly regressed adult baby girl, and the furthest thing possible from these beautiful, sexy, mature adults around me. A pathetic little baby whose Daddy and Mommy now began officiating what was probably the most humiliating event of my entire life.

On they droned, about their cute little girl growing down: first into a pup, and then into the most adorable baby that ever was. About how I had shown everyone where I belonged – with stuffies instead of guys. How I had first met Mister Oreo… how we had become best friends– how Mommy Trish had found me getting into such naughty trouble with him. Oh, of course we were made for each other! We were two soft, sweet little bundles of joy. We'd do everything together, now and forever, for all time…

Was it so unexpected that Mommy had sabotaged me? Of course not. Of course it was all her doing, I mused in raging shame, feeling my churning gut betray me yet again. She'd pushed something inside me earlier: a Fleet enema, judging by the way my body was reacting. It was all her fault, I grunted to myself in primal relief, while the ceremony paused around me. Yet Mommy never let on a thing – oh, no. She just bent down to give my expanding diaper a maternal pat, exclaiming in delight over what a silly little baby I was. And Daddy, meanwhile… well, he just chuckled along, ruefully observing that his little stinker never missed an opportunity to show off how good she was at packing her Pampers.

Yeah. That's how it happened that I was blinking through tears of shameful arousal as they slipped a plastic ring on my left hand, cheering that me and my stuffy were now married. Then they tugged me forward to plant a pacified kiss onto Mister Oreo's silently smiling face. But that wasn't all. Not by a long shot!

It was a mock wedding, after all – and that meant photos. Here Mommy Trish took the lead once more: evidently acting not just as mother and wedding coordinator, but also as a photographer interested in putting me in the most embarrassingly babyish positions. None of those lovey-dovey, hand-in-hand, sweep-her-off-her-feet poses I'd done so long ago with Daddy. Now I had to pose on hands and knees: nose to nose with Mister Oreo at first, and then astride him. Last came one with me flat on my back, Mister Oreo hugged close… and yes. All of these were done while the smell of my own messy bum assaulted my nose, and the warm squish of my loaded diaper reminded me of what a truly pathetic little mess I now was.

"Aww, this has been so sweet!" Mommy Trish exclaimed at last, and I blinked up at her, still dazzled from the repeated flashes of her camera. "Time for the reception now, hey? This cute little baby bride must be hungry!"

Reception? Oh, god…!

Over to the dining room I was hauled, waddling comically the entire way. Into the chair beside me went Mister Oreo, while Daddy bustled about with the straps to secure me into my highchair. I had to cringe at the sensation of the gooey mess in my diaper, squelching up between my legs and around my shaven baby girl parts. But oh, that was nothing compared to what was coming next!

On came a giant, lacy bib: embroidered with "Messy Bride" across the front. Into my mouth Mommy Trish shoved a bottle of milk, laughing all the while that the champagne was probably better saved for the grownups. And even as I gulped resentfully around the familiar nipple, out of the fridge came a cake in Daddy's hands: white and well-decorated, a tiny wedding cake the size of a one-year-old's smash cake.

Which was clearly no coincidence. "Aww, look at that, sweetie!" Mommy Trish enthused, pulling the nearly drained bottle from my mouth. "It's the perfect little cake for you and your new stuffy hubbie! Come on, baby – dig in!"

I wasn't about to voluntarily sink my fingers into such a pretty little thing. But that didn't matter. Daddy's hand was firmly grasping my pigtailed head… bending me forward unwillingly… and then, choking my spluttering protests in the thick, cakey goo of my second-ever wedding cake.

I lost track of how much they stuffed down my throat. I struggled and squirmed and whimpered, but with every struggle they laughed more. With every moment I grew more sticky and pathetic. And with every fresh insult, I felt my ego crumble a little bit more… disappearing down, down, down into the depths of my soiled and stupidly babyish diaper. Where, I was horrified to find, my stupid, subby pussy was practically creaming herself with sordid pleasure.

"Well, well! I think it's high time we got these two lovebirds off on their honeymoon, don't you?"

I gulped – then quivered with shock as the long-forgotten vibrator hummed to life deep within me. Mommy Trish was laughing at my expression, bending forward with a wet washcloth to wipe the cakey mess from my face. "Hehe, look at her! She's practically ready to jump on her new hubby, huh?"

"Sure is," Daddy smiled, and even as I slithered down from the high chair he was dealing my smelly bum another knowing pat, then taking my hand in his and escorting me and Mister Oreo back the hall. "A two-week honeymoon in the crib will be perfect for the two of you," he chuckled, and I let out a pathetic little moan at the words. Two weeks?! In my crib?! With… with them treating me like- like this?!

"Good girl! In you go," he ordered, and now Mommy Trish was there too, thrusting me firmly inward and down onto the crackling, plastic-covered mattress. Under me was Mister Oreo, gazing silently up with the same idiotic smile as ever. And as the crib bars slid upward and locked into place with a click of firm finality, I blinked back from inside my prison at my grinning "parents."

It was a horrifying contrast. There they stood, hand in hand: a proper adult couple, so beautiful and sexy and mature. And here I lay: a babyfied adult woman, squirming disconsolately in my crib atop my stuffy "husband," my full and smelly diaper showing the entire world that this was precisely where I belonged.  

"See? This is exactly right for you, Molly!" Mommy Trish reminded me, with a knowing wink at Daddy Dan. "You can stay in there during your honeymoon, dribbling and pooping and humping your brains out all you like. You're just our little baby now, and good little babies love how their diapers feel, don't you? Especially when they're wet and messy and sticky…"

The vibrator kicked into high gear at her command, and I let out a strangled bleat of pleasure, thighs quivering as I sank unwillingly down into the fluffy depths of my stuffy hubby. Oh, god- this felt so- so good! And yet… oh, so humiliating… so very humiliating…

As if that ever mattered to my stupid subby self.

I began writhing forcefully before them, humping in pathetic obedience to my Bigs and the call of my own stupid body. I was a dumb, horny, brainless baby girl now, and I was done pretending otherwise. Humping her stuffy nonstop in her giant, messy diaper. Too little for anything else. Too little to control her urges… or walk… or talk… or even think. Just humping… delicious, humiliating humping…

Which was, everyone now knew, exactly what I deserved. I was Baby Molly now, after all.

The End