Attention

This is a story. A story about Daniel and Jane. After reading this, one might think that it should be Jane and Daniel. But at the start of it all, Daniel came first. Daniel always came first.

The two had met as teenagers. Fallen in love. Gotten married. It hadn’t mattered that Mother and Father had disapproved of Daniel; thought he was sleazy; thought he wanted her just for her good looks and her money.

It might have been true, to a certain extent. Jane WAS rich, (or rather her family was). Father ran a big independent insurance agency that he’d bought from Grandfather who’d bought from Great-Grandfather and so on.

Insurance was a good business. Someone would come into Father’s office and place a bet. They’d bet that they were going to get into a car accident, or that their house was going to catch fire, or that they were going to die. Father would bet that their car would be fine, their house would stay standing, and that they’d live for another year.

Most of the time, Father won that bet, and the loser would happily pay up.

Combine this with a shrewd stock investment portfolio, and no member of Jane’s family really had to work a day in their life. They lived in a gated country club, in houses big enough to be considered luxurious but just small enough to not technically be mansions.

No butlers, but there were housekeepers that popped in on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays just to “tidy up”. Before preschool, Jane had never been to a daycare, and whiled away her infant and toddler years with a private babysitter who was really just a uniform and a posh British accent away from being a proper nanny.

If they weren’t rich they were at least Upper Upper Upper Middle Class. Comfortable. Very comfortable. The kind of comfortable where the only reason to work was to accrue more wealth for the next generation. Otherwise, they might never need to work.

Daniel?

Daniel had nothing. No family. He was “estranged” from them and they lived out of state. No house. When they started dating, Daniel had been couch surfing on various friends’ dime. No steady job, just a dream at launching a web series of reviews, like the Nostalgia Critic.

Neither Mother, Father, or Jane knew who that was and they certainly didn’t see the appeal once they did.

“He’s not good for you,” Mother had lectured her. “It’s like he doesn’t even see you. You’re not a person to him. Just hips and breasts and money.”

That’s what Jane liked about Daniel, though. When you’re not even twenty, lust feels a lot like love. Physical attraction can be an amazing substitute for personal chemistry.

“He’s a man, Mother.” Jane had written the concern off. “Simple as that. Don’t you remember when Father looked at you like that?”

“When was the last time he paid for dinner? Or wanted to do something you wanted to do? Or just wanted to do nothing at all with you and be in the same room with you?”

Jane had waved it off. “He’s rough around the edges, sure. But I can change him.”

“A man like that?” Mother laughed. “The only thing you’ll be changing about him are his diapers!”

That conversation happened nearly ten years ago. Daniel and Jane had been married for eight. Happily married, too. Or so Jane thought…

At present, Jane stood in the kitchen making dinner. Chopping vegetables. Humming to herself. Boiling water. Setting the oven to broil. Daniel loved steak and she’d mastered a pan seared oven roasted combo that was as good as the grill.

Tonight was steak night. Daniel was always in a good mood on Steak Night.

She’d become the good housewife like she’d always imagined. A “domestic goddess” she liked to think (sometimes jokingly), when she scrubbed the bathroom tile. She looked every bit the happy homemaker.

Her red lipstick perfectly matched her nails, and her white high heeled shoes complemented the half apron tied around her waist. Her slender yet buxom frame was cloaked by a tasteful dark blue dress that bordered on purple. June Cleaver eat your heart out. Daniel had a thing for that 1950’s housewife aesthetic that never really existed outside of television.

Her shoulder length blonde hair was so perfectly dyed that you wouldn’t know it was natural. She even went to the trouble and bleached her eyebrows… Daniel had a thing for blondes, too.

She had changed for him. Lots of things. And the changes had spiced things up again.

Last year…

But as with all things, that faded. Jane had kept the look going both because she’d found she liked it as well as the increasingly vain hope that Daniel’s interest might perk up again.

“How was work today, hon?” She called out from the tiny kitchenette of their home. It was no house in the country clubs. One bathroom. One Bedroom. Rented too. The only thing that made it a house and not an apartment was that they didn’t have neighbors and there wasn’t a big fancy company responsible for the majority of the repairs.

Lots of things had changed.

Daniel sat at the tiny dinner table, sipping on scotch. They lived relatively cheap, but Daniel loved his expensive drinks. He put the glass down so he could take another puff from his cigar. “It was fine,” he droned.

He wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were glued to his phone, as some youtube personality or another rambled on about the latest movie that was streaming. His eyes glazed over with wasted dreams, boredom and alcohol.

Daniel had changed too.

She’d already set the table. He just sat there in his blue button up shirt and an ugly orangish red plaid jacket and pants. He was still skinny, but had lost a lot of the muscle tone he’d had in his younger days. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and had a frankly ugly patch of stubble growing on his face. If she was June Cleaver, he was a used car salesman.

If only he was a used car salesman…

Daniel had never broken into the youtube reviewer industry, and it never paid off for him. It rarely did. The internet was just another brand of entertainment, and to make it in entertainment you had to have perseverance, talent, charisma, the ability to adapt, and more than a little luck.

Things Daniel just didn’t have in any great abundance…

Jane chided herself for thinking that. She loved him. She was his wife. He was her husband.

Daniel had taken a job at a call center. He wore the shirt and jacket so he’d feel better about being a telemarketer. “A real businessman” look. But it just hung off of him like a cheap suit.

It paid well. Not great. Better than minimum wage. But not secure. Not successful. Especially with Daniel drinking and smoking up the profits.

They weren’t starving by any definition of the world. They always had clean clothes, rent was always on time, and discount supermarket steak was still steak if you cooked it before it spoiled.

But there was nothing in savings. They were living bill to bill and they still needed help from Jane’s family to pay a good chunk of expenses. Even that didn’t get rid of the mounting credit card debt. Daniel might have been able to pay more if not for some of the tastes he’d acquired. Apparently cigars, alcohol, and dry cleaning were necessities in his current line of work.

Something about stress relief, or living the good life or only living once or some other such thing that sounded great when they were teens but less and less with that behind them. Jane was never quite sure and Daniel didn’t give much explanation beyond it.

Father had refused to help support them unless they agreed to sign a prenuptial agreement. They didn’t. When you’re only a few months away from twenty, marriage is all about love and trust. A prenup was the opposite of that and she and Daniel loved each other very much.

Thankfully, Mother snuck checks in the mail every few months anyways, so they never went hungry. Under “For” Mother always wrote “The Baby”. At first, Jane thought it was her mom’s gentle encouragement to start a family.

Eight years later, Jane wasn’t so sure.

A man like that? The only thing you’ll be changing about him are his diapers!

Again, Jane chided herself. She was his wife, not his mother! She only cooked his meals. And cleaned the house. And his laundry. And picked up his dry cleaning. And bought his food. And was in charge of paying the rent and utilities. And the credit card bills…

And the sex was happening less and less often…

And she was lonely…

And she was closer to thirty than she was to twenty…

And Daniel had been acting…different.

Worse than usual.

He drank. He smoked. He watched videos on his phone. He waited for dinner. Most nights he’d put the phone down just long enough to inhale his food, wipe his mouth on his sleeve, and then walk away. Sometimes to their bedroom. Other times, just out.

The tiny decorative cactus on the table wasn’t the only thing that was prickly in the house. With each passing day, Jane was feeling more and more like she was just part of the furniture. One didn’t thank the sink when the dishes were washed. And one didn’t bring the oven flowers.

There was the old superstition about the “Seven Year Itch”. A man’s heart (and other things) would start to wander after so long. The seven year itch and they’d been married eight. Been together longer than that.

But there was a spark still there. Jane knew it. He’d just had so many troubles that his mind was on something else. Why else would he moan her name in his sleep?

“Jaaaane,” he’d whisper in the middle of the night. “Oh, Jane. I love you. You’re so hot. Do it again, Jane. Jane…Jane…jaaaa…” And then he’d drift back off.

Daniel was just so beaten up by life that he’d just stuffed all of his feelings, that old passion for life he had deep down, poor thing. That’s why he was practically an automaton during the day. That’s why he barely talked to her some days except to ask her to do something for him. That’s why he drank and smoked and lazed around the house whenever he could bother to be in it. He was suffering from depression and was self-medicating.

He was a man struggling to reconcile with the boy he used to be.

And she was his wife. Not his mother.

And he was her husband. Not her baby.

She’d been wanting to help him by being there for him, waiting patiently for his attention. So maybe it was time to help in a different way. Help get her own needs met, too. To let the boy that he used to be go, maybe he needed something besides a wife.

Something new…

“Hmm…” He grunted when she slid dinner in front of him. Steak and veggies. Hearty. She even filled up his glass for him, and emptied the ash tray as soon as he’d snuffed out his stogie. “Thanks.”

That was a start.

She sat down at the tiny dining room table, the cactus between them and ate her own vegetables. No steak for her. Jane was a vegetarian.

“So I was thinking,” Jane said while she picked at her plate.

“Hmm?” Daniel didn’t even look up from his plate. If anything, his eyes were drifting back over to his phone. “Yeah?”

“So, you’ve finally got a steady job.”

“Yup.”

“And we’ve been married for a while.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And known each other longer.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And maybe this is just wishful thinking but…” She waited for him to look up. To say something. Finally she lost patience. “Maybe we could talk about starting a family.”

“Yeah?” Daniel finished the last of his steak. His vegetables untouched.

“It might be nice,” Jane said. “you know? We could set up a little cot by our bed. Put some money away for diapers and such. Breast milk is free. And I’m staying home so we wouldn’t have to pay for daycare.”

Her husband took another swig of scotch.

“We could have a little you,” Jane ploughed ahead. “Or a little me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you know…” Jane batted her eyes. “Making the baby is always super fun. And if at first we don’t succeed, we could try try again…?”

Daniel stood up from the table. “I’ll think about it.” He walked out the door and got in his car. “I’ll be home later tonight. Got a thing with the guys. Don’t wait up.”

That night, it gave Jane very little comfort when she woke up to the sound of Daniel moaning her name in bed.

She got up and tiptoed around the foot of the bed to Daniel’s nightstand. Daniel just kept snoring while she took his phone off the charger.

She couldn’t. Correction: She shouldn’t. Jane had known his password for some time; he still used his old highschool student number…

“Oh…Jane….I love you…” Daniel moaned. “So damn much. Marry me.” File that under things he never said to her while awake. It had been her to suggest marriage to him back in the day. His first question had been whether he’d gotten her pregnant or not…

Seven year itch.

A man like that? The only thing you’ll be changing about him are his diapers!

Teeth clenched and breath held, Jane punched in the password and looked through his phones.

No texts. Nothing suspicious anyhow. Random texts and reminders and asking for favors that matched her phone. Stuff sent to his friends.

Some porn hidden away in a folder. (It’s how she figured he’d had a thing for blondes and 1950’s housewife aesthetics). Nothing new added, either.

But on his call records? Over and over again, the same number kept coming up. “DJ” And it was always outgoing. Whoever or whatever this “DJ” was, Daniel called the number, but it never called him.

Even the darkness of the tiny bedroom couldn’t fully mask Jane’s frown. Fearing more and more that her husband had grown bored of her. “Who is DJ?” she mouthed. She opened the little compartment of her own nightstand and took out the latest check her mother had sent.

As always, on the “For” line, her mother wrote “The Baby” as her cruel little joke. If she was going to get her baby, Jane knew she’d need to spend that money on something else, first.

Like a detective…


Three weeks later…

“It’s bad,” the private investigator said. “Real bad.”

She was a twenty something about Jane’s age (maybe a bit younger) with a dancer’s body and dark brown hair tied up with a red scrunchy. The camouflage t-shirt and tight black shorts that stopped at her thighs made her look more like a dancer at a basketball halftime show than a detective, but maybe that was part of the point. Real detectives didn’t walk around looking like Humphrey Bogart in a trenchcoat and fedora. That was just for the movies.

And as Jane was about to find out, a young girl dressed like she was (most innocently) going to an aerobics class blended in very well where she’d been.

“How bad?”

“You might want to sit down.”

Jane did.

“So first off,” the other woman started. “I trailed him from his job at the call center like you asked. It was difficult at first. He didn’t show up that first day.”

“But he hasn’t called in sick…” Jane stopped herself, already connecting the dots. “Where was he going?”

The detective didn’t answer right away. She pulled some photos out of her printer. “One day when he did show up to work, he left early and went here.” The photo showed Daniel walking into a plain red brick building. Another shot of the same building farther out showed a sign.

“Dr. Herbert Monroe,” Jane read. “Men’s Health, specialist.”

“It’s a vasectomy clinic,” the detective said.

The urge to vomit rose up in Jane’s throat. She suppressed it with rage, instead This had all happened after she’d suggested she wanted children! He knew! That fucker knew! Jane wanted to claw out her own eyeballs in anger…or better yet, Daniel’s eyeballs.

“Do you need a minute?” the other woman asked. “I understand if you do.”

Jane took a deep breath and steadied herself. “I’m fine.”

What she saw and heard next made her less fine: “When trailing him from his office didn’t work, I followed him from home.” Jane recognized the buildings; the style if not. The docks. The industrial district. Ugly, steel and concrete things without windows. Jane had passed by it many times in her life, but had never gone deeper than a pass by on the way out of town. She always thought that part of the city was where people went to get mugged.

“Is it drugs?” Jane asked. “Is he buying? Dealing?”

The detective cocked an eyebrow. “Drugs? You’ve never been to this neighborhood before have you?”

Jane quietly shook her head.

“This is a sex dungeon called The Fourth Base.”

Jane frowned. “It doesn’t look like a sex dungeon…”

“Well yeah,” the other woman chuckled. “Most sex dungeons don’t. It’s not a strip club. They keep it plain and discrete.” She showed a closer photograph. “You can’t even see the name of the place unless you’re right at the door. The Fourth Base advertises through word of mouth and online. It’s run by a woman who works under the name ‘Domme Jane’.” Then she added. “And no, that’s not likely her real name.”

“DJ…” Jane whispered.

“Beg pardon?”

Jane blinked and willed back tears. That’s why she’d heard her name moaned so often in his sleep. Her husband wasn’t actually dreaming about her. There wasn’t just another woman. There was an entirely different Jane.

“Nothing. Thank you ma’am. If there’s nothing else…” There wasn’t. She paid the investigator in cash, and then walked away.


“Whoah whoah whoah!” Domme Jane said. “Slow down. You’re Leo’s wife? I didn’t even know he was married.” She pushed a box of tissues across her desk and bid Jane to take one.

Jane took more than one and blew her nose so hard, one could be forgiven for thinking a flock of geese was passing overhead.

This was a hard conversation to have. Possibly for both of them. So strange too, Jane thought.
Domme Jane had met her at the door when she’d knocked, and just before the woman could finish telling her that they weren’t open yet, Jane managed to blurt out, “I need your help!”

So now, here they were: In the Domme’s office. A perfectly bland and normal looking room lit by fluorescent lights that just happened to also have a spanking bench and a wall of sex toys as well. Even with the paddles and ball gags, this was the most “normal” looking room she’d seen in the building. Her office was in the back of the building, and Jane was treated to a quick tour on the way over.

The two women seemed to be dark mirrors of each other. The other woman’s hair was black like raven’s feathers and tumbled down past her shoulder blades. Her clothing was equally dark; a leather dress that stopped at her upper thigh, and matching boots that went up well past her knees. Black gloves and a light gray coat for the ever present chill. The air was turned all the way up. Lots of body heat and sweat in a sex dungeon, Jane supposed.

But her face was shaped much the same as Jane’s. Her body was just as shapely too, and with clothes so tight that much wasn’t left to the imagination. Maybe Daniel did have a type…it just wasn’t confined to blonde housewives.

“I am so sorry Leo did this to you,” the mistress said.

“His name’s Daniel, actually,” Jane sniffed.

Domme Jane took out a cigarette and placed it into a holder. Jane had only seen one of those before in Cruella De Ville’s hands. This woman, at the least seemed much kinder. “Right.
Right. Daniel. Sorry. Most of my clients don’t tell me their real names.” She lifted up the holder, and one of the men beside her lit it for her. She took a long drag before exhaling.

“Can I ask why they’re here?” Jane indicated the two men on either side of the dungeon’s owner. They also wore all black, but the effect was far less seductive. Black denim and biker boots. Button up shirts and leather jackets. These weren’t gimps (Gimps? Was that the word?) They looked more like bouncers. Real shit kickers. Big too. The kind of men that Daniel might deride as “goons”.

Domme Jane spared a look at either man. “Sorry. Andrew and Austin are here for my own security. Sometimes clients get too handsy without permission” She took another drag. “Sometimes wives want to hurt me instead of talk to me.”

Jane wiped her nose. “I understand. That’s fair.” She wanted to hate this woman. She really did. But as angry as she was at her husband, she couldn’t find a reason to be angry with this other “Jane”. She was a business woman. Not a temptress. Daniel was cheating on Jane with this other woman, but this other woman wasn’t cheating. “I just wish I knew what to do.”

“Divorce him.” The Domme said simply. “He cheated on you. Protect yourself. If it rains, get an umbrella. If your husband cheats, get a divorce lawyer. Make him pay through the nose in alimony and child support.”

Jane felt her lip start to quiver. “My family provides most of the money.” Her voice started to tremble. “And we don’t have kids…he got a vasectomy without telling me and still won’t make love to meeeeeee!” By the time she finished the sentence she’d broken into sobs and her voice was wailing in sorrow.

The professional domme leaned forward in her chair. “Oh that fuck!” She reached over and patted Jane on the shoulder. “Honey, I’m so sorry that he did that to you. You don’t deserve that. Nobody deserves that. You look like a nice girl, too.”

The two goons stared straight ahead. Unreadable like British guards.

“I do everything for him!” Jane yelled. Her voice ricocheted off the concrete walls. “EVERYTHING! And he just ignores me and fucks around with you, and whoever else.” She blew her nose again. “No offense.”

“None taken, babe.” She waited for the woman’s crying to subside, if not stop completely. “If it makes you feel any better,” she said once the room was a tad quieter. “I’m going to stop accepting him as a client.”

Jane looked up and sniffed. “You don’t serve married men?”

“I don’t serve cheaters,” The dark haired lady clarified. “If a person’s spouse is fine acquiring my services, I’m fine giving them.” Then she added. “My husband’s cool with it.”

Jane wiped her nose again. It was still practically a faucet. “Thank you,” she said meekly.

“It’s not going to make him be a better husband or stop cheating,” Jane’s Domme counterpart replied. “But it’s the least I can do.”

“I don’t know what I did!” Jane cried. “I did everything right. I even changed how I look for him!”

“You realize I’m not marriage counselor right?”

Jane ignored her. “I do everything for him. Food. Laundry.”

“Some men are scum.” The domme walked around and put her. “They suck.” Gently she pulled on Jane’s arm and Jane stood up. She knew she was being led out. At least the bruisers were standing at ease.

Jane allowed herself to be escorted. She was too far in her head. “Half the time he acts like I’m not even there. Is it wrong to want a little attention?”

“No, honey. Not at all.”

“And he’s ALWAYS been like this. Selfish. Self-centered. Dreaming but never doing anything about it! I kept expecting him to grow out of it and to think of me for once, but he hasn’t!”

“And he probably never will…”

“It’s partly my fault, too…” Jane moaned. “I babied him at the start. Made excuses for him! Doted on him. Went along with what he wanted. Now he doesn’t even think of me as a woman any more. Some times I feel like he treats me like…like his mother!”

The pace to the front door slowed. “Hmmm…”

Jane didn’t notice, she was too lost in her own thoughts. “My own mother told me that if I tried to change him, the only thing I’d be changing was his diapers!” She nearly broke down again. God damnit…she was literally turning into her own mother; every girl’s worst nightmare. It took near herculean strength to stop her from throwing herself on the floor.

The dark haired woman stopped. “Actually…”

They were the same height but Jane was so stooped in despair that she looked up to the woman. “What?”

“If you really want to make him pay,” Domme Jane said, “I could make that happen for you.” A sinister smile spread from ear to ear.


At this point in his still young life, Daniel lacked many things: Chief among them was empathy, foresight, and impulse control. Fortunately he’d never really had those qualities, and thus never had the opportunity to miss what he didn’t have. Also among his lacking qualities was a sense of irony and an awareness of his surroundings.

Had he any awareness of his surroundings, Daniel might have realized that his wife had been looking at him strangely the last several nights. He might have noticed that she was talking less to him too. He might have seen the vengeful expression as she cooked his supper for him.

If Daniel had possessed a sense of irony, he might have (in hindsight at least) appreciated the fact that Jane was wearing the exact same blue dress and white half apron that she did last month while cooking for him, and that he was wearing the same plaid suit. The scene was now set the same as it had been when this story began.

Granted…Daniel didn’t know there was any story to tell. Not yet.

Just another day in the life. Daniel finished his scotch and put out the glass to the side so that Jane could fill it up for him when she got a minute. He picked up his cigar and puffed it a bit. So good to relax after a long day at work.

His wife hadn’t brought up baby making all month. Just the one time. A flight of fancy. The vasectomy took care to ensure that it would remain a flight of fancy if she ever got in heat again.

(That was a thing right? Except when humans did it they called it ovulating? That sounded right. Daniel had seen a youtube video somewhere that said as much.)

So if she asked again, he would bang her, go to sleep and act disappointed when it didn’t take. Eventually she’d figure it was her and give up.

Sex was too complicated, having to worry about your partner. That’s why he liked going to Fourth Base. That’s why his wife was his second favorite. It was so much easier to only worry about himself and his own needs. It didn’t help that Jane was a terrible lay, too.

He didn’t so much reflect upon all this, as much as it registered in his head. Reflection implies consideration, another ability that Daniel never really had. To him, Daniel might as well have been thinking things like the sky is blue and the grass is green and the Cubs are a shit team.

His eyes never left the screen of his phone. Not once.

A knock on the kitchen door made Daniel look up from his phone, but only in that he looked to his side to see if his scotch had been refilled. It had, but not enough.

“I’ll get it,” his wife chirped. Which was a good thing because Daniel hadn’t even thought to get up from his seat. Probably just a couple of Jehovah’s Witnesses or something.

Answering the door. Cooking the food. Cleaning the house. Doing the wash. It’s what his mom did when he was a kid. It’s what his wife did now that he was a man. It’s what women in general did. Another puff of cigar acted as a mental period on that statement.

“Oh baaaaaaby,” Jane called from the kitchen door. “Somebody’s here to see you.”

Again. He did not look up from his phone. “Huh?” he mumbled at first. With great reluctance he pressed pause and looked to his left. “Who?”

“Me.”

Daniel actually dropped his phone. Walking right in through his door kitchen door, all done up in black from head to do was the literal woman of his dreams.

IN FRONT OF HIS WIFE!

“Don’t worry,” Jane…the OTHER Jane…Domme Jane… said. “I’ll see myself in. I know Daniel’s not very good at little things like common courtesy.

Daniel’s eyes shot open as a bevy of information made its way into his brain with just that single sentence. Domme Jane knew where he lived! Domme Jane knew his real name! And when he followed Domme Jane’s gaze across the floor, Daniel also realized something else: Domme Jane was talking to Real Jane!

A thousand alarm bells rang out in Daniel’s scurrying scrambling brain.

“Honey…” Daniel stuttered. “Wh-wh-who are these people?” He started to get up. To talk? To run? Daniel didn’t bother to think even that far ahead.

Fortunately (or unfortunately as the case may be) he didn’t have to think that far ahead. A pair of strong hands landed on Daniel’s shoulders and forced him back down into his chair. He looked up and saw one of Domme Jane’s goons standing behind him. The other one was coming in the door and closing it.

“No no, Daniel,” Domme Jane said. “Please. Don’t get up. Be comfortable.”

His eyes flickered over to his wife. Why wasn’t she screaming? Why no questions? Explaining. Shouldn’t that be what he was doing? Explaining? Talking and finding a way to get out of this? “H-h-h-h…Honey? Jane?”

Pretty as she pleased, the domme took a seat at the kitchen table, right across from Daniel. He’d fantasized about something like this happening; dreamed about it, he was sure. Just not like this.

Never like this.

“She already knows,” the woman in black said. She lifted up her sunglasses and turned to wink at Jane. “And so do I.”

“Jane…I…” He looked to the kitchen door. But she’d already walked behind the goons and was now standing back in the tiny kitchen where she’d toiled tirelessly for years. “I’m sorry.” He said. “I didn’t mean to.”

The first goon walked around to join the Jane in black. He had no friends here, Daniel realized. The domme and her goons towered over him. He could leave, run maybe, but the big guys were faster than him too. The door to Daniel’s left was unguarded only because either Goon 1 or Goon 2 could easily reach it before he was even up out of his chair. His own Jane wouldn’t even look at him.

“Jane?” He called out. “Jane?”

“I don’t think she wants to talk to you right now,” Domme Jane said. “You’ve been very naughty.”

“Jane!” He called into the kitchen anyways. “I’m sorry.”

There was silence. Stupidly, Daniel thought that maybe his wife hadn’t heard him, or maybe she’d left, magically disappearing from the scene. That would be nice. It might mean that this was a nightmare…

“For what?” his wife called back, her voice uncharacteristically cold. What had happened to the sweet girl he’d married?

How much did Jane know? He could confess to everything he’d done, but what if he admitted to something that she didn’t know about. He’d be in even deeper shit than he already was. “For…um…going out and not telling you…?”

“Cheating,” Domme Jane corrected him. “It’s called cheating. You made a promise to only be with your wife and you broke that promise without her permission.” She waved a lit cigarette in his face, leaving trails of smoke brushing up against his nose.

“I’m sorry I cheated!” Daniel blurted out. “It was wrong of me! I’m sorry!”

Another long pause and silence from the kitchen. For the first time he could actively remember he wanted to see Jane. “And?”

“And getting a vasectomy without telling you….?” He cringed. This wasn’t good. If she knew about Domme Jane then she probably knew about him taking himself out of the gene pool.

Another pause. This one not quite as long as the one before. “And?”

Despite himself, Daniel snorted. “That’s it…?” He honestly couldn’t think of anything else he’d done wrong.

Domme Jane didn’t move, not in any noticeable way that Daniel could see. Yet the two goons that acted as her body guards seemed to react to some kind of unseen, nearly psychic signal. Goon 1 reached across the table tossed the empty plate away.

The sound of the plate shattering made him jump. That gave the woman in black just the opening she needed to snatch the cigar out of his mouth and drop it in his glass of scotch, ruining both. “You won’t be needing these anymore.”

Goon 2 took that as a cue to walk around the table and roughly grab Daniel’s bicep, yanking him up by the arm. Daniel might as well have been a puppy being held up by the scruff of his neck. He wasn’t pulled far, just around to the long end of the table where he was forced face down.

“Ooof!” he grunted. Both of the goons were holding him down. His top half was pinned to the table. “What do you think you’re doing?” He felt slender, but strong hands snake around his waist and undo his belt. Just as quickly, he realized his pants were around his ankles. His boxers too. He was bare assed and bent over. “What are you going to do?!”

“There are people in the world,” he heard Domme Jane say, “that walk around shouting ‘punish me!’ He heard the click of her heels in the kitchen. “People who break promises and hearts. People who think only of themselves.”

“RED!” he called out. That was the safeword, right? He’d never had to safeword out of a scene. Now he absolutely wanted it. “STOP! RED!” RED RED RED RED REEEED!”

The domme ignored his pleas. This wasn’t a scene. This wasn’t a session. Not for him. “People who with their thoughtless entitlement treat others like servants, or property, or furniture…” Daniel heard the sound of heels clicking back on the floor, yet Domme Jane’s voice still stayed in the kitchen. “Or wives like their mothers.”

A meaty hand yanked Daniel up by the hair and turned his head the other way around so that he could whose footsteps were clicking. Daniel now saw his wife as if for the first time: Beautiful blonde hair. Perfect makeup and immaculate nails despite slaving in a kitchen all afternoon. An elegant but simple dress and half-apron, the very depiction of a domestic goddess. The real Jane was every bit as beautiful and alluring as the woman who shared her name.

And she was holding a spanking paddle. And she looked pissed!
A few more clicks and Jane disappeared behind Daniel. One of the goons reached into his pocket and shoved a black bag over Daniel’s head. The world went dark. Dark and quiet. It was in those few seconds of anticipation, in the dark and silence, and that Daniel felt well and truly afraid.

THWACK!

Daniel’s backside was lit ablaze by the first swing of the paddle

“AAAAH FUCK!”

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

Instinctively, Daniel reached back and tried to cover his ass, tried to cushion the blows that were beginning to rain down on his backside. The goons saw that he didn’t, pinning them behind his back.

“RED! RED! RED!” No quarter was given. The only thing that would be red was his bottom as again and again, his own wife spanked him like he was a three year old at K-Mart.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

She was alternating cheeks now. Soon the color of his flesh might go from beet and flushing red to black and blue of bruises.

He tried to kick once, not caring who was behind him, but the but his own pants acted as a kind of shackles preventing him from doing more than scooting and shuffling impotently in place. The goons must have realized what he’d been thinking though, otherwise they wouldn’t have twisted his arm more until he stopped.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

Anger and instinctive rebellion gave way to pain and humiliation. Paddled like a naughty child! In his own house! By his own wife! The sack over his head made things worse. He couldn’t focus on anything, couldn’t stare off in the distance. Couldn’t use his eyes to try and zone out and stare at his beloved phone.

There was only the pain of wood being smacked into him and the sound of his flesh being spanked. Again. And again. And again.

The hood had a secondary effect: Even though he was being held down and knew exactly where he was, he still felt isolated. Oddly alone. And that isolation combined with overwhelming pain and embarrassment caused the tears to start leaking from his eyes. He couldn’t keep any kind of guard or barrier any longer.
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

How awful! He was being spanked and literally crying about it. And he couldn’t stop. Crying turned to sobbing. Sobbing turned to bawling and his whole body shook, not just from his own tortured cries of physical pain but from going past the edge of a complete emotional breakdown.

“UH-HUH-UH-UH-UH-UH! AAAAAAAAAAWAAAAAAAA!”

The spanking stopped. The crying didn’t. It should have. Trapped in his own head, Daniel would have loved to be able to stop bawling like an infant on cue. That way he could tell himself it had all been an act; a clever ploy to get the pain to stop.

But they just wouldn’t stop, continuing to streak down his face. Even when the bag was off and he was staring up at Jane’s- his Jane’s- smirking, passive face.

“Is…is that it?” He asked between gulps of air, wishing desperately he had his hands free so he could wipe the snot off of his upper lip and clean away the tears. “Are we…are we…done?”

“Oh baby,” Jane said. Gently she reached out. He flinched as she wiped away the water and snot on his face with handkerchief. “No. No, no, no. Not by a long shot.”

He was stood back up. His pants were pulled on and fastened back on for him. And then Goon 1 and Goon 2 hooked his arms and carted him out of the door and into a waiting van. “Wait?” Daniel shrieked. “What are you doing?! Where are we going? WHERE ARE YOU TAKING M-!”

His cries of protest were cut off by the slamming of the kitchen door.


“Congratulations,” the domme said to the jilted housewife. “You’re a natural.”

Jane patted the paddle in the palm of her hand. That had felt good. Intoxicating, even. And like so many intoxicating things, the first shot was never enough. “I…I really liked that!”

“I could tell,” her counterpart smiled. “I’d definitely say the impression you made on him in phase one will make phase two a lot easier for you.”

Jane squeaked a bit. It had been a while since anyone had complemented her so. That was about to change. Speaking of change. “Should I dress more like…” she indicated the intense and sexy black number that the professional was wearing. “I don’t think I have boots that go that high up.”

Domme Jane laughed. “Oh no no no, honey. What you’re wearing is fine. More than fine for what I have in mind. Even better than what I’ve got on for where we’re going.”

The housewife blinked. “Where are we going?”

“Grab your car keys,” the domme said. “We’ll follow the van.”


“Where are you taking me?” Daniel demanded to know. “Where are we going?” Daniel didn’t know. The bag was back over his head and his sense of direction was sketchy at best. He lacked the presence of mind to count stops or turns or times between them. He really was going in blind.

“What’s happening?! Please tell me!” The goons didn’t answer. Goon 1 just kept driving, and Goon 2 sat beside him, draping his arms over Daniel’s shoulders; a cat pinning a mouse under its paw, just letting it know that the claws could come out at any time if it struggled or squeaked too much.

“Please!” he begged. “At least talk to me. I didn’t do anything wrong!” Silence. “I didn’t do anything illegal anyways! Nothing that should get me kidnapped,” he gulped. “Or killed.” The answer he got in reply was the flexing of Goon 2’s bicep, in a kind of lazy threat of a headlock. (Or maybe it was Goon 2 who was doing the driving and Goon 1 who was silently threatening him. He never could tell the difference between the two. Had never even heard them talk.) “Can either of you even talk?"

Instead of getting an answer, the radio came on blaring music louder than Daniel’s ears could stand. It wasn’t even thrash metal or something two giant mooks would likely listen to.

“When something isn’t right, it haunts me day and night

Don’t need no crystal ball to tell me all the reasons why
I see you’re hiding out, it makes me wanna shout
So tell me here and now, am I someone you could live without?”

It was that poppy, techno crap that teenage girls listened to. Wanna be bubblegum sugar rock trying to sound hard, but really could be heard in any club anywhere. The kind of thing he’d have lambasted and turned apart for laughs if his youtuber star had ever risen.

“I’m losing all control
So you got to let me know
I don’t want to take it slow
Do you want me? (Do you want me?)”

Daniel didn’t listen to the other lyrics. He was too busy crying, afraid of what his life was about to come.

“Jaaaaaaaaaaaane!” he moaned in despair. “Jaaaaaaaane!”

At least the music was loud so they couldn’t hear him whine. At least the ride lasted long enough so that he ran out of self-pitying tears.

When the van came to the stop, Daniel heard the side door slide open and he was pushed out blind. The other goon was there to catch him, and once again he was arm in arm in arm being marched away against his will.

The hood only came off when they were inside. Daniel didn’t recognize the interior; just a long, gray hallway, poorly lit, poorly insulated, and very empty.

The sound of footsteps and a menacing silhouette greeted him. “Bring him here, fellas,” the woman in black’s voice echoed commandingly down the corridor.

This. This was too much. In a burst of sudden speed that surprised even him, Daniel whirred and ran for the door. “No!” He said, running for the door. The benefit of the hallway was that he knew which way to run.

His sprint didn’t last long. The goons weren’t just stronger than him. They hooked him by the arms and lifted. This time, he was being carried backwards, forced to watch the door to freedom get smaller and smaller while the distance to his doom remained uncertain. He kicked and struggled, but to no avail. “NOOOOOOOOOO.”

The sound of a door swinging open. A rush of air. The world going topsy turvy as he was casually thrown in and went airborne. A surprisingly comfortable fall. Padded floors. If not for the stinging in his ass, it might not have hurt at all.

A padded room? A mental ward? Daniel rubbed his eyes. Not a mental ward. But for a moment he did question his sanity. Bright rainbow colors. Foam mats made to look like cute little puzzle pieces. Dollies and stuffed animals.

A nursery? A baby’s play room? A daycare?

Before he was able to voice any of these confusions, his vision was filled with beauty. He locked eyes with Domme Jane just long enough to realize it was her. “Jane?” Her upturned palm was filled with white powder.

“Not your Jane. ” Seductively she pouted her lips, inhaled, and blew the snowy stuff into his face. “Not like you’re thinking.”

Daniel sniffed. The scent of fresh lavender tickled his nose. “Baby powder?” Before he’d uttered that last syllable though, he knew something was wrong. The room started spinning. His face felt flushed, then numb. A trail of drool was already starting to drip from the corners of his mouth. His head felt very…very…heavy.

“Not baby powder,” he heard another voice. “At least not like you’re thinking.”

“Ja-?” Daniel’s eyes rolled into the back of his head just as he passed out.

oh man, this is fantastic. I can’t wait to read more.

I overlooked the part where this said complete.

There will be more. There’s one additional chapter that I’m releasing this weekend. It’s already written, though.

Unconsciousness was a small blessing for Daniel. Hours passed in the blink of an eye. He did not feel the scissors cutting away his clothes, shredding up his privacy into fine bits of scrap to be burned. He did not feel the shaving razors gently gliding and scratching away his body hair, erasing his secondary signs of virility and puberty. He didn’t feel lotions and powders being applied or what could only loosely be described as “underwear” being taped back on him.
He didn’t even dream. He was simply groaning and losing consciousness one minute, and then in the blink of an eye, he was groaning and regaining it again. The span of what could have been several hours or even days had been condensed into ten seconds or so from Daniel’s point of view.

The fact the scenery hadn’t changed in that time between time didn’t diminish the illusion. Like a doll carefully placed in a diorama, Daniel woke up in the exact same position that he’d fallen in. The drugs still clearing from his foggy brain, he didn’t scream or question as much as grunted and groaned in confusion.

He was chilly and he ached. Even the most cursory glance confirmed why. He frowned and squinted, unsure if what he was seeing was real. Bare chest, bare arms, bare legs and feet. All impeccably smooth; baby smooth. Bare bot….: Correction, not bare bottom.

The part time telemarketer stared at the puffy plastic backed thing taped around his hips. This had to be some kind of joke, right? White, with red, blue, and green cartoon animals stenciled all over, the garment crinkled with every miniscule movement that Daniel made. It had a kind of rough velcro on it and four tapes holding the things together. Other than that minor difference it looked like a…like a…

Daniel opened his mouth and felt just how terribly dry it was. Was he wearing a diaper? Not even an old person’s diaper; more like something a kid would wear.

Gingerly, Daniel sat all the way up and poked at it. A spark traveled from his finger tip and raced up his shoulder and down his spine. Touching it made it more real. Further inspection made it more real. It was a diaper, not just something that looked like a diaper until one more fully woke up.

Again, he gave it another poke. Having absolutely no experience in childcare and a lack of interest that bordered on willful ignorance of a basic life skill, Daniel wasn’t sure if the diaper was wet or not. Maybe a nother poke…?

“Careful diaper boy,” a familiar voice grabbed his attention.
Daniel’s head whipped up away from examining his padded crotch. “Huh?” He knew that voice. “Jane?”

A slender form clothed in a dark blue dress walked into Daniel’s field of view. Jane. Just not the Jane Daniel was expecting (or perhaps hoping for). Blonde hair framed a sweetly smiling face, and ruby red lips. The last few minutes of his consciousness played back to him. “Hi, baby.”

The perimeter of his vision unblurred and the bright and colorful nursery popped back into his brain. He was laying on a foam mat made up of brightly colored puzzle pieces. To one side was a shelf of children’s books. To another were piles of dolls and stuffed animals. Behind his wife were wooden blocks and tiny plastic trains. Wearing a diaper suddenly made a lot more sense in this context; or at the very least it fit the theme.

“Oh shit!” Daniel said to Jane. “They got you too? The fuck?! What are we gonna do?!” Then it hit him that Jane was dressed more or less as she always dressed. Nothing had happened to her. “Why aren’t you wearing a diaper?”

The sound of Jane’s laughter was not unknown to him, but Daniel’s wife hadn’t done so in such a long time that it sounded an almost ghostly and unfamiliar thing. “Oh, Daniel,” she sighed. “Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. You’ve got it all wrong.”

“Huh?” Daniel started to ask. “Wha-?” That was when his wife reached into the pocket of her half apron and stuck a pacifier in his mouth.

“Shhhhh…” Jane hushed. “Mommy’s talking right now. It’s time for you to listen.” The shock of his situation, reinforced by a gentle tap on the bottom of his chin and the top of his head assured Daniel’s compliance.

“You’ve been very naughty,” she said. “Very neglectful. You’ve cheated on me. You’ve lied to me. Ignored me. And the moment my parents cut us off is when you lost interest in me as anything other than your maid. You haven’t been a husband, you’ve been a dependent. You’ve made some very bad choices.” More unnerving, than what she was saying, was the way she was saying it. It was so light and airy. And slowly spoken. The way his kindergarten teachers used to talk to him and over-explain everything in soft and gentle terms.

Quickly she bent over and slipped two fingers into the leg cuffs of Daniel’s diaper. “Still dry,” she said. “Maybe you CAN pay attention to something. Who knows, after today I might decide that you’re big enough for potty training.”

Another attempt at speaking was cut off with a simple pressing of the pacifier’s shield to his lips. “Shhhhh….And then you went and got a vasectomy so that I couldn’t get my child. But that’s okay. I don’t need one anymore. I have you.”

“Mmmm?”

“If the diaper fits, diaper boy.” The grin was looking less and less pleasant as the conversation continued.

Daniel shifted to his knees and grunted. No way was he taking this shit lying down. His blood boiled. His teeth gnashed around the pacifier. No way was Jane doing this to him! No way was he gonna let her!

If he wanted to, he could stand right up. He could stand right up and run right out the room. Diaper or no diaper, he could outrun Jane in her heels. If he wanted to he wouldn’t even have to run, just teach Jane a lesson.

Diaper or no diaper, it wouldn’t even be a fight. What was it his father had told him so long ago? “What do you tell a woman with two black eyes? Nothin’. She’s already been told twice.” He could fix that. He could tell the bitch twice.

A light cough got Daniel’s attention before he could so much as lift a finger. They weren’t alone in this mock up of a nursery playroom. The goons were here too. Flashes of literally getting his ass beat in his own kitchen while the much larger and stronger men held him down came back to Daniel.

Daniel didn’t feel quite so big and tough anymore.

Jane stepped away long enough for Daniel to get a good look at the goons. Something new had been added to their arsenal. One of them was holding a video camera, high end from the look of it.

One of the big men was pointing the camera directly at Daniel in all of his infantile non-glory. The other stood beside his cohort with his arms crossed. He made the briefest eye contact with Daniel and nodded.

The goons didn’t talk, but that was normal for them. The Fourth Base’s security guards never uttered a peep. And peeps weren’t needed. What did you say to a man who’d been spanked and diapered like a trailer park toddler? Nothing. He’d already been told loud and clear.

Yeah. Daniel knew: Step out of line, and a vengeful wife would be the least of his worries. A sore bottom was better than broken bones and damaged pride would heal much more quickly in the short term.

His wife returned carrying some toys: Toy trains, to be specific. Tiny little plastic things on plastic wheels; an engine and two cars. “Why don’t you play with these?” Jane suggested. “You look like you want to do something with your hands.”

Daniel looked past Jane and to the two man mountains staring at him from across the room. “Oh don’t mind them,” Jane said. “They’re new friends of Mommy’s and just making us some home movies. Just pretend they’re not here.” She paused for a moment. “Now play.” For the first time a bit of edge creeped into his wife’s voice.

Daniel leaned over onto all fours so he could balance and continued sucking on the pink pacifier. Slowly, in timid little jerks and tugs, Daniel started moving the tiny caravan of plastic around the mat.

“Muuuuch better!” Jane cooed at him. “So much more pleasant and stimulating than just sitting at the dinner table and watching your phone. Now you’re actually doing something!”

His cheeks flushed hotter with every syllable that came out of her mouth.

Eyes on the floor, he felt her pull open the back of his diaper and pat his bottom. “Just in case,” she said.

Her shoes came back into view. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” Jane told him. “If I decide you’re not worth it, I’m divorcing you. And because on paper at least, I don’t make any money, that means alimony for you. I’ll keep our tiny house. You’ll spend years paying me.” Daniel sucked a little harder on the pacifier, swallowing hard. It still might be worth it…

“And before you think of cutting your losses,” Jane interrupted his thoughts. “Remember this.” The Goons walked up, camera shouldered and filming. “If I divorce you, I’m sending this tape to your employer. I’ll find a way to get it to anyplace that hires you, too. I’ll send it to your friends who you used to mooch off before we started dating. I’ll send it to any new friends. Everyone you meet will find out exactly the type of person you are.” Her voice went back to that cooing baby talk tone. “You’re Mommy’s widdle baby who needs her to cook and cwean for him and put him to bed and change his diapees.”

Daniel said nothing, and just kept playing with his trains.

“Do I have your attention, now?” Jane asked, sounding more in charge than she ever had before.

Daniel couldn’t look at her. There was the camera. Instead, he just looked at her feet. Just like in the cartoons, the woman calling herself his Mommy seemed to stop at just above the knees.

“Let’s begin.”


I CAN DO BETTER
I CAN DO BETTER
I CAN DO BETTER
I CAN DO BETTER
I CAN DO BETTER
I CAN DO BETTER
I CAN DO BETTER

Jane sat in the rocking chair as Daniel wrote lines on the easel chalkboard. The handwriting was big and clunky, and all the letters were childishly capitalized. In part, that was because Jane had instructed her husband to write the phrase “I can do better” one hundred times with his left hand.

“Very good,” Jane smiled. “Only sixty-three more to go.” Pacifier still in his mouth, Daniel put down the chalk long enough to erase and start over again…

The capitalization also came as a natural reaction to writing with his left hand. In general, capital letters were much easier to write than lowercase. Daniel’s lack of dexterity in his non-dominant hand made it practically a necessity.

Jane had been tempted to tell him to write his punishment sentences in cursive “Like a big boy”, but the thumbs up from the domme’s muscle men behind the camera let her know that this was just fine.

The Adult Baby fetish market would eat this content up. According to Domme Jane, it wouldn’t matter to viewers that most people young enough in diapers weren’t old enough to write punishment lines (or that that form of school age discipline had long been fading out of favor)
They just wanted to see a grown man pushed back into a hyper funhouse mirror of a childhood that for most never actually existed. That’s what people were paying to jerk off to.

It was kind of the fetish version of the pizza delivery guy trope. No one watching it would really believe that the pizza guy might get laid by an attractive single woman while out on a delivery. A delivery driver couldn’t afford it. Even five to six minutes (and in porn it was always longer than six minutes) could hurt the poor schlubs bottom line. Might get him fired, too.

Still… it was fun to imagine being a working class stiff and finding an incredibly hot and horny woman just waiting for you. That’s how ‘Domme Jane’ explained it. Let people indulge in the fantasy even if it doesn’t really make sense.

Selling fantasies was how the woman called ‘Domme Jane’ made her money. It was how she was going to make even more money and how Jane was going to take back control of her life. That was the deal: She’d give Jane the tools and training needed to bring Daniel back in line and get his just desserts, and in return Daniel’s humiliation would be filmed and sold. Jane didn’t even feel a tiny bit guilty that she’d lied to Daniel. No matter what he did today, people were going to see him diapered and dominated on film; it was just a matter of ‘who’ saw it: Horny pervs looking for a Mommy domme fantasy, or potential employers. He’d lied to her about bigger things so this just made them square.

Maybe, if he was really good, she’d ask her benefactor to change the names in the credits, so that Daniel could have some form of plausible deniability.

Maybe…

As long as Daniel was properly broken and chastised, Jane didn’t much care.

“Very good!” She chirped as he was erasing yet again. “Forty-nine to go.”

Daniel “Mommy,” Daniel mumbled over his pacifier. “Can I pweathe fwitch handf?”

A thin smile spread out over her lips. “I don’t think so, diaper boy,” she replied. “We both know how naughty you can get with that hand.” Inwardly, Jane was cheering. Without any prompting or correction, he was already calling her ‘Mommy’. During her whirlwind training and planning sessions with the domme, Jane had been told that she was a natural. A natural Mommy.

While he wrote I CAN DO BETTER more and more, Jane noticed her husband sneak his right hand to his stomach. Good. The suppository she’d slipped in just before he regained consciousness was starting to take effect.

People would pay good money for messing content, Jane was told. And Daniel had earned it, too. “You’re doing very well, baby!”


Daniel’s left hand ached something fierce. Handwriting was in itself a dying art. Beyond greeting cards and signatures, Daniel didn’t know of anyone past highschool who still wrote stuff by hand. Combined with the fact that he wasn’t using his dominant hand, had made writing punishment lines both excruciating and slow. He didn’t even have proper muscle memory to rely on.

Yet the ache in his digits and wrist distracted him from the building storm in his abdomen. Carefully he enunciated around the big pink pacifier in his mouth. “I’m done, Mommy,” the diaper boy said after the hundredth line.

Diaper boy. That’s what Jane kept calling him. Mommy. That’s what she kept calling herself.

Daniel went along with it and didn’t object or dare try to call his wife by her name or remind her of their real relationship. He was in no position to make demands. So “Mommy” it was.

Jane stood up from the rocking chair and inspected the final bit of his handiwork. It was strange, Daniel thought, how well into the surroundings she fit. More amazing was how it seemed to change her. In the kitchen wearing her modest dress, pearls, and half-apron, she was a housewife. Beautiful, but docile. Feminne and convenient. Loving but sexless. Faithful but subservient.

Here in this mock nursery, with it’s bright rainbow colors and babyish stencils on the wall, the tone changed and with it her beauty. She was gentle but powerful. Feminine and in charge. Sexual but in control. She looked like a daycare attendant, or a preschool teacher, or well…a Mommy, and what was ‘Mommy’ but the first word that children learned to love and fear?

“Very good, Daniel,” she said in mock praise. “I knew you could do it. Mommy’s so proud of you.”

A cramp in his gut disrupted his concentration. “Fank…Thank you…Mommy.” Stuck in a nursery, naked save for a cartoon decorated diaper, and writing punishment lines like Bart Simpson, Daniel also looked like he belonged; but not in a way that any sane person would want to be. Where’d anybody get these diapers anyway?

“Now,” Jane said. “Ask me what’s next.” She folded her hands in front of her, waiting for a response.

Another cramp caused Daniel to visibly wince. Nervously, he looked to his right. The goons were still there, filming. Over the back of Jane’s shoulder, there was a massage table that had teddy bear sheets tucked over it. It was a big clunky thing with shelves, stacked with folded rectangular things.

From a distance, Daniel might have assumed they were towels or something, but the red, blue, and green hues and a pinch of common sense told Daniel what they really were. That meant that the white cylinder and the rectangular box were probably baby powder and wipes. This room even had a changing table.

“Can I go to the bathroom?” Daniel asked.

“Ask me what’s next.” Jane repeated herself, her gaze impassive. Her tone unchanging.

Daniel frowned and pursed his lips “Ja-!”

WHACK!

The whine of protest hadn’t even left his mouth when a perfectly manicured hand stung across his face. The one thing that did leave his mouth was the pacifier, going sailing across the nursery and bouncing till it rolled into the wall.

“Baby diaper boys don’t get to use grown-up’s names!” Jane shouted at him. “Now do it right.”

She slapped him! She actually slapped him! More than the spanking, this shook Daniel beyond words. The absolute decisiveness. The aggression. The complete and total lack of hesitancy or fear. Who was this woman and what had she done with his wife?! Unconsciously, he imagined her with black hair and a cigarette. Was this his Jane? His wife?

“Mommy,” he corrected himself. “Can I please go to the bathroom?”

“You mean the potty?”

“Yes.”

“Then ask correctly, crinkle butt.”

The cramps had advanced from occasional stabbing in his abdomen to a consistent belly ache and a slight desire to push from his body. There was a bullet in the chamber and it was ready to fire.

Wincing, Daniel asked again. “Mommy? Can I please go potty?”

Jane tilted her head to the side and tapped her chin as if in thought. “Hmmm…no.”

“NO?”

Her hand snapped out and pinched his cheek. “You’re just so cute in your diapers,” she baby talked to him. “It’d be such a waste to have you go potty all by yourself. You’re far too immature for such a big thing.”

“But-”

“If you need to go,” she cut him off, “you can just go potty in your diaper. That’s what it’s there for.”

Daniel said nothing but grimaced. She wasn’t serious, was she? The unwavering tone and the unblinking eyes made him suspect as much.

Jane pointed to a suspension harness. “What if I put you in a bouncer and put some cartoons on for you? It’d be just like when you sit at the dinner table and tune out the world.”

“Hon-” He stopped himself. “Mommy. Please! I really need to go!”

“Go?” She was waiting for him to say it.

“POTTY!” He was on the verge of tears from frustration if not pain.

Her hands went to her hips and she cocked her head again. “Okay,” she said. Daniel didn’t move. “If you do the potty dance first.”

“The potty dance?”

“Of course. If you’re a big boy, prove your not an immature and dishonest diaper baby. Do the potty dance.”

Vague memories from back before kindergarten came back to Daniel. So desperate was he that he obeyed almost immediately. His hands shot to his penis and clamped down, and he squeezed his legs together and nervously shifted from foot to foot. This is what little kids looked like when they had to go to the bathroom, right? Right. The diaper made it more than a little awkward but it was manageable.

Best he’d felt so far: Hopeful. Embarrassed. But manageable.

Jane smirked. “That’s not the potty dance.”

“It’s not?” Daniel frowned.

“No. It’s not.” She walked around and yanked his hands away. “Bend over a little bit, and put your hands here.” She moved the palms of his hands to just above his knees. “Spread your legs a bit…a little more. There.” Daniel was left like he was in a one man football huddle. “Now dance.”

Daniel tried to replicate the same nervous shifting, but with the diaper he seemed less like a kid needing to go to the bathroom and more like the world’s puniest sumo wrestler. Having his stance so wide wasn’t making it any easier to hold it in.

Jane laughed at his feeble attempts. “Not like that.” She said. “Shake your hips. Thrust! Get low! Wiggle that diapered butt.”

Daniel obeyed, thrusting his hips backward and getting low. Every movement made a loud crinkling noise, like his pants were made out of plastic garbage bags (and in a way they were). It didn’t take long for him to realize what he was really doing.

“Twerking?” Daniel blushed. “I’m twerking?”

“If that makes you feel more like a man,” Jane taunted, ‘you can call it that. Now keep going.”

Like a drunken sorority girl looking to get laid, Daniel kept thrust his hips. “How long do I have to?”

“Until I tell you to stop,” his wife replied. She looked back to the goons. “Are you getting this?” One of them nodded. The other just kept filming.

“Mmmm,” Jane said. “Shake that ass, baby.” Daniel let out a pathetic little yelp when she. “Don’t forget to go side to side. Really shake that thing. Shake it like you’re desperate.”

This wasn’t hard to do. Because he was desperate. Speaking of desperation…

“Mommy….” he whined.

“Hmm?” Jane said, sounding only half interested. “You’re so cute twerking like that.”

“What about…going…potty…?”

Daniel had never been camping. He lived low on the log instead of high on the hog, but he could never remember pooping in anything other than a toilet. While he’d never given much thought to it, if pressed, he would have assumed that toilets were built the way they were because women couldn’t aim. Why not a chair with a bowl in it. He’d never even owned a dog or a cat or any other animal that squatted when it pooped.

But hunched over, squatting and thrusting his hips, with his cheeks spreading and his body getting lower and lower with Jane’s commands, his body was beginning to remember things; things Daniel used to do before he was properly toilet trained.

“Keep going,” she said. “Make it hot. Get lower. Yeeeeah…that’s it.”

“What about potty?” he repeated “I need to…I need to…” that’s when the seal broke. The suppository that had been slipped up his anus had done its job, and Daniel went just low enough, his body did the rest.

It came out as a spurt first. Daniel froze. “I didn’t say stop.” Jane said. But Daniel couldn’t obey. Beads of cold sweat started to form on his brow and the first wave leapt out of him, spilling out into the giant baby diaper.

The act was anything but quiet. On the extremely off chance that his wife didn’t hear the muffled farts or the loud plastic rustling as the diaper ballooned out beneath him to hold the mess, she definitely heard the unconscious moaning as his insides poured out.

“Ooooh,” Jane giggled “I guess that’s not the potty dance, but the diaper dance.” Frozen in humiliated terror as he was, Daniel stood statue still, like a toddler that just hadn’t been smart enough to go hide behind the couch as she planted a kiss on his cheek… “Go ahead diaper boy. Get it all out.”

The goons took this as a cue to come closer, closing in on his face to watch the tears form and start to mingle with the sweat. To watch the bottom lip tremble. To walk around and document the ever expanding and discolored padding.

And all Daniel could do was grunt, push, and lie to himself that this wasn’t happening. Lie to himself that the warmth behind and infront him (his bladder had gotten in on the act, too) wasn’t his own bodily excrement. Lie to himself that he still had some form of control and that no one was going to see this. Some part of him wanted that pacifier back, if just to block part of his face.

Pride in shambles and with no way to backpedal, Daniel managed to get the fetid fecal matter out of him in just two large pushes. It was scarily easy, like his body wanted him to soil and humiliate himself.

“Can I stop now?” He begged his Mommy-wife. “Please?”

“Did I say stop?” Jane asked. “You already went potty in your pants. So I don’t see the rush to stop.”

“But-”

“Keep. Going. Irresponsible, lying, mooching, diaper boy husbands don’t get to decide when they stop. Their Mommies do.”

Daniel was afraid. Not of the big men watching him like a hawk, idly cracking their knuckles, but of the blonde woman ordering him around. How had this happened?

“Sing.” Jane ordered.

“Sing?”

“Give yourself something to dance to. It’ll make it go by faster.

Daniel hoped that meant it would end sooner. “The wheels on the bus go round and round!” he shouted. “Round and round! Round and round! The wheels on the bus go round and round! Allll throouuugh the toooooown!”

“Awww,” Jane smiled. “You even picked an appropriate song. Such a clever boy. Now keep going.”

He did. He kept twerking and shaking his hips, feeling the diaper sag and sway with every movement, pushing up against him, his mess practically rubbing counter to the rest of his body. Plenty of not-so-playful spanks spread the mess even more. Brisk slaps to his naked thighs burned like hell and brought back more recent memories. But Daniel didn’t dare stop.

Using praise and smacks, Jane added to the choreography.

The wipers went swish, swish, swish, and Daniel had to show with his hips moving left to right.

The driver went ‘Move on back’, and Daniel had to jerk hard enough that he too went backwards.

The people went up and down, and Daniel had to nearly sit and pop back up, his plastic backed bottom just barely grazing the ground every time. The only thing burning more than his leg muscles was his shame.

He was down on his knees when it came time for the kitties and the doggies on the bus… A small part of him was thankful for that, he was getting exhausted. The very firm diaper squishes from Jane with each “Meow, meow, meow,” and “bow, wow, wow” made him less grateful.

And finally, “The babies on the bus go WAH! WAH! WAH! WAH! WAH! WAH! WAH WAH WA-AH-AH-AH-AH!” It wasn’t hard for Daniel to bawl like a baby. One toe was already past the breaking point. It was real by this point.

“Are you ready to stop?” Jane asked.

Wordlessly and tearfully, on all fours, Daniel nodded. “Yessssss…”

“Yes?”

A shudder of a sigh. “Yes, Mommy.”

He got a condescending head pat. She was looming over him. “Say please.”

“Pleeeeease.” Please just let this end. Please just let him rest. Please just make this stop. He thought of the changing table. Please let him go there. He almost didn’t care if he was going to have to have his ass wiped on camera. Almost.

“Tell me you’re a bad husband,” she coaxed.

That wasn’t hard. “I’m a bad husband.” He really was. He was only seeing it, too late.

“Now say that you’re a diaper boy.”

“I’m a diaper boy.” The knot in his throat was choking him.
“And who am I?” she asked.

The sobbing was almost overtaking him now. “Mommy.”

“And who are you?”

“A diaper boy.”

“Now put it all together.”

“I’m a diaper boy, Mommy.”

She grabbed his hand and helped him up. “Good boy.” She did not, however, take him to the changing table like he’d been secretly hoping. Weak and weary, he was led back over to the rocking chair where she’d been sitting.

His Mommy sat down and patted her lap, not saying anything. She didn’t need to. Wincing and hating himself, Daniel sat in her lap. The feeling of the dirty and wet diaper fully pressing up against him made him want to vomit. It was like being trapped in his own skin.

Easily, she leaned over and grabbed a stuffed doll, a fairly large Raggedy Ann by the looks of it. “Here,” she said. “Cuddle this. It’ll make you feel better.”

It didn’t. Not exactly. But at least it gave him something to do with his hands. No pockets.

Jane stuck her hand out to her side. Wordlessly, the goon not holding the camera came over and handed her a baby bottle. It was full of something sloshing and white. Then, with a kind of practiced smoothness she brushed the rubber nipple up against Daniel’s lips. She gave no further command, she didn’t have to.

Daniel latched on and began drinking. That brought what might have been the first sincere smile to his wife’s face since he woke up, (longer in fact). “That’s right,” she whispered just loud enough for the camera to pick up . “Drink your bottle all up. Good diaper boy. Good baby.”

The humiliated man-baby glugged it down as fast as he could, clutching onto the Raggedy Ann doll, hugging the life out of it as his lips pulled more and more of the heavy liquid into his gut. “Can I get out of this now?” he whined. “Pleeeease Mommy?”

His wife/mommy’s laughter was almost musical. “Does my diaper boy want out of that dirty stinky diaper?”

Meekly, Daniel nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Okay,” Jane said and Daniel felt a slight twinge of relief. Finally, something was going his way. “But first…you’ve got to clean up.”

The babied husband winced. “Clean up?”

“Look at all these toys,” Jane gestured all around. “Does this look like a clean nursery to you?”

He blinked. He hadn’t considered it before. There were toys scattered everywhere so that to navigate sections without stepping on something one would have to high step or crawl. There was some kind of play tent out of the corner. It was a cute mess, but it was still a mess. “No?”

Jane beamed. “That’s right! You do know the difference between clean and dirty! But do you know how to clean it up all by yourself? Mommy isn’t so sure anymore. She’s been picking up after you for sooooo long that she thinks maybe you never knew how.”

The humiliated husband barely waited for the nudge to get off her lap. “So clean up? Then I can get out of this?”

“That’s right!” she chirped?

Emboldened and slightly hopeful. “And then things can get back to normal?”

“Clean it up like you’re supposed to,” Jane said, “and I’ll forgive you.”

“And I can get out of this thing?” He pointed to his drooping rear. “Wear underwear again?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

She stuck out her pinky. “Pinky promise.” Daniel went to finish this one last humiliating task. “Just one thing,” Jane said. Daniel froze. “You look cold. Would you like something to cover up?”

Daniel thought about it. Now that his sweat was evaporating he was feeling slightly chilly. “Yes, please.”

“Yes, please…?”

Daniel bit his tongue. “Yes, please, Mommy.” Thank goodness he wouldn’t have to get used to saying that.

The goons had switched camera duty and the other one came and handed a folded up bundle to Jane. Daniel didn’t like the looks of that bundle. He had a bad idea of what it was gonna be before she unfolded it but that foreknowledge did not help.

A dress. A pink one with frills on the skirt and puffs on the sleeve and a V-neck to show off non-existent cleavage. “Arms up.” Jane said.

“I am not wearing that.”

“It’s all Mommy has for you,” Jane said. “Now hands up.”

“Daniel. Hands. Up.”

“No!”

Goon.1 was already cracking his neck. (Or maybe it was Goon 2?). But Jane gave him a sign to hold up.

Dress draped over her arm, Jane calmly approached. “Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“Do you mean that you’re not embarrassed being naked except for a dirty diaper?”

It was like the lights inside Daniel’s brain flickered for a second. “What? No. I me-…”

“Then this won’t be so bad.” She held his chin in the palm of her hand. “And this is the sort of thing Mommy wears when cleaning up after you.” That part was a lie. Jane wore dresses, but never something THAT frilly. The pink practically hurt his eyes. “Do you think you’re better than Mommy?”

The lights in his brain flickered again. Another unexpected turn. But part of this made sense to Daniel’s brain. If a husband was above a wife, than the mother was above the child. That’s how Daniel thought of it…

And right now he was paying the price by being the child.

“No, Mommy…” He raised his arms and let her pull the dress over his head. He looked down at himself and moved a little bit. It was a little tight in the shoulders but at least it was better than being naked.

His mommy took him by the elbow and placed him in a full length mirror to confirm. He looked like an idiot. The dress was not flattering at all. The frilly skirt almost made a perfect triangle, and from beneath that triangle…

Damnit! The skirt didn’t even cover his diaper! If he stood straight up and tugged down on it, the very bottom would still be peeking out. If he moved in the slightest; bent over, squatted, or raised his arms, even more of the infantile undergarment would show up.

“You look so pretty.” Jane mock complimented him.

“I hate it.” He tugged at the skirt, trying to magically stretch the fabric.

She stood behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. “Do you want out of it?”

“Yes.”

“Mommy will get you out of it as soon as you’ve done your chores.” She gave him yet another pat on his squishy padded bottom. “Think of it as an incentive. Now, get to work.”

The next fifteen minutes were a tiny eternity for Daniel. Mommy-Jane, that is-took her seat back in the rocking chair. Daniel did the work. Jane ‘supervised’.

“That doll goes over there.”

“The coloring books don’t go with the regular books.”

“You have to separate the train cars before you put them in their box.”

“Biggest stuffed animal should be at the bottom of the pile.”

It was oddly exhausting; finding the right place for every little thing. The fact that the camera was now following him like a hawk, slowed him considerably, too. Every time he bent over his diaper flashed, and the goons would comment, if only in ‘Awwws’ and ‘Oooooos’. It was the most he’d heard either of them talk.

How did women wear these things?

As if reading his mind. “No need to be modest,” she said. “Babies don’t need to be modest. The short skirt just makes it easier to change. Keep going and we can get you out of that gross thing. You’re almost out of time.”

Almost out of time? Mommy hadn’t said anything about a time limit. He redoubled his efforts, no longer caring what he looked like. The time had come to where Daniel didn’t care about what he looked like so long as the tiny carrot of no longer looking like it was dangled over him.

“There!” Jane clapped her hands together. Doesn’t that look so much better?

Daniel looked around the faux nursery and nodded his head in big heaving breaths. In truth, he couldn’t tell much of a difference. To him it looked like he’d just moved a bunch of junk around. Without a garbage bag there was only so much cleaning that could be done.

Why was he so tired? The dancing and the just pure emotional exhaustion was really getting to him.

“Okay,” the woman who he used to call his wife said. “I think that’s enough for now. Don’t you?” The goons behind the camera flashed a thumbs up. “I think I’ve got it under control gentleman.” She turned her attention to Daniel. “Come on. Let’s get you out of that.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. His eyes drooped and he plodded along at uneven steps.

“Arms up,” Mommy Jane said. His eyes now all the way closed, he did as he was told without fuss. He felt the dress get yanked back over his head. “We’ll just save this for later,” she said.

Even that little veiled threat didn’t phase him. “Tha’s fine…” he slurred “Tha’s fine.” After this,he swore, he’d never cheat on his wife again. He had no idea how right he was.

“I think I’ve really found the real you,” Jane said to him.

Daniel allowed himself to be pushed back onto the flat surface. The soft mat beneath him wasn’t quite a bed mattress, more like something a doctor’s office would use. “Uh-huh,” he mumbled.

“This is the most attentive you’ve been…” Mommy Jane paused for a moment. “In years. Maybe ever.”

Despite himself, Daniel let out a quiet yawn. “Uh-huh.” He almost didn’t notice when his hands were guided into restraint cuffs, and a strap was pulled across his chest. Almost. “Huh?”

The pathetic man’s eyes opened, and his heart started to pound. For some stupid reason he thought he was being led out of the nursery. Taken to a bathroom or a shower. Instead, he realized that he’d just been led over to the playroom’s changing table. “Can’t have my diaper boy squirming when I change him!” She sounded way too happy.

“I thought you said….” He paused and collected his thoughts. He felt woozy. Very woozy. “I thought you said I was gonna get out of this thing.”

One tape at a time, Mommy Jane peeled open the diaper, revealing just how badly Daniel had debased himself. “That’s what diaper change is, silly. I get you out of the old diaper, and put you into a new one!” She waved her hand in front of her nose. “And you definitely need it, Mister! Unless you want to go to sleep and get a rash.”

She crossed his ankles and hoisted his legs up to his stomach.

“You said…” Daniel’s eyelids felt like they were made of lead. The cold wipes brushing up against him were helping him stay conscious. “You said I’d get to be normal.”

“This is normal, silly,” she replied, still wiping at his buttocks and groin. “Or it’s going to be. Normal for you, anyways. You were so much better behaved this way. I’m calling it a trial run.”

“What…” he gasped. “What was in that bottle?”

Mommy Jane ignored him. “You’re going to get everything you ever wanted from me.” She paused briefly to ball up the used diaper and throw it in the garbage. “I’ll cook for you, and clean for you. And wash all of your pretty clothes.” She unfolded a new one and managed to slide it under him. “Bathe you. And feed you. And change you. And you won’t even have to share a bed with me.”

“What was in that bot-?” He was cut off mid-change and mid-sentence as another pacifier was shoved between his lips.

“You won’t have to worry about anything. And in return, I’ll get that baby I wanted.” A cloud of baby powder - actual baby powder this time- punctuated her sentence. Besides the extra tapes and the plastic backing, it wasn’t all that different from a regular diaper. “Sometimes if you’re really good, I’ll even let you orgasm. Just not inside me.” Her voice went down a notch. “Not that you were doing that too often anyways…”

“I’m forry,” he mumbled behind the pacifier. “I”m fo forry.” The world was spinning. His own brain was moving through pudding.

“Looks like that naptime bottle is really kicking in,” his mommy said, giving the front of his diaper one last pat. “But you don’t need to say sorry. I already told you. I forgive you. I forgive you, but I can’t trust you. So Mommy’s going to be keeping a super close eye on you from now on.”

“Nmmph.” He barely had the strength to enunciate around the bulb in his mouth. Easier to suck on it, or just be still.

“We’re really going to have to get you a crib,” she said. “But you can take your nap on the floor. Dumb little diaper boys don’t care where they sleep, do they?” She unfastened his restraints and pulled him up to his feet. “Then when you wake up, Mommy will change you, and we can start playing alllll over again.”

“Pfffs,” Daniel tried to say.

“Please?” Jane asked. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

His head filled with rocks, Daniel nodded.

“Tell you what.” She pointed to the plain white door. Save for the nob, it blended in with the nursery wall. If you can make it out of the nursery, I’ll give you your big boy pants back. I’ll let you walk away. You’ll be free.”

The surge of adrenaline that coursed into his veins was damn near godlike. Muscles pumping he thundered ahead towards the door, tromping and stomping like an angry elephant.

But even the most adrenaline will only get so far when your bloodstream is overloaded with sedatives. Within a few steps, tromping and stomping became shuffling. Then shuffling slowed to standing. He hadn’t even made it halfway.

It was a small mercy that he hadn’t. The ground rushing up at him was foam and brightly colored instead of gray and concrete. He’d feel the impact he’d made less when he woke up. He pushed himself up one last time to all fours and made to crawl.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Mommy Jane said, her white shoes were right by him. Daniel’s eyes were blurring. He couldn’t see her face; just her shoes up to the hemline of her dress. The rest was all cloudy. “I said walk. Not crawl. If you can’t be a big boy and walk, you don’t deserve it.”

Daniel’s muscles seemed to agree. Trembling, then shaking as he splayed out onto the nursery floor.

“Awww,” he heard Mommy Jane coo just before he lost consciousness. “Just like an angel.”


Epilogue:

Dear Mother,

I’m sorry that we haven’t conversed in some time. I’ve finally grown up enough that I understand why you and Father were so concerned. It’s gotten to the point where I agree with you.

The only thing I’m ever going to change about Daniel are his diapers, and I’ve learned to accept that. I could explain how I came to this revelation and what I’ve done about it, but I think it would be easier to show you.

Enclosed is a very special video that sums up the state of my marriage and life at this point in time. It is the first of many, I assure you.

Thank you for everything.

Love,
Jane

P.S. On a related note, I’ve stumbled into a new business venture that has proven quite lucrative. I’m proud to say. I’ve got multiple clients in need of babysitting, and Daniel is starting to associate with a better class of people as a result: The kind of people who don’t cheat on their wives.

In a relatively short time, those checks you’ve been sending will be unnecessary. I’ve got one baby that has started to pay for himself.

Dear Jane,

I just viewed the footage you showed me and your father and I are surprised and delighted. While it is not what we would have hoped for you, we are both proud of your assertiveness (and if I’m reading the context right) entrepreneurial spirit. A real lemons to lemonade situation you’ve made for yourself.

Did you know that my great great great aunt was a madame? There’s an elementary school out west named after her, it turns out. The difference between sex worker and socialite depends largely on who sees you doing what with the money you earn. Food for thought.

Love,
Mother

P.S. Mother’s Day is coming up. What do you think about joining us at the Country Club for brunch? Your Father and I insist that you bring the baby, too. Not just in a diaper though. Maybe something like what you had him wearing in the video. I’m sure the neighbors would think it hilarious.

(The End)

It took me until the writing lines part for the inspiration of the story to click for me.

Very fun little story.

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