Warning: The following is an AB/DL-themed fantasy story. Includes scenes of mind control, weight gain, mental regression, messing, humiliation, and a variety of fetishes. Reader discretion is advised. Another short, straight-forward one.
Pamela, The Maid
Sylvia Fletcher was a hard-working, successful entrepreneur. For the past fifteen years, she had worked hard to build her women’s sportswear business from a fledgling internet-based business into the corporate empire it was today. She had had almost no time to herself as she flew from convention to business meeting to factory inspection, never stopping for a vacation or even a long weekend. She worked herself half to death, and racked up a truly impressive collection of airline miles. Now, at forty-two years of age, she felt it was time to move on. She had recruited and trained a team of managers that she felt she could trust to run her business even better than she had. There was nothing to do but to finally enjoy the wealth she had accumulated.
She didn’t want to be idle in her retirement, of course. She planned to fill her days with pleasant but challenging pursuits. Her new home in rural Vermont had five bedrooms, despite the fact that she lived alone. One was set up as an artist’s studio, where she would develop her painting skills. Another would serve as a music studio, where she could practice the violin. She hadn’t played since her childhood, but now that she had all the money she could ever spend, she decided that music needed to be part of her life again. Her new house was surrounded by a walled garden, in which she intended to grow roses. With enough time, effort, and practice, they might even be prize-winning roses. The remaining bedrooms she would use as a guest bedroom and servant’s quarters.
Oh yes, she decided to splurge and hire a live-in maid. She wanted to keep busy in the new phase of her life, but not with cleaning, cooking, or laundry. To that end, she had called a service almost as soon as the movers had finished hauling her possessions into her new home. There were a lot of questions and some negotiations, but within half an hour, the service informed her that a suitable candidate would be arriving the following day.
Sylvia was excited. Living alone in such a large house quickly went from being a dream come true to being a little creepy. She had a huge, well-appointed kitchen and full dining room, and yet she had never cooked in her life and didn’t even have any friends in the area. She realized that she would have to get mixed up in the local high-society scene. Maybe meet a few people and throw a diner party now and then. In the meantime, she simply ordered Chinese and ate it alone in her bedroom, while watching television. She signed contentedly before brushing her teeth and climbing into bed. She wanted her new life to be active, but there was no need for it to stressful, she decided. A little relaxation here and there would do her good.
Sylvia didn’t bother to set an alarm. Sleeping in was another extravagance that she had decided to allow herself. This came back to bite her the next morning, when she woke to the sound of her front doorbell ringing. At first, she mistook the sound for a distant church bell, but as the sound repeated, it gradually penetrated her consciousness.
Muttering irritably to herself, she climbed out of bed, threw on a terry-cloth bathrobe, and trudged downstairs to answer the door.
She was more than a little surprised by what she found outside.
“Good Morning! Are you Mistress Fletcher?” asked the younger woman.
Sylvia stared for a moment. She had expected the new maid to be dressed in the subdued work-clothes typical of domestic help. This young woman had her blonde hair in pigtails, and wore a short black dress with a small, lacy white apron. There was a small white cap on her head, Lacey fringes running down her shoulders, and white gloves on her hands. She was so iconically maid-like that no one could think she was a real maid. She looked more like a college student going to a costume party as a maid.
“…I’m Miss Fletcher, yes. I wasn’t really expecting you so early.”
“Oh my goodness! I didn’t wake Mistress did I?” asked the younger woman. She seemed genuinely remorseful. Her voice was high-pitched to the point of being almost squeaky, and she spoke with a West London accent. It was an odd voice, but it didn’t seem affected
“It’s “Miss Fletcher”.” said Sylvia. “And I think there is some sort of misunderstanding. When I said I wanted a maid, I was expecting an actual maid.”
The girl tilted her head quizzically. “I don’t understand what you mean, Mistr…Fletcher.”
“You’re dressed like you’re on your way to a Halloween party.” said Sylvia.
The woman glanced down at herself. “This is my work uniform, Miss Fletcher.”
Sylvia cocked an eyebrow. “I need someone to actually keep my home in good order. This isn’t some sort of kink thing.”
The woman scowled angrily, which frankly looked adorable. “Of course, Miss Fletcher! How could you think otherwise!”
Sylvia sighed. This wasn’t what she was expecting, but she decided to let it slide for now. The rate had been reasonable, and the service had made it clear that she could request a new servant if she was at all dissatisfied with the one she was sent.
“Very well, we’ll try it for now. Come on in.”
The maid skipped merrily across the threshold.
“Has Mistress eaten breakfast?” asked the maid, giving a little curtsy.
“No, and call me Miss Fletcher!” Sylvia didn’t want her annoyance to leak into her voice, but it had. She consciously leveled her voice. “And what do I call you?”
“My name is Pamela Winters, Miss Fletcher. You can call me Miss Winters, just Winters, Pam, Pammy, Pamela, or anything else you like! You’re in charge!” She spoke quickly and eagerly, as though she had recited this speech many times and was excited to show it off.
“Pam it is then. Kitchen is through there. I’m going back to bed.” said Sylvia. In truth, she had not even looked at her bedside clock before coming downstairs. It could easily be noon. Still, she reminded herself that there was no need to be self-conscious around a maid. Oddly dressed or not, the young woman was clearly her social inferior. She worried a little about giving a stranger free reign of her home, but its not as though she had anything really valuable lying around.
Sylvia went back upstairs and treated herself to a leisurely lie-in. She saw that it was only nine, and after a long shower in the en suite bathroom, it was still not even ten. She was just about to get dressed when she heard a knock at her bedroom door.
“Your Breakfast, Mistress.” said Pam.
There was that “Mistress” business again, thought Sylvia. What an irony that a woman who called her “Mistress” couldn’t follow simple instructions.
“I’ll be down shortly, Pam.”
“I just have it here, Misst…Miss Fletcher. Would like it in bed?”
Sylvia arched an eyebrow. That idea hadn’t occurred to her. She hopped back into bed and covered herself. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Pam walked in carrying a large wooden tray. With smooth motions, she flipped out two supports and either side, and set the tray across Sylvia’s lap. Sylvia nearly gasped in surprise. The tray contained a bowl of blueberries topped with whipped cream, a hoddle of coffee with a mug, and eight pieces of french toast, sprinkled with cinnamon, and topped with syrup, butter, and orange slices.
“Th…thank you…Pam.” said Sylvia, quite impressed.
“is everything to your satisfaction, Mistress?” she asked.
“Yes. That’s lovely.” said Sylvia, not bothering to correct her. She reached for the coffee to pour herself a cup, but found that Pam was already pouring one.
“Cream and sugar, Mistress?” she asked. Sylvia nodded.
“Will that be all, Mistress?” she asked, setting the steaming cup down on the tray.
“Yes, thanks.” said Sylvia, sipping the coffee. It was better than she had expected, like a gourmet coffee instead of the robusto instant stuff she had had in the cupboard. Where had this come from?
“Very good, Mistress.” said the maid, bowing deeply and exiting the room. Sylvia dug into her breakfast.
“I could get used to this.” she thought as she tucked into her french toast. Pam certainly knew how to cook.
Sylvia spent most of that day in her new studio, experimenting with different styles and watching tutorials on YouTube. Pam, meanwhile rushed from room to room, cleaning and tidying up as she went. The woman seemed to have inexhaustible energy and enthusiasm, and even seemed to take uncomplicated joy in her work. As Sylvia struggled with her first attempt at Cubism, she could hear Pam singing downstairs.
“This is the way we dust the shelves, dust the shelves, dust the shelves! This is the way we dust the shelves, with a gentle sweep! It’s a breeze! No need to sneeze! What a tidy home we keep!”
It was an inane ditty, but Pam genuinely had a lovely singing voice. Sylvia wondered if she shouldn’t admonish the maid for singing, but decided against it. Pam’s happiness and enthusiasm were infectious, and Sylvia decided that for all her oddities, she was a delight to have in the house. Any thought of replacing her new maid was obliterated by the time Sylvia had finished her lunch, which consisted of fried porkchops with mashed potatoes and gravy . Like breakfast, it was both delicious and plentiful. Sylvia decided that she would have to talk to Pam about limiting the portions she served, or else she would gain weight eating like this. Still, no need to do it today.
After lunch, Sylvia continued to work in her studio. She couldn’t seem to get the visual effect she was hoping for, no matter what she tried. The sound of Pam’s frenetic footsteps around the house was distracting. If her song was anything to go by, she was starting in on the laundry.
“This is the way we wash the clothes,wash the clothes,wash the clothes! This is the way we wash the clothes, with diligence and care! Spotless and fresh, tidy and pressed, a joy for all to wear!
Sylvia eventually got frustrated trying to make her lines as sharp and clear as the one’s on YouTube. Over the last few years, she had gotten used to working twelve to fourteen hours a day, and yet after a few hours of leisurely painting, she felt drained. She yawned and headed downstairs in search of dinner. To her relief, as she emerged from her studio, marvelous smells and yet another of Pam’s little songs wafted through the air.
“This is the way we cook the food, cook the food, cook the food! This is the way we cook the food, cookies, cakes, and pies! A country-fried steak, a great big milkshake, a fatter pair of thighs!”
That last line was a little on the nose, Sylvia felt. Even after only one night in her new home, her midsection was feeling a little softer than usual. She decided that tomorrow would be a good day to get out in the garden and start her plans for a beautiful set of rosebushes. Right now, though, she was feeling more than a little hungry. When she arrived in the kitchen, she was amazed at how different it looked. Not only was everything spotless, but her dining room table was coated in freshly-baked chocolate-chip cookies, orange-raspberry scones, an entire honey-baked ham, as well as a salad and a basket of croissants. It looked like a enough food for a family of eight. Sylvia felt stuck. She wanted to tell Pam that cooking this much food with only two people in the house was silly and wasteful, but the idea of criticizing this woman’s hard work when she herself had spent the day mostly lazing about seemed ungrateful.
“Dinner is ready Mistress. Is everything to your satisfaction?” asked Pam, pulling out a chair for her Mistress.
“Pam, this looks wonderful! I just wonder…isn’t it…rather a lot?”
Pam smiled sweetly. “Not at all! You’ve had a long day, and you’re tired. When you’ve worked hard, you shouldn’t worry about enjoying good food, and plenty of it! Come, sit down, Mistress.”
Sylvia sat down, her objections lost in the lovely smells and her maid’s kind words. Maybe painting was harder work than she gave it credit for. She was trying new things after all, and you had to expect to use more energy on a new task than on a familiar one. Sylvia decided not to stress over it. Pam stood beside her as she ate, serving more food onto her plate as the meal progressed. It was hard to keep track of exactly how many servings she had had. She would take a bite of ham or a scone from her plate, and while she was lost in the wonderful taste, another would appear on her plate lightning quick. Sylvia found that her appetite opened up and grew over the course of the meal, so that she actually felt hungrier halfway through than she had been when she started. Sylvia never saw Pam eat anything herself, and yet after an hour of eating, there was not a scone, a croissant, or a slice of honey ham to be seen. Sylvia felt full, sleepy, and somewhat dizzy as the last platter vanished from the table. Pam already had the dish-washer running by the time Sylvia rose from the table. She was feeling near exhaustion.
“Did you enjoy your dinner, Mistress?” asked Pam.
It was a few seconds before Sylvia registered that she should say something. “Oh, yes, thank you. Ooh, so full!”
“Would Mistress like a foot rub now?” asked Pam.
Sylvia blinked. She had had no idea that that was on the menu. The idea certainly had…an appeal.
“Uh…” she began. Pam apparently considered that permission enough, because she took her employer gently by the arm and led her to a couch in the living room. Soon, her shoes and socks had been set aside, and her maid was rubbing scented oils into her feet. Sylvia felt all her worries and tension dissolve as Pam gently pressed and stroked her feet, singing softly as she did.
“This is the way we rub the feet, rub the feet, rub the feet! This is the way we rub the feet, so delicate and soft! A lovely pair, keep em up in the air, tune in, drop out, turn off!”
The feeling of blissful relaxation was overwhelming. Sylvia collapsed into the couch as her maid worked. A fainting minty smell found its way into her nostrils. What came afterward, she could not recall exactly. Perhaps Pam took her by the arm and led upstairs to her bed. Perhaps she had even picked her up bodily and carried her upstairs in her arms, a feat that sounded absurd for a petite woman like Pam. Perhaps she had even brushed her groggy Mistress’s teeth before tucking her into bed. Whatever the case, events the following day drove all thought of the strange evening from her mind.
The next morning, Sylvia discovered that there was a large wt patch in her bed. She had peed herself in her sleep, on her brand-new, rather expensive new mattress at that. As much as she felt like another lie-in this morning, she couldn’t do it laying in her own piss. She got up, changed into her comfortable yet practical day clothes, and left her soggy pajamas in a pile on the bed. Downstairs, breakfast was nearly ready, and almost as soon as she had sat down at the table, she was joined by coffee, eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast. Part of her wanted to have a conversation with her maid about the excessive cooking. After all, last night’s dinner had been wildly over the top. Still, she had eaten it, and there were no leftovers. Perhaps Pam was simply adapting to her Mistress’s newfound appetite.
To her own surprise, Sylvia tucked into breakfast just as readily as before. Soon, Pam was taking her empty plate and washing it with her customary speed and efficiency.
“Will there be anything else, Mistress?” asked Pam. Sylvia realized that she was now sitting at an empty table. She swallowed nervously. Servant or not, this was not a discussion she relished having with anyone. She felt her cheeks burn as she hesitantly spoke.
“Um, well, you see…I seem to have…had an…accident. In bed. Last night.”
Pam smiled and nodded. It was not a smile of surprise, confusion, nor amusement. It was the smile of an airline hostess, pleasant but meaningless. “Would Mistress like me to change her bed?”
“Uh, yes. Please.” said Sylvia. That had been a little anticlimactic.
Pam stood before her, not moving. “Will there be anything else, Mistress?”
Sylvia felt her nervousness give way to annoyance. She wasn’t sure what she had expected Pam’s reaction to be, but completely unsurprised, unembarrassed professionalism wasn’t it. She felt humiliated and vulnerable, and yet her maid’s completely professional attitude was what had gotten to her.
“What do you mean? I pissed in my bed, for heaven’s sake! Is that all you have to say?” she demanded.
The maid nodded, and her voice became serious. “Yes, Mistress. I am your servant. You make a mess, I clean it up. That is the proper way of things. Even if Mistress pissed in her bed on purpose, its only my concern to the extent that I must make your bed clean and presentable again. This is your home, and as far as I’m concerned, and you can pee when and where you see fit. Does that make sense, Mistress?”
Sylvia was speechless. She had no idea how or why, but this was so much more embarrassing than merely being teased for pissing herself. She wasn’t sure whether to be angry, relieved, or horrified. To Pam, this was no big deal. It was…it was as though no one expected any better from her.
“…yes.” she heard herself say. “That’s all.”
Pam bowed and headed upstairs. Sylvia simply sat at her empty table, feeling adrift. What was happening? Her life had purpose and direction a week ago. She had had a goal, and was striving toward it with strength and determination. Now, having achieved the wealth and success she had craved for so long, she felt lost. Untethered. She was completely free to live the life of her dreams, and she felt only a yawning emptiness.
She walked to the glass back door and looked out across her spacious new back yard. She saw the weed-dotted patch where she planned to start her garden. It seemed like such a reasonable, even relaxed goal just yesterday. Now, it just looked like a lot of effort for no real reward. She walked upstairs, suddenly wondering why on earth she had willingly moved into a two-story house. She intended to head into her music room, but found herself drawn back to her bedroom instead. She jumped a little when Pam emerged from her room, her arms full of her wet bedding.
“All sorted, Mistress! Enjoy!” she said, taking the big wad of wet sheets downstairs. Sylvia walked in to find that her sheets and blankets had already been replaced. She couldn’t recall whether she had spare bedding in the house or not, but clearly she must have. Her bed looked good as new. She sniffed around, but discovered only a light, minty scent remained. She sat down on the inviting bed and turned on the TV. Pam clearly knew her way around cleaning.
The local news came on, and Sylvia sat and watched, not really paying attention. Her mind just refused to focus. At some point, Pam came in with the bed tray, and she ate her lunch while watching TV. Pam gave her another foot massage as she sat and stared at the screen. Eventually, she found that at some point the news show had ended, and a cartoon had come on. She glanced at the clock. It was four in the afternoon.
She slapped herself on the cheek. She felt awful. How many hours had she just spent staring at the TV in a trance? She found that she couldn’t definitely recall anything that had passed before her on the screen. Not one news story, not one world event, not even the plot of the simplistic cartoon she had just spent who-knows-how-long watching. She couldn’t even recall what she had eaten for lunch. It had all gone past in a blur. The day had been utterly wasted. She felt so ashamed of herself.
Determined not to waste the dregs of her day, she got up and headed into her music room. There was her expensive violin, waiting on its stand next to her sheet music. She had thought about hiring a professional tutor, but she wanted to see how far she could get on online tutorials and YouTube videos alone. She sat down on the elegant padded stool, gently tucked the instrument against her neck, rested the bow against the string, and began to practice.
An hour later, she was ready to throw the wretched instrument against the wall. Every motion seemed to produce nothing but squeals, shrieks, and scratches. She couldn’t remember feeling so frustrated. When Pam knocked gently at the door, she was more than a little relieved.
“Dinner is ready, Mistress. Would like it served in here, the bedroom, or the dining room?”
Sylvia sighed. Maybe this was her problem. Pam was making her life too easy, removing all consequences of her laziness. “Thank you, Pam. I’ll be down to the dining room soon.”
“Very good, Mistress. Would you like me to clean up in here?” she asked.
Sylvia glanced around, a little confused. The music room was practically unused. There wasn’t a thing out of place.
With dawning horror, Sylvia realized that her pants were wet. The padded stool she sat on was soaked, and a small puddle had formed on the floor around it. How on earth had she done this and not even noticed? She felt her cheeks swell as the embarrassment washed over her. She stared at Pam. If she was the least bit surprised or concerned, she showed no sign of it. She simply stood in the doorway, waiting for an answer to her question.
“I…oh gawd! Uh, ye…yes, please!” Sylvia stammered. She followed Pam to the kitchen, where the maid laid down a towel on her chair. Sylvia sat down, still absolute stunned with embarrassment. Sylvia was so mortified by her accident, she didn’t even notice what her maid had prepared for dinner until she set the platter down in front of her. She stared at it, her humiliation rapidly turning into anger.
“Wh…what is the meaning of this? What are you playing at, Pam!”
She had meant to to speak in an angry shout, but in her own ears it sounded more like a whine.
“Is there a problem, Mistress?” asked Pam, a quizzical expression on her face.
“This! Is this what you call a dinner!” demanded Pam. Her voice still sounded whiny.
On the platter in front of her was a pile of home-made glazed doughnuts with pink icing. There were at least a dozen on the plate. Nothing else. That was her dinner.
“I’m terribly sorry, Mistress! Do you not like doughnuts?” asked the maid, fear evident in her voice.
“What is going on! What are you doing to me! Who are you!” screamed Sylvia, pushing back from the table and standing up.
“I’m Pamela Winters, Mistress. I told you. If you don’t want the doughnuts, I can p…prepare something else.” stammered the maid. She looked downward as she spoke. She seemed deeply hurt by her Mistress’s rejection of her meal.
“Don’t give me that crap! You’re up to something here! All of this is wrong! I knew something was up the moment I saw you! Why are you really here? What are trying to do?”
Pam only stared at her feet. “I…I don’t know what to say!” She sounded like she was on the edge of tears.
For a moment, Sylvia doubted herself. Pam looked so frightened and remorseful. She didn’t have any idea what she even suspected about the maid. It was just that she was strange, and whatever was happened had started when she had walked through the door. Sylvia hardened her heart against the younger woman’s distress.
“Leave my home! Right now! Get out!” shouted Sylvia. Pam seemed to shrink where she stood.
“Please, Mistress…I don’t understand!” said Pam. She was really crying now.
“I said get out! Are you deaf? Get out!” Sylvia advanced on the crying woman and grabbed her by the arm. She tugged with all her strength, but she couldn’t move the petite maid an inch. Sylvia had such an advantage in size that it ought to have been easy, but it was like trying to move a bronze statue. Pam pressed a hand against her Mistress’s chest, and with no visible effort, sent her tumbling onto the floor.
Sylvia sat on the floor, staring at Pam in horror. The tears were still on her cheeks, but her expression had changed. The same gentle smile that she usually wore was back, and more infuriating than ever. What on earth had she let into her house?
“Did Mistress fall down? Do you need help?” she asked with clearly mock concern.
Sylvia patted her pockets. Pam pulled a cell phone out of her apron. “Lose something, Mistress?”
Sylvia clambered to her feet and headed for the door. Whatever the hell this was, she just wanted to get as far from it as possible. She barely made it five steps before Pam’s gentle hands gripped her arm and stopped her in place. She struggled, but it was like being chained to a boulder.
Sylvia heard an exasperated sigh. “I suppose I must teach Mistress how to behave properly, mustn’t I?”
In a flash, Sylvia felt herself being hauled into the air. Pam effortlessly held her aloft with one arm around her waist. The spanking began, and Pam accompanied herself with another of her little songs.
“This is the way we spank your butt, spank your butt, spank your butt! This is the way we spank your butt, to make a lesson firm! Won’t stop until you change your ways, no matter how you squirm!”
Sylvia kicked her legs, pounded the maid’s side with her fists, and shouted curses at the top of her lungs. None of it mattered. None of it prevented Pam’s hand from slapping her butt again and again. She kept it up anyway. By the twentieth spank, she was out of breath and exhausted from screaming. By the fortieth spank, she just lay on Pam’s arm, her arms and legs hanging limply down as she she sobbed uncontrollably. Pam stopped spanking, and began gently messaging Sylvia’s bruised butt.
“There there, Mistress. Is Mistress ready to eat her num-nums like a good girl?” said Pam, her voice completely unchanged. In response, Sylvia could only sob.
Pam sat Sylvia back in her towel-covered chair in front of the heap of deep-fried deliciousness. Sylvia sat limply, feeling exhausted, confused, and thoroughly defeated. Seeming to pay no attention, Pam pulled out Sylvia’s phone and began scrolling through her contacts. She made a call.
“Yes, hello! This is Sylvia Fletcher. Yes, we spoke a couple days ago.” said Pam, although she spoke in a perfect imitation of Sylvia’s voice. “Oh, nothing like that! I’m actually amazed at how well she’s done! So skilled and efficient. I was actually wondering if it was possible to extend the contract. Mm-hm. Wonderful! Oh yes, a pay increase is definitely warranted. Thank you! Yes, you too. Bye.”
Sylvia didn’t dare move. “What are you?” she whispered.
Pam only smiled that fake smile. “I’m your maid, Mistress. Let’s get you more comfortable while I explain things.”
Pam put away the phone and pulled a small bottle from her apron. She plucked the stopper and measured out a small dollop of oily liquid into her hand.
“What is that?” asked Sylvia, backing away into her chair instinctively.
“Don’t worry, Mistress.” said Pam, rubbing her hands together and approaching Sylvia.
Sylvia froze in terror. She had no idea how Pam was capable of such things, or what was about to happen. She just knew that trying to escape was pointless, and her sore rump told her that angering Pam would be a mistake. She cringed as Pam’s delicate, oiled fingers settled on her shoulders. As Pam began gently stroking her skin, a powerful, familiar, minty scent filled the air.
“There we are. See, Mistress? Its not so scary. Just relax. Everything is fine.”
As the minty scent filled her lungs, Sylvia began to feel woozy and lightheaded. The kitchen and the pile of doughnuts in front of her began to waver and swim in her vision. She had experimented with weed in college, and she knew that this was much more intense. Gradually, her body and mind did relax. The terror she had felt a moment ago melted away, and she had idea how to make it come back. The dampness in her pants gave way to full-on wetness again. Her head drifted downward.
“There. Very good, Mistress. Relax. Every part of you feels so heavy, so tired. No need to tense up any more. Your maid is here to take care of everything. I will do all the work. I will handle all the stress. I will take care of all the annoying little tasks. I will do all the thinking. You can just lean back and let it all happen. I’m going to keep everything so clean and tidy. Your house, your yard, your bed, your clothes. I’m going to clean up all your messes from now on. No need to worry anymore. No need for your mind. No need for your will. I am your maid, and I’ll take care of everything. Can you say that for me, Mistress?”
Sylvia bobbed up and down in a sea of minty relaxation. The words tumbled off her lips, and she made no effort to stop them.
“You’re my…maid, and…you’ll…take care…” she muttered.
“Very good, Mistress. Its so nice to just relax and let someone else take care of it all. No need to think. No need to be smart. You can just be dumb. A sweet, little dumb-dumb. That’s what you’ll be now. Can you tell me what you’ll be now, Mistress?”
“S…sweet…little…dumb…” she heard someone say. It didn’t matter who.
“That’s right, Mistress. You don’t have to worry about anything. You don’t have to worry about what you eat, or how much you weigh. All those thoughts are silly. A lot of struggle over nothing. You’re going to be fat. A nice, soft fatty. That’s is you, Mistress. Tell me what you’ll be.”
“Wonderful, Mistress. Just one more, and then you can have your reward. You can fight and struggle with me all day long, and it’ll never do a bit of good. All that effort, for nothing. You have a very strong will, Mistress. So much drive and determination. That’s what drew me here. How could I resist such a lovely feast? See those lovely doughnuts I fried for you? That’s what I see when I look at you. I’m hungry, Mistress. Now, I’m gonna feed you all those wonderful doughnuts, and everything else you could possibly want, for the rest of your life. But first, I need you to feed me. Can you do that for me, Mistress?”
“Don’t worry. Its easy. The easiest thing in the whole world. Imagine all the will inside of you. It’s flows through your soul like electricity. All you have to do is say the magic words, and it will all flow into me, where it belongs. Can you say that you’re weak, Mistress?”
“Here it comes! Oh, its so delicious, Mistress. Can tell me that you’re lazy?”
“Wonderful! Oh, thank you, Mistress! Once more. Tell me that you’re a big baby!”
“That’s right. A big baby. I’ve taken away all that nasty willpower now, Mistress. I’m so strong, and you’re sooo very weak. I’m going to sing my cleaning song now! Only, I’m not just going to be cleaning your home, or your clothing. I’m going to clean your mind. All the nasty thoughts, the worries, the memories, the fears. All wiped clean with suddzy bubbles. Here I come!” She took a deep breath.
“This is the way we wash the brain, wash the brain, wash the brain! This is the way we wash the brain, empty as can be! No need to worry, your thoughts are a slurry, dumb but filled with glee!”
As Pam sang, Sylvia could almost feel her gentle hands running across her brain, scrubbing away all her anxieties and fears. She felt lighter and freer than she ever had before. She felt truly clean. The world melted together, and time became meaningless. She was dimly aware of wonderful sweetness in her mouth, and then a marvelous fullness in her stomach. Soon, she was drifting off to sleep in her maid’s strong arms.
When Sylvia’s eyes fluttered open, she wondered for a moment where she was. After looking around herself for while, she realized that she was in her bedroom. Somehow, even though she knew that, the idea held no immediacy to her. All her memories felt dim and washed-out. She remembered her maid, Pam. She remembered that she had felt very afraid of Pam the night before. She didn’t feel afraid now, though. She felt…happy.
She pulled the covers off herself. She was dressed in a set light-blue fleece footie pajamas. She didn’t remember owning anything like it, nor did she remember putting it on. She rubbed her legs together, feeling the soft, fluffy material rub against her skin. She giggled. She couldn’t quite get her legs together because of the thick bulk around her crotch. She was wearing diapers. She laughed as that thought echoed around her mind. She couldn’t recall wearing diapers before now. She hadn’t been wearing them the day before, had she? She wasn’t sure. They definitely felt good, though. Something about having her butt encased in thick, soft, smooth plastic felt wonderful. Even just the word “diaper” made her feel good for some reason. She bounced up and down on her padded butt, giggling and whispering to herself.
“Hee hee! Diaper! Ha ha heh! Diaper! I’m wearing a diaper! Ha! I’m in diapers!”
She couldn’t remember feeling so happy. Or feeling anything for that matter. Everything felt new to her.
The door opened, and Pam walked in, beaming happily. “Good Morning, Mistress! How are you feeling?”
“Pam! I feel great! How are you?” she asked, still excitedly bouncing on her butt.
“I’m doing wonderful, Mistress. Any day when I get to serve you is a great day!” said Pam.
“Yay!” cheered Sylvia, clapping her hands in glee. Then a thought occurred to her. “Um, Pam? Do you know why I’m wearing diapers?” she asked.
“Oh, you mean your nappies? Of course, Mistress!” said Pam, climbing onto the bed with her Mistress. “There are two reasons really. Do you know how many two is?”
Sylvia eagerly held up two fingers.
“Very good!” said Pam, pinching one of Sylvia’s finger and wiggling it around. “First, it’s because you can’t control yourself. You wet the bed yesterday, and you peed in your pants twice. It’s obvious you’ll just make a mess everywhere unless I keep your butt in nappies.”
Sylvia giggled. That made sense. When she thought about it, it was obvious that she needed diapers.
“The other reason…” said Pam, wiggling Sylvia’s other finger. “…is that you’re a big baby.”
Sylvia giggled at that. She wasn’t sure what a big baby was, but she was sure she was one. It just felt right.
“You see, Mistress, most babies stop being babies and then turn into big people. They have to give up their nappies, and then they become smarter, and tougher, and take on all kinds of new responsibilities. You’re different, though. You’re becoming fatter, and lazier, and dumber, every day. You can’t handle any responsibilities. And why would you ever want to? You have me, your faithful servant, to take care of everything. All you have to do now is sit on your fat, padded rear and be the big baby you were always meant to be. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Sylvia felt the smooth backing of her diaper though the fleece pjs. It felt really good. Everything her maid was saying made perfect sense. She loved being a big baby. She couldn’t imagine wanting to anything else.
“Of course it does, Mistress. But we’re not done yet. There are still a few things you need to learn before you can become the biggest baby you can be.”
“Yay! Tell me, Pam! Tell me, tellme!” cheered the middle-aged woman.
“Well, we’re going to have to get you fatter. You’ve gained some weight in the last couple days, but now we need to get serious about it. You’re going to be a tubby little balloon by the time I’m done with you. You’ll be so fat, you won’t even be able to crawl anymore, let alone walk! You’ll look so cute, lying all day in your nappies, completely helpless. But don’t worry, I’ll always be here to feed you, and bathe you, and change your stinky nappies for you.”
Sylvia grabbed the roll of flab that now encircled her stomach and squealed with joy as Pam spoke. “Hee hee! I’m gonna be so fat!” she giggled.
“That’s right. You’re also going to be very stupid, Mistress. An airhead, a ditz, a dum-dum. Any time you feel like thinking about something, or remembering anything, it’ll be like I’m in your head, scrubbing it away and making everything tidy in there. Don’t worry, though. You’ll still be able to think about really important things, like cartoons, rainbows, kittens, and stinky nappies!”
Sylvia grinned, thinking about how much of a dumbass she would soon be. Thinking was so much work. She was glad she didn’t have to do it anymore.
“You’ll love being a big baby, Mistress. Babies get to do all kinds of fun things that big people aren’t allowed to do. For example, did you know that you’re allowed to suck tour thumb, as much as you want now?”
Sylvia shook her head. Pam patted her diapered rear affectionately. “I’ll help you, Mistress. Here we go!”
“This is the way we suck our thumb, suck our thumb, suck our thumb! This is the way we suck our thumb, can’t hear your stupid voice! A tasty thumb, keeps you docile and dumb, plus you have no choice!”
Sylvia felt her maid’s beautiful voice slip into her brain through her ears. She felt an itch in her thumb, and she immediately knew where it belonged. Soon, she was sucking away at her thumb like a pro. She felt a wave of blissful relaxation wash over her as she suckled rhythmically.
“Very good, Mistress! So adorable. Now, let’s talk about the most fun thing of all. You won’t just be a fat baby, or a stupid baby, or even a lazy baby. You’re going to be…a poopy baby!”
Sylvia grinned around her thumb. She wasn’t sure what Pam was talking about, but it sounded awesome. Soon, another wonderful song was flowing into what was left of her mind.
“This is the way you poop your pants, poop your pants, poop your pants! This is the way you poop your pants, oh what a silly thing! Mistress loves to make a mess, for her maid to clean!”
As the song ended, the squelching sounds began. Sylvia felt herself bend forward and push, and she was rewarded with the feeling of thick, sticky shit filling the seat of her diaper. She giggled and began mashing the gooey mess around with glee. She decided that she loved being a poopy baby.
Pam carried her downstairs in her pajamas and dirty diaper. Pam informed Sylvia that she would wait until after breakfast to change her, since she needed to get used to being poopy. Sylvia lisped her agreement from behind her thumb. Breakfast that day was simple: Just a large ba-ba of whipping cream and a dozen sticks of butter. Sylvia loved it, despite having to pull her thumb out of her mouth to eat. Afterward, Pam cleared the kitchen table and laid a changing mat across it, promising Sylvia that she would soon be purchasing a proper changing table. Sylvia lay in utter on the table as her pjs were pulled off, her diaper opened, and her flabby butt wiped clean, rubbed with mint-scented baby-oil, powdered, and sealed into a new diaper, all while a cheerful song filled the air.
“This is the way we wipe your butt, wipe your butt, wipe your butt. This is the way we wipe your butt, a kind and noble deed! You’re fat and spoiled, powdered and oiled, a nappy is what you need!”
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