Harper crossed her legs and glanced around the therapy office with one eyebrow raised. "Is it just me, or does this place look like it belongs in a Montessori catalog?"
Pastel blue walls. No desk, just a soft white rug, three beanbag chairs, and shelves stacked with plush animals, board books, and oversized blocks labeled Patience, Listening, and Soft Touch.
Dylan shrugged, sinking into one of the beanbags. His knees spread instinctively, until Harper cleared her throat and shot him a look.
"Don't manspread in therapy," she hissed.
He closed his legs like a scolded child.
The door opened, and in walked a woman with silky, graying curls, a high-neck cream blouse, and a clipboard in her hand. She smiled, warm but unreadable.
"Good afternoon," she said. "I'm Dr. Cleo Harrow, clinical sexologist and developmental intimacy specialist, but since we're going to be working closely, I prefer something simpler." She sat delicately on the beanbag across from them.
"You can call me Mommy."
Dylan blinked. Harper coughed.
"I--I'm sorry, what?" Harper asked.
"Mommy," she said again, warmly. "All of my clients do. It helps set the tone for re-conditioning."
Harper narrowed her eyes. "We thought this was going to be... you know... adult relationship work. Fixing our sex life. Not--"
"Harper," Mommy Cleo said gently, "when was the last time you let someone touch you without bracing for disappointment?"
She didn't wait for an answer. Just turned the page on her clipboard.
"And both of you, when was the last time intimacy felt like something other than work, or worse... obligation?"
Harper glanced at Dylan, while Dylan looked down as if the floor suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world. Mommy Cleo smiled, not cruelly, just knowingly.
"Exactly. That's why you're here. So don't question the means to the end you both claim to want." She opened the cabinet behind her, soft fabric rustled. "Let's begin the assessment."
Cleo began with soft questions, typical, even. "How long had they been together? How often were they intimate? What did they feel when they touched each other?"
But the more they answered, the more the questions veered.
"When you get overwhelmed, Harper, do you shut down or lash out?"
"Dylan, would you say you require prompting to act on desire?"
"If I gave you both coloring books and a timed task chart, would you find that comforting or condescending?"
Ten minutes in, Harper was fidgeting. Dylan was blushing.
"Based on your dynamic," Mommy Cleo said at last, "I'm diagnosing a shared state of arrested erotic development."
"A...what now?" Harper said flatly.
"You've both regressed emotionally, Harper yours is into avoidance, Dylan into appeasement. You're functionally incompatible with adult intimacy."
She rose and opened a cabinet behind her.
"Which means we don't move forward with toys, talk therapy, or role reversal games."
She turned, holding up two folded onesies.
"We move backwards."
The fabric was pastel. One was pink with "Crybaby 1" stitched across the chest. The other was lavender, ruffled at the shoulders, labeled "Crybaby 2."
"Absolutely not," Harper said.
"I don't wear pink," Dylan muttered.
"You don't wear pants either," Cleo replied calmly. "Not until you're evaluated for emotional readiness."
She pulled open another drawer and revealed two fluffy white diapers. Printed. Thick. One had little red hearts and pacifiers. The other had cartoon bows and the word sissy in script.
Harper blinked, and Dylan swallowed.
"You're free to leave at any time," Mommy Cleo said sweetly. "But if you stay, you'll surrender adult privileges for the duration of your therapeutic contract."
"What does that mean?" Dylan asked.
"It means no unsupervised bathroom access, no adult language, and no orgasms. Until you earn them." She smiled as she noted lastly, "And we'll be locking that away shortly."
Harper stood, arms crossed, staring down at the onesie labeled "Crybaby 1."
"It's a metaphor, right?" she asked. "Like... symbolic?"
Mommy Cleo was crouched beside Dylan, gently taping him into the cartoon-printed diaper with practiced precision. "No, sweetheart. It's corrective. You're not being punished, you're being relieved of responsibility. Adult roles haven't worked for either of you. So we're giving your nervous systems what they've been craving: safety, containment, surrender."
Dylan whimpered softly as the final tape pressed into place. Mommy Cleo patted the front of his diaper with clinical detachment. "Still dry. Good girl."
Harper blinked. "Did you just--?"
"Yes," Cleo said. "From now on, Dylan will go by Delilah."
"I didn't agree to that," he muttered, pink rising in his face.
"Exactly," Cleo replied calmly. "That's why you're here."
Dylan shut up after that, he didn't fight the name, there was really no fight in his to begin with, but something inside him folded. Not with fear, but with the sickening, silent click of inevitability of "Delilah". It slid over his old name like paint over rotted wood, stripping not just his masculinity, but his history. The worst part? He began to crave seeing how far it would go.
The nursery room was shockingly cozy. Two large adult-size cribs sat side by side. Between them, a padded changing bench and a pastel highchair built for two. The walls were lavender and cream, decorated with decals of clouds, moons, and a giant stenciled phrase: "Littles Thrive Under Love & Structure."
Harper hesitated at the threshold. "Is this a sex dungeon disguised as a daycare?" she muttered.
"It's a re-attachment space," Cleo said, pulling a pair of matching rompers from a drawer. "You'll be sharing a crib tonight, and every night, until I deem you emotionally differentiated enough to sleep apart."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means," Cleo said, gently pressing the pink romper into her arms, "you still flinch when he touches you, and he still apologizes before every sentence. You're not partners. You're co-dependent toddlers with adult resentment."
Delilah stood awkwardly by the changing table, blushing, fidgeting, the diaper crinkling loudly with every shift.
Cleo looked at Harper. "Now, do you want to dress her, or shall I?"
Harper stared at her boyfriend, no, her diapered... baby sister, and something flickered. Amusement? Power? Maybe even a flicker of curiosity.
"I'll... I'll do it," she said.
The romper was pale pink with puffed sleeves and a little white heart on the chest that read "Mommy's Softest Girl." Harper slipped it over Delilah's head with practiced ease. She zipped it in the back and pulled the tail of it snug over the thick diaper, patting her partner's crinkled rear with a mock-smile.
Delilah squirmed. "It's tight..."
"You'll adjust," Harper said. "Babies don't complain. Right, Mommy?"
Cleo beamed. "Excellent instinct."
Delilah stood awkwardly in her pink romper, head bowed, hands folded over her crinkly diaper, standing between them, his diaper thick, romper zipped, name tag swinging, Delilah felt like a mannequin for their shared undoing of him. Harper adjusted the puffed sleeve while Mommy Cleo smoothed the rump. Their eyes didn't just see him, they studied him, admired the damage. Every flick of their gaze erased another piece of the man he used to be.
Harper finally zipped her up, patted her padded rear, and even smirked, but the satisfaction had faded fast because now, Cleo was holding the other romper.
Blue with a frilly pink collar. "Crybaby 1" stitched across the chest in looping baby script.
"This one's yours," Mommy said, already unzipping the back.
Harper didn't move. "I can do it myself."
But Cleo was already circling behind her. "No, sweetheart, that's the problem, isn't it? You keep insisting on doing it all yourself, even when your body's begging to be helped."
Harper opened her mouth to protest, but the zipper was already gliding down her back. The cool air hit her skin as then hands, gentle and practiced, slid the romper up her legs, over her hips, and snugly over her chest. Cleo adjusted the collar like she was prepping a preschooler for picture day.
"There," Mommy murmured. "Such a brave little girl, letting someone else take over."
Harper swallowed.The fabric was soft, infantile and too snug in the thighs. The collar tickled her neck. She had dressed Delilah without flinching, but now, standing still while Mommy dressed her in return... she felt her throat tighten.
Cleo zipped her up slowly. "Regression isn't weakness. It's a return to the body, and your body, Harper, has been starved for surrender."
A name tag clicked onto her collar, "Crybaby 1: Harper," Delilah peeked up at her, eyes wide, and for the first time in weeks, she saw her partner looking at her with something like awe.
Once dressed, the two of them stood side by side, identical from the neck down, two padded, flustered, color-coded littles. Mommy clipped name tags onto their collars: "Crybaby 1: Harper" and "Crybaby 2: Delilah." Then she sat on the changing bench and crossed her legs, clipboard in hand.
"Now," she said. "Before we proceed to feeding hour, we're going to work on sensate reconditioning."
She looked at Harper.
"You've internalized withdrawal as protection, from this point forward, I want you to replace it with dominance."
Harper blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"You're going to ride her."
Delilah's eyes widened.
"I--ride?"
"In your diapers," Cleo said, as if explaining a yoga pose. "Fully clothed, You'll sit on her lap, face-to-face, and rock gently while maintaining eye contact. It's called synchronized regulation. Originally developed for skin-to-skin contact in premature infants. In your case, we're adapting it to reintroduce pleasure, presence, and a sense of power."
Delilah let out a shaky breath.
Harper looked down at her padded hips. "But I--"
"There's no need for direct stimulation," Cleo said calmly. "That's not what this is about. It's about presence layered over surrender, feeling closeness, and the quiet weight of your decision resting on him. He needs to feel that you're here, that you've chosen to lead, and more than that, you need to believe it too."
The crib creaked as Harper climbed in. Delilah lay back, nervous, clutching a plush bunny Cleo had handed her "to fidget with." Harper straddled him, sitting carefully, the crinkle of both diapers loud in the silence as their eyes met.
Harper rolled her hips slowly. The friction was soft. The pressure between them thickened. Delilah whimpered, but didn't look away.
"Say something nice," Cleo instructed.
Harper exhaled. "You look... cute like this."
Delilah blushed. "You feel... safe."
Cleo wrote something on her clipboard and smiled,"We're getting somewhere."
The nursery had gone quiet except for the soft mechanical hum of the bottle warmer and the rhythmic crinkle of movement on padded floors.
Harper and Delilah were close, closer than they had in weeks. Except weeks ago they weren't dressed, collared, labeled "Crybaby 1" and "Crybaby 2." Their onesies brushed at the seams, and Delilah's padded hips pressed a little too eagerly against Harper's. It wasn't intentional, or maybe it was. Either way, the air between them felt charged.
Harper narrowed her eyes. "You're pushing it."
Delilah's lips parted, as his eyes flicked down toward where their bodies had touched, just for a second too long and something gleamed in them, shame, need, a flicker of something far more vulnerable.
"Still trying to make it about you, little one?" Mommy Cleo towered above both of them, seeing larger than life. Like a goddess was descending as her hand reached down to inspect Deliah.
"I wasn't--" Delilah murmured.
"You're not in trouble, sweetheart," she said, voice as soft as it was certain. "But you do need a gentle reminder of your role. This is about trust, about letting go, not just for you, but for both of you."
From a velvet-lined pouch, Cleo retrieved something small and blush-pink, glossy like a toy but serious in its intent. The chastity cage gleamed under the nursery lights. Delilah's breath hitched as the front of his onesie and diaper were unfastened. Cleo worked with clinical ease, fitting the device into place, her fingers were practiced, patient.
"There," she murmured with a satisfied smile. "That's better. Much more fitting for a delicate clitty like yours."
Harper flinched, not from shock, but from something deeper. Desire? Envy?
She watched her boyfriend, now baby sister, lower her head, lips trembling. There was no resistance. Just a quiet inhale and a distant look in his eyes, like he was already fading into the role being shaped for him.
Harper's thighs pressed together, and there was something wrong about how much she liked how this look suited him, and yet, she didn't just want to join in the power play, she wanted to feel it too. To lose and to win, to kneel beside Delilah one moment, then press her heel to the floor the next. Her chest tightened with longing and pride.
Cleo stood tall, the nursery light catching the tiny pink key between her fingers. "This," she said, "belongs to you now."
Harper's breath caught. "Me?"
"You've proven yourself. She--" Cleo's eyes flicked to Delilah, curled up on the plush mat, cheeks still flushed, "needs someone steady. Someone who can model obedience and hold control in the same palm."
Cleo didn't wait. She stepped close and slowly tucked the key down the front of Harper's onesie, pressing it just below the navel. "You'll keep it here," she said, palm flat, her voice dipping low. "Right where it belongs, close and warm."
Harper's knees weakened at the word. Delilah's gaze followed every motion, wide-eyed, chin trembling.
Cleo turned Harper gently by the shoulders, so she was facing her fully. "You want to show her how surrender looks?"
Harper nodded.
"Then you go first." Mommy Cleo said as hands gentle but insistent, unbuttoned Harper's onesie, exposing the pale skin of her belly and the soft bulge of her diaper. She pressed a kiss to Harper's navel, right where the key rested, then trailed her lips lower, over the crinkly plastic.
"Such a good girl," Cleo murmured, her voice thick with affection. "My little leader."
Harper whimpered, her hips bucking slightly. Cleo slid a hand between Harper's thighs, cupping the heat of her pussy through the diaper. She could feel how wet Harper was already.
"You like this, don't you?" Cleo teased. "Being my special girl?"
Harper nodded frantically, her eyes wide and pleading. Cleo smiled and began to rub slow circles over Harper's clit through the diaper. The friction was maddeningly soft, but it was enough to make Harper moan and writhe beneath her touch.
Delilah watched from across the room, his heart pounding in her chest. He felt a strange mix of arousal and jealousy as he watched Cleo pleasure Harper. He wanted to be the one making those noises, wanted to feel Cleo's hands on his own body. But he also knew that this was what he needed, so he watched like a good little baby sister as Cleo continued to tease Harper, whispering filthy things in her ear and praising her for being such a good girl. He watched as Harper came undone beneath Cleo's touch, crying out as she reached climax.
Afterward, Harper sat cross-legged, dazed but glowing, the key still nestled against her. Her cheeks were flushed. Her hair clung to her forehead.
"Well done, little leader," Mommy Cleo whispered, tilting Delilah's head. Harper hadn't expected it to feel like this. Not power., not exactly. That would've been clean, tight and hot, like snapping a leash. This was slower, muddied, and each moment sank deeper into her skin, until she couldn't tell if she was acting or becoming.
"I'm the one in the blue onesie", she kept thinking, while grinding. "I'm the one labeled Crybaby 1. I'm, first, I'm number one, my needs come first."
Across the nursery, Delilah was now curled up beside a plush unicorn on the padded mat, staring at the rotating mobile above with a far-off gaze. His thumb hovered near his mouth, not quite touching, almost though as Delilah felt different too, a tightening and pulling. Every tickle of ruffle, every pat on his thickly padded butt, every time Mommy or Harper called him, "good girl" after they climaxed in front of him, he felt humiliated but also just... littleness. One that left him pink and helpless and hot.
"Feeding hour," Mommy Cleo announced, her voice lilting like a pre-recorded daycare jingle.
She patted a large adult-size highchair built for two. "Front and center, Crybabies."
Harper obeyed first, then Delilah. The seat was padded vinyl, sticky under their thighs. Their diapers crinkled in stereo as they shifted.
Crinkle crinkle.
Cleo locked the tray in place with a click. She set down two sippy cups, one with apple juice, the other with a thick, off-white shake, and two bowls of bright pink mush.
Harper stared at the shake. "What's in it?"
"Lactose-heavy nutrition blend," Cleo said sweetly. "With a natural bowel softener. Nothing aggressive. Just enough to ease the tension."
Harper looked at Delilah, and Delilah, again, looked down at his bowl like it was the most interesting thing in the world. A tiny gurgle from his tummy broke the silence. Grrooorrrgl.
Mommy handed Harper a spoon and motioned toward Delilah's bowl. "Remember your assignment: regulated dominance. Feed her, and keep her eyes on yours., and even when she starts to squirm, don't stop."
Delilah whimpered. "I can feed myself..."
"Too bad, sweetheart," Cleo said. "Big girls don't get to speak once they've been renamed."
Harper dipped the spoon, lifted it, and guided the warm pink goop toward her baby sister's mouth.
"Open up, princess."
Delilah hesitated, his blush reached his ears but he opened. The first bite went down slow, then the next, and the next, as his legs started to twitch under the tray, the diaper crinkling louder with each squirm.
"Harper," Cleo murmured, "press your thigh against hers."
She did and Delilah gasped. "I--I need to--"
Pppfrrrrrrt. A soft fart slipped out, muffled by layers of padding.
Cleo didn't blink. "Good girl. Keep feeding."
Harper held the next spoonful steady.
Delilah's voice cracked. "Please, I think I'm--"
Hssssssssssss. The sound of wetness filled the highchair as his bladder gave out. Harper's eyes widened, and Delilah trembled under her wide-eyed gaze.
"Oh my god," Harper whispered.
Delilah whimpered. "It's warm..."
Mommy's voice was cool, clinical. "That's your body learning it no longer belongs to you."
They sat in silence for a moment, but then it happened. Pppprrrbbbtttt. Squelch. Psssshhhh...
Harper didn't need a psychology degree to recognize what was happening. Delilah's face crumpled, and he grabbed the sides of the chair. His whole body hunched forward, straining. The room filled with a pungent, unmistakable scent.
Mommy Cleo didn't flinch. "Let her finish. This is pushies time."
Harper whispered, "You're really doing this?"
Delilah's voice was a cracked moan. "I couldn't hold it..."
He finished with one last humiliated grunt, and his diaper squished audibly beneath him. Harper couldn't look away. Her stomach turned, and twisted with something darker, and the tiniest flicker of arousal, buried in dominance and disbelief.
Cleo leaned in. "Now ask for a change."
Delilah sobbed. "Please..."
"Louder."
"Please, Mommy, I made pushies... I need a change..."
"Not yet," Cleo said, standing. "You'll stay in it until Harper earns her first wet star."
"W-what does that mean?" Harper asked, throat tight.
"You'll know," Cleo said, walking out with her clipboard in hand. "The moment you're ready to stop being his girlfriend... and start being my little baby girl."
The sound of the door clicking created a sense of finality to their situation as Cleo left the room. The silence after the door closed felt padded, too., like it soaked up all the air in the nursery.
Delilah whimpered softly beside Harper, shifting in the muck of hia own diaper. Squish. Crinkle. Squish again. The scent lingered, heavy and warm, curling under Harper's nose and into her thoughts. She'd seen it all happen, heard it, even, but her brain hadn't caught up. Her thigh still pressed against Delilah's, tacky with sweat and guilt and something else.
Harper sat still. Her spoon trembled in her grip. She'd just made her baby sister mess himself, and had made him hold eye contact through the shame of it. She should feel horrified. She did. But also...
"I'm the one in the blue onesie," Harper thought again. "I'm Crybaby 1. I'm first."
Delilah was still panting, the flush on his face deepening as he rocked gently, the sounds beneath him now squelchy.
Harper stared, then reached into her diaper until she found the key. The key was covered in the remains of the a different mess she'd made earlier, it was covered in her cum and warmth for the interaction. Her fingers closed around it slowly.
Delilah noticed. "I..." he whimpered, voice cracking, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
Harper stood, and she stepped out from the highchair, her diaper crinkling with every movement. She walked carefully, barefoot across the mat, and knelt in front of Delilah. "You made pushies," Harper said flatly.
Delilah's lip trembled.
"And you're not getting changed until I earn a wet star," Harper added, voice low.
Delilah's eyes welled up. "I didn't mean to go..."
"But you did."
She reached forward, brushing her palm along the front of Delilah's onesie, over the lumpy, sagging bulge beneath. Delilah whimpered and flinched, but didn't stop her. Harper breathed in, and the smell made her stomach twist again, but she didn't stop either.
"This is what Mommy meant," she murmured. "You're not mine anymore."
Delilah blinked. "What?"
Harper held up the key. "She gave you away."
And then, softly, almost without meaning to, she added: "I'm the first. I go first. I'm the bestest one..." Her voice broke around the childish rhythm of the phrase, her body suddenly curling in, a shiver shaking through her as she hugged herself tightly and dropped backwards onto her padded rear.
Crinkle. Thud. Delilah was now staring at her the way she had moments ago, but he didn't say anything. From the hallway, there was the sound of approaching heels., Mommy Cleo returned holding a fresh stack of laminated star charts.
"Perfect timing," she said, eyes scanning their expressions, their posture, their stink, before declaring, "You've both done beautifully," with a wide smile on her face.
She walked over, lifted Harper's chin, and smiled. "Now let's get my little matching set all cleaned up," she cooed, "You've got so many more stars to earn."