Doug awoke early and was distressed to feel his rectum already full of effluent eager to erupt into his still-clean diaper. He sighed and lifted his hips slightly to allow the putrid brown liquid to spill out of his bottom, completely filling and soiling his diaper. He then noticed his full bladder and turned over onto his tummy to relieve that as well. Then he carefully waddled into the bathroom and cleaned himself up, then powdered and rediapered himself wearily. This was gross, embarrassing, and infantile. He couldn't stand much more of this; he hoped Mrs. Warren got here soon. He wasn't quite sure what was going to happen, but she was certainly his only chance of getting out of this mess. It was clear that he had to show her who really ran his life.

But he was disappointed when Mrs. Warren didn't show up until after lunch, long after he'd finished his "milk," and after three more very dirty diapers. He was studying when she surprised him by letting herself in. He was confused about how she managed this until he remembered that little part of the contract. As she entered his dining area and seated herself calmly in one of his dinette chairs, facing him, he decided that he'd better set the tone for how he hoped this little meeting would go.

"Who gave you a key? And what makes you think I'll put up with those lock things on my toilet? This is my house."

Mrs. Warren did not say anything. She simply stared at Doug with her steely eyes for nearly a minute. It grew tense. He wasn't sure how she did it, but already she was making him feel powerless and small. As he felt her eyes bear down on him, he totally lost his train of thought. Shit, he thought to himself. Finally, she spoke, slowly and distinctly.

"Because you are new to your ICP, those comments will today lead only to a warning. But you will never, NEVER, speak to me like that again, unless you decide you *like* to spend time face down on my lap. And most little boys do not. Is that understood, young man?"

Doug did not know what to say. This interaction was not at all what he had planned.

"But this is *my* house, and..."

"No buts. I asked you if you understood me."

Long pause. Doug simply didn't know how to talk to this woman. She was acting just as if she were his mother, and he hadn't had to talk to someone like this for a very long time. Instinctively, before he could stop himself, he heard himself say, "Yes, ma'am."

"That's better. And to think that up until that moment I'd been impressed with your compliance. You've obviously been wearing your diapers like a good little boy, and I can see that you clearly have one on now under those sweats."

This shook him. Was the bulge that obvious? And could she really know that he'd worn diapers since she left?

As if reading his mind, she said, "Yes, I was here overnight, and yes, it's very obvious. Did you finish your milk?"

"Yes...yes, ma'am. But it didn't help."

"Oh," she said sympathetically. "Have you had a lot of messy diapers?"

He nodded, embarrassed.

"Well, look on the bright side. You won't have any trouble with your messy diaper quota this week. And don't worry: your little problem should be clearing up very shortly." That was good news, at least. But what was the quota she was talking about? He had forgotten to read the rules, and now he started to think that was unfortunate. He was also aware that he was inexplicably falling into a little boy role while talking to her. It was embarrassing, but she seemed to expect it, and he couldn't seem to help himself. Her personality was too strong.

She smiled at him. She wouldn't give him any more milk now. In a very short while he'd keep the diapers on voluntarily, and then, after some time, he wouldn't dare take them off. It made her almost giddy in anticipation. But for now there was even a more delicious task to address.

"So, you've been a good boy. I guess I just need to check your toilets and bathtub, and then we can take a look at you to see how you did shaving." She was sure he hadn't done it. And her spanking hand tingled with excitement.

"What?" he said. He hadn't heard anything about shaving, but he did have an ominous insight into what she might be referring to. And he didn't want to do it. No way. Shaving himself for her, to pretend to be her little baby, was simply too weird and submissive. That was taking this way too far.

"Shaving. Don't tell me you didn't read your rule list." Uh-oh. Now he knew why he should have read the rules.

"Well, that's a little disappointing, Doug. I was beginning to think maybe you'd avoid a spanking today, but I can't let you get away with not shaving. Hair underneath your diaper is against the rules."

His infantile trance was abruptly shaken loose. Okay, he thought. This is it. He had been uncomfortable and embarrassed up to now, but had been carried along by the illusion created by Mrs. Warren's role-playing. But shaving himself and getting a spanking raised this game to another level entirely. With renewed determination, he shook himself, and thought, This is where I get off the ride.

"Forget it. Look, this has gone on way too long," he said, standing and pacing in front of her. "I'm not indulging your little whims anymore. I went along with the continence test because I thought it would be a nice, easy way to get rid of you. And then I've worn these "brief" things overnight because of my little diarrhea problem and your cruel toilet sabotage. But I'm no longer interested in your freakish diaper service, or your S and M games, so this has to stop."

He took a breath, and noticed that she was looking at him with an amused expression. It was somewhat disconcerting, but he went on, his tone turning rather desperate.

"Yes, I know I got mixed up with you because I was buying those...briefs in that store that day. But they, um, weren't for me, they were really for my grandmother, who is very ill, and somehow everything got all mixed up, and you got involved. So, well, you see, I'm not incontinent, and I want you to take your stuff and get out. If you want my grandmother's address, well, I can get that for you, but that about all I'm going to do for you from now on. So I'd appreciate you unlocking my toilets, and taking your stuff, and giving me back my underwear, and leaving quietly. Thank you." Doug took a deep breath and snuck a look at his audience. He thought that had actually gone very well. He hadn't intended on making up a new lie, but it had come out of his mouth, and he thought it wasn't bad.

Mrs. Warren had sat and listened attentively. Then she said, "But what about your fetish? I know you have a fetish: you told me that last night. And what about the diapers in your closet upstairs, and the used ones in your trash outside? And what am I supposed to do about your incontinence, which you deny but for which we got some pretty extensive evidence yesterday? I can't just ignore that, Doug. It would be irresponsible."

She sat back in her chair. "It doesn't surprise me that you want out, even this early. It happens, because this is a rigorous program, and can be difficult when you first start. But you signed a contract. You made a promise. And you have a problem that needs to be dealt with whether you want to or not. So, I'm not going anywhere, and we won't ever discuss that prospect again. Your continence is too important."

Doug started to sweat. He'd forgotten the admission he'd made about the fetish, and didn't know she'd seen his stash of diapers, let alone that she'd gone through his trash. Wasn't there anything she didn't know? How could he fight this? This attempt had failed, he knew. He sat down uncomfortably. Mrs. Warren continued talking, her tone becoming stronger and more commanding.

"And let's get something straight from the beginning. You will never again tell me what to do. According to your ICP, which you are going to wish you'd read, I am the Mommy and you are the baby. And if we need to add some props to help you remember this, we will. I have adult-sized pacifiers, bottles, clothing, and furniture we can play with if we need to, not to mention spankings. You will never tell me what to do, or question anything I tell you to do. Understood, little boy?"

Silence. He couldn't say it. It was ridiculous. He had too much dignity for this. He had a life. He wouldn't throw it away for this lady or this distorted fantasy.

"Doug? I asked you a question. Tell Mommy the answer."

Silence. He didn't know how to argue with her. It was so absurd.

Mrs. Warren stared at him. She knew what he was thinking. She'd seen it before. It was time to get him to commit to this program. "Doug, I can see that we don't understand each other. But you need to see that there is no choice for you here. And if it's not because you want to get better or because you signed a legal contract, maybe you will obey me because of these."

She reached down and opened her large black purse. She withdrew two 8X11" glossy photos, and showed them to Doug, who gasped in horror. One showed him in the bathtub, with his messy jeans down around his ankles, and brown pasty goo caked on his legs and genitalia. The other pictured him sleeping peacefully in bed, apparently last night, wearing nothing but a diaper. He stared at these for a long time, trying to absorb their significance. Now he understood why she had seemed so confident since last night. These were very powerful elements of blackmail, documentation of what appeared to be totally voluntary activity that just happened to be captured on film. She had been careful not to use pictures of him tied up; these looked like he didn't even know they were being taken, which was true. They also made it look like he wasn't a victim, at all, as though this was the way he normally lived. Like he was a pervert who'd been caught in the act.

Mrs. Warren broke his reverie. "Now, I do know where you work, and I did see the application you're working on for your little graduate program. I don't want to do this, but if you are so irresponsible as to ignore your incontinence, I will be forced to show these to folks who might be interested. I even have the addresses of your family. Even your grandmother, who might be interested to learn that you have a problem so similar to hers," she said dryly.

Doug felt numb. His heart had stopped. This was it. His ultimate nightmare. Despair threatened to flood through him.

How could this have happened? How could he have been so stupid? He hadn't seen this coming at all. He hadn't once taken this seriously or sensed what a catastrophe this could turn out to be. Everything had seemed straightforward and innocent. And all of a sudden he was totally trapped and at the mercy of this fanatical lady. The implications of these pictures were mind-boggling.

Doug's future was in this woman's hands, he realized. She had the ability to ruin his life. He'd worked for years toward this grad program, building contacts, getting experience. It was within reach now, but this woman, with these pictures, could destroy it all.

He'd lost the battle, he saw. This lady was too strong. He couldn't fight her, he couldn't argue with her, and now he was even afraid to make her angry, for fear that she would go public with this blackmail. He had no choice. He had to submit. To anything. To everything. If he wanted a life, he'd have to submit.

Mrs. Warren saw it hit him, and as always, it was the moment she treasured most with her new babies. For it was at this moment, and not before, that each one became wholly hers. She watched him abandon all hope and authority in his life. Essentially he had just begun the mental process of submission, and, therefore, of regression. After a day of fighting, finally their relationship was becoming what it should have been from the start: Mommy and little boy. It was sort of like giving birth, she thought, only better, since there was no pain (for her), and it happened every few weeks.

Now the game changed. From now on arguments would be brief. He would try to please her, she knew, and she would try to frustrate him, both socially (since an isolated baby is a helpless baby) and sexually (so that she'd have lots of excuses, when he inevitably broke down, to spank him and keep him on probation). Yes, this moment was liberating for her, and invigorating, and the latest in a long line of moments to be treasured. She had to admit that once again she'd done a hell of a job.

They stared at each other for several more moments, with fear growing in his eyes, and glee in hers. Finally she broke the silence.

"Do you understand now, young man?"

Pause. "Yes," Doug said quietly. He thought he finally did.

"Yes, what?" She loved this moment. It symbolized the entire transformation from independent man to dependent toddler.

He knew what she wanted. And he had to obey.

"Yes...Mommy."

Doug stared at his feet, trying to come to grips with his new situation.

"Good boy. I'm glad we finally understand one another. We'll have a great time together, I'm sure, now that that's settled. First, unfortunately, we have some unpleasant business to take care of, though."

Doug's head jerked up. What? Oh, my God, he thought. The spanking. She can't be serious.

But Mrs. Warren smiled knowingly at him and patted her lap. Doug was suddenly afraid. He didn't want this. He'd never considered it as an actual possibility. If he'd known the rules, he would have been good and shaved himself, but he didn't know, he told himself. It wasn't fair.

"No, please," Doug said in a high voice that didn't sound like his own. "I didn't know. How about if I go upstairs right now and do it? That would be okay, right?"

Mrs. Warren smiled. "No, I don't think so. You had your chance all night and this morning. It was to have been done by the time I came. You had a copy of the rules, and I told you you had homework to do. You either deliberately disobeyed, or you weren't paying enough attention to me. Either way, I think a spanking will be good for you."

"No," Doug whimpered. This would hurt. He'd fantasized about spankings, but not about the pain. Now that he faced it, he wanted out.

"Yes," Mrs. Warren said firmly. "Don't keep Mommy waiting. She tends to get more angry when she has to wait, and I don't think you want that."

Doug swallowed hard, and realized she was right. He forced himself to stand, then to shuffle his feet slowly toward his new Mommy.