What's Good for the Goose

"Come on now, baby. You know what time it is, don't you? Don't you, you silly little thing?"

God, the mortified little blush on her cheeks as she stands shamefully here before me! The twisting of her trembling fingers! The meek little catch of mingled desire and fear in her barely audible voice! My dear wife Bethany is loving every minute of this, I know full well – and yet, both of us are committed to pretending otherwise.

"Aww- but- but, Daddy. Do- do I have to? I- I don't wanna-"

"Don't want to what, baby-doll? Go on, use your words to tell Daddy what you want. Or…" And here I break into a condescending chuckle of amusement at her precocious willfulness. "Or maybe you're already such a sweet wittle baby that you don't even know how to talk anymore?"

That humiliating idea sets the blush burning brighter in her cheeks, and now she stamps her fuzzy pink socks in embarrassed defiance. "No- no, Daddy! I- I'm a big girl-" "Oh, really?" The amusement laced through my tone – not to mention the paternal pat of her dark, messy curls – conveys my deep, yet loving skepticism of such a claim. "Hmm… let's see. Big girls go to bed on time without being told. Big girls don't need a stuffie to sleep with, let alone four. Big girls definitely don't wear pull-ups to bed because they wet themselves. And they most certainly don't need…"

I'm reaching down now, slipping my hand down the willowy curve of her back and relishing the thick, rustling curve of plastic and cotton swelling around her flannel-clad rump. "Diapers." She flinches at the word, and I chuckle once more. "See, honey? You're nowhere near being a big girl these days. You and I both know exactly what a sweet, darling little baby girl you are. So let's quit with the whining and the pretending. Just let Daddy start your training, okay?"

Training. Another word that causes Bethany's breath to hitch visibly beneath her juvenile pajamas. "Bu- but- Daddy, I don't wanna-" "Shh," I remind her, and as I cup one strong hand over her entire mouth I can practically watch her shudder and melt into mute submission, her blue eyes fluttering up at me in half-regressed longing. "Daddy knows what's best for you, baby girl. And what you need is some special bedtime training to help you remember just what an amazing, special little baby you really are!"

On goes her special pink earband with the built-in earbuds. Into her prettily trembling mouth slips the extra-large pacifier, its massive lavender shield chosen specifically to remind her of how small and infantile she is becoming. And then comes the surprise: the adorably kinky accessories that arrived only a few days ago…

"Fhah-fheee??!!" Her endearing, pacified lisp rises in sudden alarm as I easily slip her right hand deep into the confines of the first of two locking pink mittens. "Shh, baby," I reprimand once more, tugging the wrist strap tight and reaching for the second. "Daddy can't have his baby girl being naughty and trying to take off her headband, can he? These will make sure you stay nice, and warm, and so sweet and helpless…"

I could cuff those adorably swaddled hands to the bed, I suppose. But honestly, I think I'll leave them free for tonight. Something tells me they'll put on even more of a show if I do.

"Now into bed," I order, and as I deal her double-diapered ass a swift smack, the resulting babyish thwack sends my blushing wife scrambling obediently under the covers. "Good baby." She wriggles down onto her back, gazing up at me in a mixture of sleepy defiance and aroused longing. "Vhuh-" "No more buts," I cut her off, and hold up the iPod that is already connected to her Bluetooth headband. "Hush up and listen to your pretty sounds, okay? Be a good baby and listen to your training…"

And PLAY.

Her eyes widen, then flutter with grateful arousal as the first breathy voices and gentle waves of music swirl through her ears. Oh, I know damn well what she's going to be hearing tonight. It's one of those special mixes I've designed especially for her: a mix of humiliating paternal voices reminding her of her helplessness and babyish nature, and tinkling music boxes playing childish songs, and warm, feminine voices urging her to be a good baby… to obey… to let go of every ounce of control she ever had… to embrace her status as a sweet little baby girl…

"Good girl," I breathe, and though perhaps the only part of it she understands is the movement of my lips, she nods and squeezes her eyes shut in silent obedience. I stroke the damp, messy curls back from her precious forehead, then reach over and tuck her stuffies close around her before planting one final, affectionate kiss on her forehead. She's being programmed to be my baby tonight, and I'm going to do every little thing I can do to enhance that sensation.

And believe me: she may have protested like the adorable little brat she loves to be sometimes. But now, even before I rise from the bed to switch from the beside lamp to her little unicorn-shaped nightlight, I catch sight of a surreptitious little movement beneath the covers. It's her arms, clearly. Down they go, those thickly mittened hands of hers – and now they're bobbing softly beneath the blankets, rubbing fitfully against her double-diapered crotch.

Oh, yes. Sweet little Bethany is loving every second of her "forced" baby regression. And honestly, whether those hypnotic audio tapes actually do anything or not is no longer the point. By the very idea that they might brainwash her into helpless babyhood, they're bringing her – and me – an amazing amount of kinky pleasure.

That's how I leave her, then: an adorable, wriggling, helpless little baby girl, tucked safe and snug in her bed. Much as I'd like to, I can't join her just yet. Daddy has some big-person business waiting for him in the office – not to mention a lovely gin and tonic.

By the time I've finished, close on midnight, I return to find her out like a light. I undress and slip into bed beside her, smiling as I retrieve her fallen pacifier and tuck it once more into my darling wife's slack-jawed mouth. The audio… well, I'll leave it going quietly in the background. Sleep learning probably isn't a thing, sure. But if she does wake, even briefly… well, it's important to remind her of her place, isn't it?

And now for my turn.

On goes my own comfy earband. PLAY goes the audio. And into the pillow I settle with a tired, happy sigh… to the soft, seductive sounds of my darling wife's voice reminding me of my own place in this  delightfully kinky relationship.

"You're strong. You're confident. Controlling me brings you such incredible pleasure…"

Oh, yes, honey. Yes it does. So, so much pleasure.