#regression hypnosis

[lifewithaview]

Gillian Anderson and Veronica Cartwright in The X-Files (1993) The Red and the Black

S5E14

Scully survives the mass killing but has no memory of what might have happened. She agrees to undergo regression hypnosis and recalls what happened, including that Cassandra Spender was re-abducted. Agent Spender refuses to believe anything to do with his mother's abduction stories. The conspirators now realize that there is a war among the aliens and that the alien resistance fighters would make formidable allies. The Well-Manicured Man also reveals that, courtesy of Krycek, they may now have a vaccine against the black oil.

*The list of victims that Scully reads from Skyland Mountain is actually a list of members of the cast and crew of the show.

[mitchismirage]

Regression Hypnosis

I have had a life full of bizarre happenings. This began as a very small child. For all I know these occurrences could have started as an infant. They have continued through this very day. I will admit that my 20’s and 30’s were a bit more quiet in regards to these not of this world experiences. I was very busy at that time in my life raising children and working. I very well may still have been…

[dumb--babyyy]

playin legos 🩵

[regressionschool]

Trigger [an ABDL Hypnosis Story]

The café was comfortably lively, a gentle hum of voices and the occasional clink of silverware against ceramic filling the space. Sunlight streamed through wide windows, glinting off the water glasses, and the air smelled of fresh coffee and warm pastries.

Molly sat across from Dave, stirring cream into her coffee with small, absentminded motions. She had barely touched her croissant, only nibbling at the edges while her thoughts drifted. Dave, on the other hand, was cutting into a stack of pancakes with practiced ease, unfazed by the conversation unfolding between them.

“I just can’t wrap my head around it,” Molly said, shaking her head slightly. “Like—Emma just… lets it happen?”

Dave chewed, swallowed, and lifted his coffee cup. “It’s not really ‘letting,’ though, is it? It’s what she wants.”

Molly made a noise, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “Does she? Or is it just what he wants?”

Dave arched a brow but didn’t respond immediately. He took another bite, letting the syrup soak into the pancakes before cutting another neat square. “She seems happy. I mean, she always said she wanted something different, right?”

Molly’s fingers tightened around her cup. “Different isn’t the same as being put back into—into toddlerhood. That’s not just a ‘different lifestyle,’ Dave. It’s… regressive.”

He shrugged. “And?”

“And—” Molly exhaled sharply, setting her spoon down a little too hard. “And I just don’t get how she could want that. Like, really want it. No responsibility? No autonomy? Just being put in—” she stopped, shaking her head. “It freaks me out.”

Dave took a sip of coffee, watching her over the rim of his mug. He didn’t argue, didn’t tell her she was overreacting. That wasn’t his way. Instead, he let the silence sit between them for a beat before saying, “I think it freaks you out because you can’t imagine wanting it. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

Molly frowned. “I didn’t say it was wrong. I said it was scary.”

Dave tilted his head slightly. “Same thing, in a way.”

Molly opened her mouth, then shut it again, glaring at her croissant like it had personally offended her. She didn’t like that—when Dave did that thing where he made a point without actually making one. It left her feeling unsteady, like she had to defend herself when she wasn’t even sure what she was defending.

She pushed her plate away slightly, leaning back in her chair. “I just keep thinking about it. Like, if that can happen to Emma, could it happen to anyone? What’s the… trigger?”

Dave chuckled, shaking his head. “Molly, you say that like it’s a virus or something.”

“Well, isn’t it?” she shot back. “One day, she was just our friend Emma, and now she’s…” She trailed off, searching for the right words. “She’s in nappies, Dave. Full-time. And not just that, but he makes the choices now. What she eats, what she wears, when she sleeps.”

Dave tapped his fork against his plate thoughtfully. “She let him.”

“That’s what scares me,” Molly admitted. Her voice was quieter now, but no less intense. “That she let him. And she’s fine with it. More than fine. She’s… content.”

“Would it be different if she wasn’t?”

Molly blinked. “What?”

“If she was miserable,” Dave said. “If she hated it. Would you feel better?”

She scowled. “That’s not the point.”

“I think it might be,” he said, and for the first time, there was something pointed in his tone. “If she hated it, you could see it as something being done to her. But she doesn’t. So instead, you have to deal with the fact that she chose it. And that makes you uncomfortable.”

Molly crossed her arms, looking away. “It should make you uncomfortable too.”

Dave sighed and set his fork down. “I don’t know, Mol. Maybe I just don’t care as much as you do. It’s weird, yeah. But people do weird things all the time. If it makes her happy, why should it matter?”

Molly shook her head, staring out the window. Outside, people walked by with shopping bags, strollers, coffee cups in hand. Just… normal people. People who weren’t Emma.

She could almost see her in her mind—Emma, giggling, dressed in something soft and pastel, clutching a stuffed animal. Not a woman anymore. Not in the way she used to be.

Dave studied Molly for a long moment, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his coffee cup. The tension in her shoulders, the hard set of her jaw—it was all so familiar. The same reaction he’d seen before, whenever Emma came up in conversation.

He sighed. “You know, it’s funny.”

Molly frowned. “What is?”

He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping just a fraction. “You keep talking like you don’t understand. But I think, deep down, you do.”

She scoffed, opening her mouth to retort, but Dave cut her off with a single phrase, low and deliberate:

“Little minds don’t worry.”

Molly’s breath caught. For a second, nothing happened—just a flicker in her expression, a slight widening of her eyes. Then, like a ripple spreading across the surface of a pond, something shifted.

Her lips parted, her brow furrowing in confusion. Her fingers, which had been tense around her coffee cup, suddenly slackened, as if the very concept of holding it had become too complex. She blinked rapidly, her gaze unfocused.

“Wh—” Her voice came out small, uncertain. She shook her head, strands of hair falling into her face. “Whazza…?”

Dave sat back, watching as it unfolded.

Molly’s posture sagged, her body language morphing from sharp and guarded to something looser, more instinctual. The weight of her own thoughts—thoughts that had moments ago felt so heavy, so complicated—seemed to vanish.

Her expression flickered through confusion, then something closer to frustration. “S’fuzzy,” she mumbled, bringing her hands up to rub at her temples. “Don’—I don’ get… um…”

Her tongue tripped over her own words. Concepts unraveled like loose threads, slipping through her grasp. Even the sentence she’d just started—what was it supposed to be? What was she even trying to say?

Her eyes darted to Dave, wide and almost pleading.

“Davey,” she whimpered.

He hummed. “Yeah, Mols?”

“F’eels weird,” she murmured, shifting in her seat. “Dunno—s’diff’ent. Ev’rything all… ‘spicy’.”

Dave tilted his head, amused. “Spicy?”

Molly pouted, frustrated by the word she couldn’t quite find. “Mmmm, not spicy, but—y’know! All wiggly ‘n’ tingly ‘n’ funny.”

As if on cue, she let out a sharp gasp, her hands darting down to her lap. A slow warmth spread beneath her, soaking into the fabric of her jeans, pooling against the seat.

Molly let out a breathy little whimper as the last remnants of adult thought crumbled. “Uh-oh…”

A dark patch spread beneath her, creeping outward, the undeniable hiss of her accident filling the air.

Dave chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “That’s okay, kiddo,” he said lightly. “Little girls don’t worry ‘bout things like that, remember?”

Molly blinked up at him, her bottom lip wobbling, the lingering ghost of something wrong flickering across her features before fading into soft, placid contentment.

She wasn’t an adult anymore.

She wasn’t supposed to worry.

She didn’t worry.

Dave sighed, shaking his head with a good-natured chuckle as he glanced toward the café staff. A few nearby patrons had already started whispering, their eyes darting toward the growing puddle beneath Molly’s chair. He caught the eye of a barista, offering an apologetic smile.

"Sorry about this," he said smoothly, his tone warm but firm, the way a responsible caretaker would explain a toddler's accident. "She’s still getting the hang of things."

The barista, a young woman with tired eyes and a sympathetic expression, only nodded. "Don’t worry about it," she murmured, though her gaze flicked toward Molly, who was now squirming in her seat, fascinated by the way the damp fabric clung to her legs.

Dave turned his attention back to her, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face. "Alright, Mols," he said gently, slipping into the comforting role she now expected of him. "Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?"

Molly only giggled, tilting her head up at him with big, unfocused eyes. "Mmmkay, Daddy," she lilted, the title slipping past her lips effortlessly, as if it had always been that way.

Dave’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, but he didn't linger on it. Instead, he rose, moving around the table and helping Molly up. Her legs wobbled slightly, unsteady now that her adult coordination had slipped away.

As she stood, the full extent of her accident became clear. Her jeans were soaked, clinging to her thighs, the damp material darkened almost entirely down to her ankles. She looked down, blinking slowly at the mess, but there was no shame in her expression—only mild curiosity.

She poked a tiny finger against the wet denim. "Squishy," she declared with a giggle.

Dave grinned, ruffling her hair. "Yeah, kiddo. And that’s why we wear proper protection, huh?"

Molly giggled again, her gaze unfocused and dreamy. "Mmhmm!"

Dave led her toward the back of the café, past the staff-only sign. No one stopped them. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, so confident, so sure of his authority over her. Maybe it was the way Molly so clearly wasn’t in charge of herself anymore, her small hand tucked securely into his, her posture loose and trusting.

Inside the staff restroom, a sight that would have mortified Molly just minutes ago now greeted her without a flicker of concern—

An adult-sized changing table.

Dave patted the cushioned surface. "Up you go, kiddo."

Molly obediently reached her arms up, letting him lift her onto the table without a second thought. She kicked her legs idly, her soaked jeans sticking to her skin, a little pout forming on her lips.

"Wan’ dry," she mumbled.

Dave chuckled. "That’s the plan, sweetheart."

With practiced ease, he peeled away her jeans, the damp fabric clinging for a moment before slipping free. He balled them up and set them aside, then made quick work of her sodden panties. Molly didn’t react, other than giggling as the cool air hit her bare skin.

She squirmed as he wiped her down with a warm cloth, but it wasn’t from discomfort—it was the way a toddler would squirm from tickles rather than modesty.

Then, he pulled out the final piece.

A puffy, pastel-colored Pampers—one big enough for her, decorated in soft patterns that made it impossible to mistake for anything grown-up.

Molly’s eyes widened, but not with the resistance she might have once had. No, this time, it was delight.

"Ooooooh!" she cooed, her fingers twitching eagerly.

Dave smirked. "Like it, baby?"

Molly nodded enthusiastically, reaching out to poke at the plastic shell as he unfolded it. "Is crinkly!" she giggled.

He lifted her legs effortlessly, sliding the padding beneath her before securing the tapes snugly at her waist. The thick bulk forced her legs apart slightly, and when he patted the front, she let out a soft, happy hum, wiggling against the plush comfort.

"There we go," Dave murmured, smoothing her shirt down over the top of her new, much more appropriate underwear. "All fresh."

Molly beamed up at him, wiggling her toes as she enthusiastically poked at the front of her new padding, fascinated by the way it crinkled under her touch.

"Dis is way better!" she declared, giggling as she gave the front a few experimental pats.

Dave laughed. "I thought you’d see it that way, princess."

Then, he picked up her jeans, inspecting the soaked fabric with a smirk. "Well, kiddo, looks like you’ll have to go without these for a bit."

Molly didn’t even blink.

If anything, she giggled, swinging her bare legs with delight.

The Molly from before—the one who had argued, who had frowned and questioned—was nowhere to be found.

She was just Mols now. A little girl in nothing but a crinkly diaper and her soft shirt, giggling as she prodded at the thick bulk between her legs.

[drdaddy19]

Happy Baby TV Time

og picture credit to @theghxstmouse

There she was. there she sat. she was just dropped into her playroom. her lovely playroom. the one that seemed to be pink and purple all over. the one that played lovely droning tones in her ear.

her playroom. where she could play with her stuffed animals, dollies and toys all day long. where she could be a baby. where she could be a dolly herself and where she could watch her happy baby time TV shows too! she was so excited!

she just loved her baby time TV shows. they were so much fun. they were always jam packed with the most perfect happy baby playtime activities. her cute cartoon friends were always so nice to her, like her padded pampered ponies, who would ask her a question and give her lots of time to think about it... after all, thinking is hard when you're just a diaper dummy.

she flicked the power switch and sat as watched the picture came onto the tv screen...

the static in the tv picture instantly snapped in a bright pink flash...

"Hi there little one !" her cartoon pony friends said in unison.

she waived her hand back and forth quickly to say "HI" to her pink pony friends.

"looks like someone's back for playtime already! you just couldn't wait for more happy baby playtime could you?"

she shook her head with a grin as her pacifier found its way into her mouth. she couldn't wait she didnt need to speak now. she only needed to listen and nod. she didn't even have to control her potty... not that she ever did anyways. but it was always nice to be reminded.

"And always remember," one of her pink and swirly cartoon pony friends told her, "you're never ever supposed to hold it when you have to go potty. That's what your diapers are for! just go peepee in your padded pampers."

the other ponies nodded in agreement, cheering on the faithful watchers who were padded.

she began to nod as well. her giggling gave way to drool slipping from her pacifier. she knew that in her deepest of truths... she was a baby. a padded pamper princess. a diaper dummy. just daddy's padded baby dolly. she could never ever expect to keep herself dry for more than a few minutes. thats what diapers were for. she was so smart. and she always learned so much from her cartoon friends. she couldn't wait to learn more about how to act and what to do.

as her eyes widened to take in more of pretty colors.

"we're going to have lots and lots of fun today ! are you ready? well come on, lets go !"

She knew she was going to have fun. she always did. she loved her playroom. she loved her diapers.and she loved her happy baby TV time

[dumbdaisy3]

h-hey tumblr!! i uhh need a (hornyyy) favur >\\\\<

pls mak me illiterat!!! (with hypno)

so, uhh when im edgig an beig an beig hypnotisd liek a good slutty girl, ii reed a lotta wurds abt how im a dum bimbo @/////@

an i luuv reedig thos wurds!! but sumtrms, i imagin what itd b liek if i culdn read :<<< jus starig at the prety picturs, not knowig what they say liek a kid or a pet :<<<

obv i need 2 reed 2 reply 2 peeple!! so if we culd wurk out the cuntditions thatd mak me illiterate thatd b hawt @,,w,,@

[sweetlittlebabymaid]

Could someone please hypnotize me into being completely dependent on my diapers to the point where I can't even tell when I need to be changed anymore? Just. Make me completely helpless and at your mercy >///<

[misctf]

I just started a job at this university teaching biology. I am 52 and some of my students from the wrestling team are telling me I should join. I try to tell them I am too old. They set up a meeting with their coach. Should I go?

Why you decided to agree to this meeting was beyond you. You’re a biology teacher- a man of science. You’ve spent years building your career and livelihood. Sacrificing your early years in the lab while your friends and family enjoyed theirs. It was finally time for you to turn a new page- get a job at a small university, spend time with your husband, and finally put less emphasis on academia. Bitterly, you realize that the emphasis on academics is somewhat lacking at your new, smaller university. Sports seemed to reign supreme here, especially the wrestling program.

“So bro...” You raise an eyebrow, “Or do you prefer Mr...”

“Doctor.” You correct him- you weren’t going to let some glorified gym teacher demean you.

The wrestling coach smirks, “Ah right, doctor.” He cracks his knuckles, “So my boys tell me you’re not gonna pass ‘em.” He leans forward and you catch a whiff of his cologne- there’s a hint of pine and you subconsciously lean forward, enjoying the smell, “Look, it’s vital that you pass ‘em.” His smile is framed by a well-groomed beard and you can tell he works-out based on how his button-down hugs his muscular arms and chest, “Can you do me a solid? For coach? Just let it slide. Give ‘em the grades. For coach.” He puts emphasis on the word.

“For coach?” You mumble, “I... uh...” Why was your dick getting hard? Why was your mouth ajar? Were you drooling on yourself? You quickly shake your head, “Look, don’t tell anyone about this.” You say- noticing the smug smirk growing on Coach’s face, “I’ll pass them, but they need to work hard.”

“I’m sure they will. All my boys do.” He says, “You’re dismissed.” You nod, and without a second thought, leave the room.

Your husband asks you why you were late that night and you explain your odd meeting with Coach. He raises an eyebrow, asking why you call him Coach, but you’re unable to come up with an answer. It seemed right. He is Coach... You quickly tell him you’re tired and head up to get ready for bed. You needed the rest. At 52, you certainly didn’t have the energy for these longer days. You sigh as you look at yourself in the mirror- taking in the pudge around your mid-section, your tired eyes, and your horseshoe pattern hairstyle. Years of stress and chasing grants certainly did their number on you. You and your husband crawl into bed and you give him a kiss, albeit with less enthusiasm. Your mind wanders to images of Coach- his smile, his cologne, his build- and you find yourself smiling- your dreams filled with images of the other man.

You wake up the next morning with a morning wood reminiscent of your younger days. You quietly get out of bed, making sure not to wake your husband, and get ready for your lecture. But the day drags, your mind constantly preoccupied with images of Coach. Even as you’re trying to teach the basics of evolutionary biology, the subject you dedicated your PhD to, you’re struggling. The group of wrestlers in the back are snickering, and you feel your blood boil. This wasn’t high school. You weren’t going to let yourself be bullied by a bunch of stupid, dumb jocks. But you can’t bring yourself to discipline them. With a defeated sigh, you dismiss the class, telling them you aren’t feeling well. And as your students trickle out, you start to wonder. Did you really dismiss class early? Did you ever do that at any point in your many years of teaching? Why couldn’t you stop thinking about Coach? No... this was all wrong... It was those wrestlers, you figure. They disrupted your class- snickering and mocking you. They needed to be taught a lesson...

“Ah, so you’re back, doc.” Coach says, watching as you enter his office, “Again, thanks for giving my boys the grades they need to pass. Wrestling is...”

“Enough,” You say, your confidence and conviction seemingly catching Coach off guard, “Your wrestlers are disrupting class. It’s one thing if they want to fail, it’s another thing if they...”

“Woah, woah calm down there. Can you do that for me? For Coach?” You freeze, the confidence boiling your blood evaporating in an instant, “That’s right, easy does it big guy. Just like that. For Coach.” He smiles and you feel lightheaded, “It’s not right to talk to me like that. Respect is important, don’t you agree?” You nod, your eyes vacant, “So how about we work this out.” You watch as he adjusts his belt, “Relax a bit and suck my dick. Can you do that for me? For Coach?”

There’s no thought to protest. No resistance. You’re on your knees, your tongue greedily teasing his head. And soon enough, you’re deep throating him. His cock tastes good as it fills your mouth, and you can feel your dick straining against your pants. But your pleasure didn’t come from your dick right now- it came from sucking Coach’s cock. Up, down, up down... His moans tell you you’re doing it right... reassuring you that you’re exactly what Coach needs. And you gag as his dick swells before sending a torrent of cum down your throat. You swallow each drop, greedily licking the tip for any last drop.

“See, don’t you feel better now?” Coach pants, “Treat my boys with respect. Can you do that? For Coach?” You nod, “Good, good. Alright you slut, you’re dismissed.”

You stagger to your car, arriving at your home- your eyes still half-lidded. Your mind trying to conceive what just happened. You tell your husband you don’t feel well, and he looks at you with some concern, but you tell him not to worry. And as you lie in bed, you can’t help but wonder how this is happening. What was going on? And god, you couldn’t wait for Coach to let you suck his dick again.

Weeks seemed to pass and your life was starting to unravel. You’d lost complete control of your class- often just telling them to read out of a textbook. Your passion for teaching diminishing. You figured it was because you and your husband were fighting more. He finally had enough of your personality change and you pushing him away- your affection and friendship diminishing as your thoughts and desires centered around Coach. He finally moved out after you told him about your activities with Coach. Your heart broke when you saw how crushed he looked, and in that moment you wanted to tell him something was wrong. That you needed help... But Coach... Coach needed you... And that thought drowned out any remaining logic or love you had for your husband. Now, completely isolated, there were no more distractions.

“Yo you comin’ to the match tonight?” One of the wrestlers asked you at the end of another uninspired class, “Coach wants ya there.”

“Coach wants me?” You say, unable to hide the joy in your voice, “Yeah... yeah I’ll be there.” The wrestler gave you a knowing smirk and walked out, laughing about something with his friends.

You find yourself sitting on the sidelines later that night, your eyes wandering around trying to catch a glimpse of Coach. And when you finally made eye contact, a grin formed on his face. It was predatory- malicious even. Part of you wanted to run and escape, find your husband and leave this town. Quit this job. Live the life you’d built after so much hard work and dedication. But before you could even stand, Coach was sitting next to you, and you felt your resistance crumble.

“Please...” You whimper, “Don’t...”

“We have a problem.” Coach says, completely ignoring you, “AJ is injured.” He puts an arm around you, “He’s supposed to compete soon.”

“I don’t...” The world around you fades into the background. It’s just you and Coach, “I...”

“I need you, now more than ever.” Coach says, “Can you do this for me? For Coach?”

“For Coach...” You try your best to fight it, to resist saying it, “I’m not...”

“Can you lose the gut? Can you do that for Coach?” He asks, and you gasp as your paunch suddenly pulls back, leaving you with a flat stomach, “And while you’re at it, can you pack on some muscle. You can do that, right? For Coach?”

You groan as six tight abs form on your now previously smooth abdomen, a perfect set of V-lines pointing to your crotch. But it’s not just a new six-pack that you’re sporting. Your pecs swell with firm muscle- your previous moobs becoming toned and muscular. Your grunt and breath faster as your back widens and your arms tone before swelling with muscle- your once unimpressive arms sporting a set of bis and tris you’d only seen on dedicated athletes.

“Yeah, you’re doing great.” Coach says, watching as your calves and thighs swell with muscle, “But can you lose some age? 52 is too old, would you be able to be 21? For Coach?”

Your body seemed to defy the biology that you dedicated your life to as the years reversed themselves. Your skin becoming youthful and tanned, while your body hair vanished, leaving your new pecs, abs, and muscular back clean-shaven and smooth. In fact, you realize that the only place you actually grew hair was on your head and your pits. The wiry, musky pit hair poking out between your arms. You run a hand through your new hair and gasp. You’d started going bald in your 20s but now...

“This doesn’t.... this doesn’t make sense...” Your voice is unfamiliar to you now. Even in your 20s you didn’t sound like this... You sound like those wrestlers from your class- oafish and cocky... a voice befitting a jock, “How... are you doing this? Why...?”

“I know you’re a biology expert, but I don’t think we need that anymore, don’t you agree? How about you lose the smarts there, doc. Can you do that for me? For Coach?”

You realize in a momentary sense of clarity that this man... whatever he was... he took everything from you. The life you built... gone. And you weren’t about to let him take your career. All your hard work. Your passion... your... your what?

“Huhuhuh.” You feel drool forming in the corner of your mouth as a dim chuckle leaves your lips, “Like uh what... Wasn’t I like a...” Your head starts to hurt, memories of late night lab sessions, your dissertation- all overwhelming the simpler circuitry of your more primian brain, “Oh fuck Coach...”

“Just let it out, let it go.” Coach whispers, “Be the wrestler I need you to be. Do that for me. For Coach.”

And in that moment, whatever resistance- whatever memories you had been fighting to hold onto- vanish. Your body goes slack as your brain empties of your years of teaching and learning. But in the void of your empty brain, a new spark ignites. Wrestling... years of experience... years of intense training... all the moves, all the positions... And even more important, the passion for it- the desire to be the fucking best.

“Fuck Coach.” You grumble, your voice dull and slow, “You need me out there?”

“Not in that outfit.” He chuckles, “You know better than that. Singlet buddy. Put on singlet. Do it for me. For Coach.”

“Coach, bruh, already wearing a singlet.” You chuckle, gesturing at the tight singlet wrapped around your body, “Don’t tell me you’re losin’ it, Coach.” You smirk, a smug arrogance embedded in your tone, “Just tell me what you need me to do.” The two of you stand up, and Coach grins.

“I need you to win.” He says, “Win for me. For Coach.”

You grin as you walk to the face your opponent. You could do it. You could do anything. As long as it was for him. For Coach.

[mooonling]

i need him to praise me for every hit so that i smoke myself braindead.

“there’s my good girl, keep going.”

“you’re too high? no, baby, you’re just overheating. come on, let’s take these clothes off.”

“shhhhh it’s okay. you look so beautiful like this.”

“you’re feeling dizzy? shame sweetie, lay down for a bit. let me take care of you.”

“don’t worry about what my hands are doing. you want a body high, don’t you?”

“atta girl, hit it again.”

[dumb--babyyy]

This is what big boys look like, right?

[hypnocatabdl]

No potty breaks, no leaks—just a warm squishy diaper keeping me safe till morning 🛌 reshare if you sleep better all padded up and accident-proof too 😴

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

The Birthday - 1

I couldn't imagine a more perfect way to spend the morning of my 35th birthday. It had been a beautiful, spring Saturday morning. I got up a little later than usual, put on my khakis and a polo shirt, grabbed breakfast at the club house with my best friends, and spent the entire morning playing golf.

Usually, weekend mornings are full of 'Daddy-duties' for me. Wake up, turn on some cartoons for the kids, change the baby's diaper and get everyone out of pajamas, make breakfast, then load everyone up in the car for the youth sports game-of-the-week. Don't get me wrong. I love my life. I love being a dad. I love spending time with my kids. But, today, my birthday, my wonderful wife Madeline let me make the day just about me, and I love that too.

It was about 1:00 pm by the time I got home. I staggered into the house a little more unbalanced than usual, having had a few more than my normal share of beers on the course. In my slightly drunken state, it took me a second to recognize that something was different than normal in the house, but, after hanging my keys on the key hook and wandering into the kitchen, things started to feel off.

First, the house was clean. The toys, normally spread across the house, were all in their proper place. The kitchen counters were crumb free. The sink was clear of dishes. Now, I am not saying our house is normally a mess, but with kids, it's generally impossible to keep the house cleaner than 'slightly cluttered.'

"Love?" I called out, "The house looks beautiful? Did you and the kids spend the whole morning cleaning?"

My yell was met with silence. That was also odd. With the kids around, the house was always noisy. However, at that moment, there was nothing. No one was crying, or laughing, or yelling. The sounds of the latest episode of Bluey or Pokemon weren't blaring from the playroom. There wasn't even music playing. I started to become suspicious. Was anyone home?

With growing concern, I turned and left the kitchen and heading upstairs to the master bedroom. Maybe my wife was taking a nap? Maybe she convinced the kids to nap to? It seemed unlikely, but, in my happy, half-drunk stupor, I was ready to get to the bottom of this mystery.

I walked upstairs briskly, now more cautious about yelling out, not wanting to wake anyone up if they were sleeping. As I made it to the second floor hallway, I was greeted by more of what I had seen downstairs. An impeccably clean and quiet house.

As I passed each of the children's bedrooms, I peaked in, hoping to get some sign of what was happening. I got no hints. Each of my kids rooms was clean, organized, and devoid of life.

I finally made it to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. As I approached the room, I noticed that the door was shut. Much like the house being clean and silent, that never happened. Cautiously, and still a little unsteadily, I approached the white door to my bedroom, grabbed the handle, and cautiously pushed the door open. As I did, I was greeted by the sultry voice of my wife.

"Why hello there big boy! I see someone finally made it home for his birthday surprise!"

Like a dog anticipating a treat when they hear their master reach for the treat bag, I suddenly was overcome by an overwhelming sexual anticipation for what was coming next. I could feel my cock, flaccid and unnoticed just moments before, grow larger and harder, pressing against my khakis in a way that made my feelings for my wife obvious to anyone who could see me.

Now driven by lust, I abandoned my previous sense of caution. I flung open the door to my bedroom to reveal my wife lying on top of the comforter of our king sized bed.

My eyes were instantly drawn to my wife, lying across the bed seductively. She was wearing the sexiest, laciest black lingerie I had ever seen. It emphasized her cleavage and ass perfectly. Her long, brown hair, styled wavy, was draped over her shoulder. In her hand was a riding crop, a favorite tool for administrating 'punishments' in our house.

"Happy Birthday Baby! I thought maybe we could celebrate together today?" My wife, Melody, said seductively, smacking the leather end of the riding crop in her empty hand for emphasis. I felt blood flow to my penis as she spoke. Suddenly, my member was straining against the confines of my boxer briefs and khakis. This was going to be a good birthday.

Noticing my arousal, Melody climbed off the bed, leaving the riding crop behind, and walked up to me. She grabbed my now rock hard penis over my pants with one hand and used her other hand to pull my head down into a passionate kiss. I immediately reciprocated.

As we kissed, Melody, despite being 8 inches shorter and 100 pounds lighter than me, used the leverage she had from handling my penis to maneuver me to a position where my back was to the bed as we kissed. Once I felt the back of my knees brush against our king-sized mattress, Melody surprised me with a shove to the chest, forcing me to lie on my back on the bed. Then, with a mischievous grin on her face, she reached for my belt and the buckle of the pants, expertly undoing both and ripping my pants off.

"We can't have you wearing these! They'll just get in the way!" She exclaimed as she through my khakis to the ground unceremoniously. I grinned in anticipation as Melody climbed on top of me, straddling me at the waist, and began rubbing her still panty clad pussy on my still underwear covered penis.

As she continued the motion, she leaned down and whispered in my ear, "Oh, you like that big boy?" I just moaned in response. I could feel pre-cum leaking out of my penis into my underwear.

"Yeah, I bet you do, you naughty little boy," She continued. I just moaned again. However, the friction felt so good, along with the dirty talk, I suddenly was becoming worried that I was going to cum even before we started to have sex. I tried to turn my head away and think of something else, just to extend the amount of time this would last.

Melody laughed as I turned my head away, clearly aware of what I was doing. I started to blush in embarrassment at the realization that she new I was at risk of losing control even before we started fucking.

"Oh, does this feel a little TOO GOOD for you baby? We can't have that! Let's slow things down," Melody said, climbing off of me, and, thankfully, giving me the chance to slow down. I looked down at my blue boxer briefs and saw a distinct wet spot from where my pre-cum had soaked into my underwear. Melody looked at it to, frowned playfully, but didn't say anything about the stain immediately.

"I want to make this last all day for you, so let's try something else," Melody said as she walked over to our nightstand. I followed her shapely, barely covered ass as she moved around the bed. Then, for the first time, I noticed some new things about the room.

First, on the nightstand were a number of 'supplies' I had never seen before. On the nightstand was a blindfold, a contraption with leather straps I couldn't quite identify but looked like it was meant to go around a person's head, and a pair of large, noise cancelling wireless headphones. Looking closer to me, I noticed that our bed was slightly different as well. Rather than being covered in our normal comforter and pillows, the bed was covered in nothing but black satin sheets. Also, interestingly, there were now wrist and ankle restraints attached to each corner of the bed, waiting patiently to pin down whoever was strapped into to them. I couldn't help but grin. Today WAS going to be a good day. I'd never been so glad that we slowed down early.

Melody turned around from where she stood, bent over the nightstand. "Like what you see?" She asked, wiggling her ass playfully as she grabbed the blindfold in her other hand.

I laughed, "Oh yeah."

"Well, big boy, I've got something special in mind for you today, but, its a surprise, so I need you to let me take control," she said as she returned to my position on the bed. "So, first, put this on." Melody handed me the blindfold.

"Kinky," I said playfully, complying with her command and blindfolding myself.

"Oh, you don't even know," Melody said. "Now, lay back on the bed and spread out your arms and legs. Today is about me taking care of you."

Excited by where this was going, I did as she asked. I spread out my arms and legs and felt as she, with surprising expertise, strapped me into the wrist and ankle restraints.

"What's gotten into you Melly? You never want to play like this?" I asked as she strapped me in, a little disappointed that with the blindfold on, I couldn't see my wife's marvelous body.

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough. Now, no more talking, baby!" She said. Suddenly, I felt something soft and rubber brush my lips. "Open up and take this," Melody suddenly said.

I did as she asked and let the rubber object enter my mouth. As it filled my mouth, I felt it suddenly stop as a hard piece of plastic hit the outside of my lips. Panic suddenly hit me as I realized what this was--a pacifier.

Since before Melody and I had even started dating, I had an ABDL fetish. Specifically, I loved the idea of diapering, babifying, and humiliating strong, independent women. I did not know where it came from, and in a lot of ways, I loathed the fetish. The idea that humiliating and infantilizing women turned me on, despite my actual strong feminist values, disgusted me.

As a result, I never acted on it and had never shared my fetish with Melody, or any other woman for that matter. That had not stopped me from viewing, reading, and eventually writing copious amounts of ABDL porn during our relationship though.

The feeling of the pacifier being pressed into my mouth created so many concerns.

First, how had Melody found out about my fetish? Had she found out about my fetish? Was she upset about it? Second, despite having an ABDL fetish, the idea of being infantalized myself disgusted me.

In my fantasies, I was ALWAYS the dominant daddy, slowly helping my partner become the helpless, infantalized adult they deserved to be treated as. I was never the one being babied. If Melody's plan was to do this to me, that was NOT what I wanted.

In the time that all of this went through my head, I was able to spit out my pacifier and yell out, "What the fuck?!?" I struggled at my bonds as I felt the wet rubber of the giant plastic nipple land on my chest. No matter how much I pulled I could not get free. Frustratingly, I couldn't see Melody's reaction to my struggles, but I could hear her laugh.

I felt the pacifier that had just been in my mouth being picked up off my chest and pressed into my lips again.

"Take this in you mouth, big boy, or suffer the consequences," my wife's voice commanded. Melody emphasized her point by squeezing my balls almost uncomfortably with her free hand.

I wasn't going to give in that easily. I closed my lips tight and turned my head to the side. When I thought I was safe from the childish soother being shoved in my mouth, I responded. "What the fuck is going on Melody, what are you doing? Is that a pacifier you are trying to get me to suck on?" I asked.

Melody with impatience in her voice, refused to answer my questions.

"You'll know precisely what is going on soon enough. Now, suck on this before I make you suck on it," she ordered, attempting to shove the rubber nipple in my mouth a third time. I refused again.

"Have it your way," she said, "this makes it more fun for me anyway."

I felt the mattress I was tied to move as Melody got off of the bed. I then heard the sound of something being moved around on the nightstand. The bed shook again and Melody got back on. I became nervous as I could feel her kneeling next to my prone form.

Suddenly, without almost any warning, I felt a sharp smack to my penis and balls. The pain, while not particular intense, as the slap was blessedly light, was unexpected and sharpe. I raised my head and yelled out. "Owww!"

As I opened my mouth, what must have been a different pacifier, given the much larger size of the rubber nipple was shoved in my now open mouth. At the same time, what must have been the leather straps I saw on the nightstand earlier, were quickly shoved over my head. I tried to spit this new, larger pacifier out. I couldn't. I could feel that with one hand, Melody was now holding the pacifier into place. With her other hand, she was tightening the straps wrapped around my head. A thrashed my head back and forth, but I couldn't stop the process. Within moments, I felt my wife stop pushing the pacifier into my mouth. However, even without that pressure, I couldn't spit it out. Given the days of my life I had spent masturbating to adult baby porn, I knew what I was wearing--a pacifier gag.

I heard Melody sigh in satisfaction as she pulled away from my body, leaving me to struggle against my restraints. "Much better," She said triumphantly, "this will go much smoother if you can't talk."

"Mmmmrrrppphh," I said, unable to form any words due to the size of the large pacifier stuck in my mouth.

I heard Melody walk around the bed, stopping at the foot of the bed. I felt her reach her hand up to my underwear and poke at the wet spot made from my pre-cum earlier.

"Oh my! Look at this, it looks like my BIG, ADULT husband had a little accident in his undies, didn't he?" she chided me with a condescending tone. I growled into the pacifier shoved into my mouth, horrified at where this was going. "I though I was married to a grown up who could keep his pants clean, it doesn't look like it though, does it?" she continued. I growled in the pacifier and thrashed around again. "Clearly, you aren't ready for big boy undies. I think you would look much cuter in diapers anyway. Let's just get this underwear off."

I felt the weight of my wife leaning over the bottom of the bed before I felt the cool metallic feel of scissors sliding up to the bottom of my boxer briefs. I bucked my hips as I felt Melody begin to cut my underwear free. I just couldn't believe what was happening. I had read this story so many times. Fantasized about it. Fuck, I'd even written something close to this once. But, every single time, I was the one removing the underwear, not the one having it taken from me. This was horrible.

"Stop that baby!" Melody said, giving my balls a warning slap as I bucked my hips and tried to prevent this indignity from continuing. "Do you want me to accidentally cut you? These scissors are sharp?"

As she spoke, I realized she was right. Even this humiliation wasn't worth injuring myself. I stopped struggling long enough to let Melody continue cutting my boxer briefs off. "Good boy!" she said encouragingly as she pulled my destroyed underwear free, exposing my ass and crotch. I felt my penis, rock hard only minutes earlier, shrivel up from the cold air and the humiliation of what was happening.

"Oh, how cute! It knows where it's going, so it shrunk up appropriately," Melody said, playfully pinching my penis. "Alright, stay here baby, I'll be back in a second."

I groaned inwardly as I heard Melody leave the room. Where was I going to go? Strapped to the bed, blindfolded, half-naked, and forced to suck on a pacifier, I was firmly detained at this point. It didn't take long before I heard Melody re-enter the room. I listened closely and could clearly hear the rustling sound that I knew must be the diaper she was holding. I listened further as Melody retook her position at the foot of our bed and placed the items she was carrying down.

"Alright, big boy, time to get you diapered for Mommy!" Melody said as I felt her lean over my spread legs.

I immediately started to thrash and scream into my pacifier. This was not going to happen to me. I was an adult. I was in control. I was the Daddy Domme! If anyone in this house was going to be diapered, it'd be Melody, not me! My struggles proved useless though. Try as I might, Melody had been prepared. The ankle and wrist restraints were too solidly attached to the bed frame, and she clearly didn't skimp on the quality of the restraints themselves. I was not going to break free. After what felt like minutes of struggling, I gave up, embracing my fate.

Melody, for her part, just giggled at my struggles. "What a silly boy, thinking he can get free of Mommy that easily?" Melody teased me as I thrashed. When I finally gave up, she said with the tone I had heard her use with our toddlers so many toys, "A you done throwing your tantrum? Good. Now, let's get this diaper on you before you make a mess on the bed!"

With that, I felt Melody lean back over the bed and place what had to be the diaper down near my resting ass.

"Lift!" My wife ordered me. Resigned to the futility of my situation, I complied, lifting my hips into the air. I felt the diaper slide underneath me.

"Drop!" She indicated. I let my ass fall onto the surprisingly soft padding.

"Good boy," She said, and I felt her begin to spread lotion over my skin. The sensation of her rubbing me brought some life back to my penis. I felt myself getting aroused again. I turned red with embarassment. The idea that I could get any sort of enjoyment out of being treated like this was humiliating.

"Oh, it looks like my little friend wants to come out to play!" Melody said as she saw my member grow harder. She immediately redirected her attention. "Well, if he wants to play, let's play!"

I started to moan as Melody gave me the most enthusastic hand job she had ever given me. She laughed as I thrusted my dick into her hand and grunted into the pacifier.

"Oh, baby likes that, does he?" She said breathily, quickly moving her hand up and down my shaft. After years of being together, Melody knew almost exactly when I was about to cum. Right as I was on the verge of bursting, she let go of my dick. Then, quickly, she folded the diaper over my penis and held it there as I came into the thick padding.

"Gotta be careful to not get any icky juices on you during diaper changes, just like with the boys!" Melody said as I moaned and came into my diaper. I could feel my cheeks turning bright red as she compared me coming into my diaper to a baby boy peeing during a diaper change. Despite the orgasm, this entire situation was torture.

Melody then quickly taped me into my padded, and now sticky, prison. She then crawled on top of me, in some sort of twisted call-back to our earlier sexual encounter, and rubbed her ass back and forth on my padded crotch a couple of times mockingly.

"Oh, this is much better," She laughed, as she bent over and pulled the blindfold off of my face. "Why don't you take a look big boy?"

I squinted as the light hit my eyes for the first time in at least a half an hour. The first thing I saw was my wife's face, staring down at me. Her made up and sexy appearance that was so attractive just earlier was just mocking me now.

"Well, take a look," She ordered.

I lifted my head as much as I could and looked down at my body. Past the ring of the pacifier that was strapped into my mouth I could see my polo shirt. Past my polo shift, sticking up just enough to be seen was a big, disposable ABDL diaper with a baby blue waist band. I groaned as I knew from my peculiar porn viewing proclivities that these particular diapers proudly labelled the wearing as a "POTTYPANTS" on the rear. The childish undergarments stood in stark contrast to my wives sexy panties, that were pressed against it.

Looking at my state, imagining what I must look like to her, I started to tear up in shame.

It only took moments for Melody to notice my building tears and place a hand comfortingly on the side of my face.

"Oh, is it embarrassing to be diapered and forced to use a pacifier, baby?" She said with mock caring in her voice, "You must be wondering why I am doing this?"

I nodded my head in affirmation, doing my best to hold back my tears.

"Well, I'm sure you've guessed by now, I've found the little 'secret' you've been hiding to me. Masturbating to the idea of grown women in diapers? What a dirty little pervert you are!" Melody began. I blushed. "I'm going to admit, at first, I was just shocked that you hid something that you were clearly so into from me. But, I was ready to show you that, despite not really being into it myself, I'd indulge in your fantasies." Melody continued.

I struggled to attempt to respond through the pacifier in my mouth, to explain that this wasn't my fantasy. I couldn't get words out though. Melody put a finger on my pacifier in a shushing motion.

"Hush, babe. I KNOW this isn't YOUR fantasy. I found the disgusting erotica you wrote. You've always claimed to be a feminist, to love women in power, and, I'll be frank, you actions had me fooled. But, the fact that all of your fantasies seem to be about belittling, infantilizing, and humiliating powerful women, I am afraid that that doesn't seem to ring true to me anymore." Melody continued.

I swallowed nervously. This was my worst nightmare come to life.

"So, for your birthday, I decided I'd give you a taste of your own medicine. I'd treat you just like you treat those poor women in the stories. By the end of this weekend, I plan to have you acting like my perfect adult-baby boy. I've sent the boys to my parents for the weekend, so it'll just be us. I even cleaned the house so I don't have to worry about that. I'm going to spend the whole weekend teaching you what its like to be the victim of one of your stories," my wife explained.

I attempted to speak through the pacifier gag again. To plead for forgiveness. To explain my shame. Melody hushed me again.

"No, baby. Nothing you can do is going to change my mind. Don't worry though, by the end of the weekend, I'll let you be a big boy again… maybe," She said with a wink. Then, without warning, she pulled the blindfold over my head blinding me again.

"Now," I heard her say, no unable to see what was happening again, "Mommy has some things to set up, so why don't you be a good baby and take a nap and listen to some of my special music."

I felt the wireless headphones be pulled over my head. I tried to shake them off as best I could, but, somehow, she had tied them into the strap of the pacifier gag, tying them in place.

Once the headphones were placed over my ears, I found myself almost completely cut off from the world. I couldn't see what was happening around me and all I could hear was what was clearly some sort of hypnotic track. As I realized what was happening, I let my head fall slack to the bed and closed my eyes in defeat.

I knew, at least for the next few days, I was well and truly fucked. What a way to spend my birthday weekend.

NEXT CHAPTER

[persuasivetfs]

Our Lady of Blessed Contentment Part 3

There were many things in Amir Khan’s life that he was not pleased with. His shoestring apartment, his perpetually aching knees, his deep sense of loneliness.

Unmarried, elderly, and as one of the few Muslim residents in town Amir had to make do with what he did have. He had his job as an accountant, his books, his routines and his close personal relationship with God and maybe that was enough.

So it was with sudden disturbance that the elderly Mr. Huang, Amir’s boss at their accounting firm, made a very sudden and public conversion to Christianity. Now this by itself wouldn't have been cause for alarm.

Mr. Huang had been a Buddhist in all the time that Amir had known him, and beyond the statue of Guan Yin he kept on his desk and the occasional day off on Buddhist holidays, Amir hardly would have noticed. He had hoped that little would change, with Mr. Huang’s conversion beyond maybe what days he would have off next.

With this new religion however, came a zealousness that Amir neither expected or wished for. In truth, it scared him. The man had taken to peppering every inch of wall with Bible passages, crucifixes, and artistic scenes from the New Testament.

It made Amir feel as if he’d been kidnapped in the once familiar office, forced to work in the house of a Christian extremist rather than a secular accounting firm. It made him so uncomfortable that Amir was even hesitant to pray as he usually did, fearful that Mr. Huang or somebody else would force him to stop.

And he wasn’t alone in his discomfort either. Several other co-workers, two Buddhists and an atheist, felt similarly about the crowding of Christian imagery in their workspace and met privately to discuss their options.

In time it was decided, that Amir as the most seasoned and loyal employee would meet with Mr. Huang over their concerns. He didn’t like it, but he was willing to do whatever it took to make things bearable at work again.

So it was with quiet trepidation and trembling heart that Amir knocked on Mr. Huang’s door.

“Come in,” Mr. Huang greeted, his voice muffled but much louder than he expected. Amir entered.

Mr. Huang sat calmly at his desk, filling out information on his computer. He looked vastly different than before his conversion.

For one Mr. Huang looked decades younger, his face nearly free of wrinkles, while his bald spot had been covered by a thick crown of wavy brown hair. He smiled.

“What can I do for you Mr. Khan? I hear you have a list of concerns from you and a few of your other co-workers,” he greeted, pausing from his computer with his hands folded on his desk.

“Well, myself and others have grown concerned over the overwhelming nature of Christian imagery in the office. We feel that as a secular accounting office that both employs and receives clients of many faiths that while some displays of your personal faith are acceptable, that what we have now is too much.

”We just ask that some of the Christian imagery is toned down, while asking that you promise to maintain a sense of religious tolerance among staff. I have a list of signatures agreeing to such proposals right here,” Amir explained, revealing a list of 4 signatures including his own.

“May I have a look at that, please?” Mr. Huang asked and Amir obliged, handing it to him. He nodded after examining it.

“Then, I will see to it that everyone on this list feels perfectly comfortable and tolerated working here. We’ll be a solid unit,” Mr. Huang said, getting up from his chair.

It was then that Amir noticed that Mr. Huang not only looked younger than but was slightly taller and far more muscular as well. When he gripped his hand, Amir’s own hand felt small and delicate, as his boss’s which had once mirrored his own in age had gained a flourish of youth and strength.

In the next few days, it was announced that a team building exercise would take place at the local Summer camp on Saturday.

It would consist of Mr. Huang, Amir Khan, Kelly Zhao, Tyre Blake, and David Cheng. It didn’t take long for everyone to deduce that the only people going besides their boss were those who had signed their names on the complaint letter. Amir considered lying about being sick to avoid it, but he felt it’d be wrong if he left his co-workers out to dry while he hid at home so he opted to go.

When the day came and they all drove to the campgrounds, they were all greeted by Lawrence Daniels, a stoic and smooth-talking young man who introduced himself as a kind of guidance counselor.

Also attending to everyone’s surprise was Mr. Huang’s adult son, Eric. The last any of them had seen of Eric he was arguing with his father in the parking lot of their office. Eric had been dressed in a revealing nylon crop top and pair of skinny jeans while covered entirely in body paint. From what Amir could gather, Mr. Huang had bailed Eric out of jail after being caught trespassing with an illegal homosexual night club. Apparently the hope had been that Eric would abandon such foolishness and go back to school so he could work at his father’s company but that very quickly fell through. At least that’s what Amir had thought.

Yet this Eric dressed in a white button down shirt, khaki pants, and upright posture seemed entirely different from the man Amir had known of. This Eric looked like a younger splitting image of his father, similar in rigidity and strength.

Amir followed the pair inside. It was a dining hall with connected lunch tables crowding from one side of the room to the next. As people took their seats at one of the tables, Amir struggled to move his legs, the pain in his old knees was too much.

“Try sitting on the edge next to me, Mr. Khan,” Eric’s charming voice offered. Amir, surprised, did as Eric suggested, sliding in next to him on the corner after Eric comfortably sat down.

“Hello there, welcome everyone. My name is Lawrence Daniels and I’m a pastor at Our Lady of Sacred Contentment Church,” all of them but the priest, Mr. Huang and Eric Huang looked to each other to confirm what had just been said.

Not only had Mr. Huang converted to this priest’s church, but he was most likely just trying to convert them all as well. This possibility drew collective annoyed glares and heavy sighs from the non-Christian participants.

“Alright calm down everybody, I’m only here as a secular facilitator of today’s team-building function, nothing more. Just thought I’d be honest about where most of my work experience as public facilitator has been,” Pastor Daniels admitted, not expecting such resentment.

“It’s quite alright, Pastor. Please continue on,” Mr. Huang said in an authoritative voice.

“I hope I can leave early. My knees are particularly bad today,” Amir whispered to himself. Eric nodded.

“This won’t take long, we’ll be out of here soon,” Eric said with a wink in his direction.

“Now I’ve heard that we’ve had some trouble with disunity around the office. So together we’re going to work through some exercises to improve company cohesion. Now before we start I’d like you all to fill out these brief questionnaire sheets,” Pastor Daniels explained, handing out sheets and pencils to the table.

Amir stared down his questionnaire. It asked him basic questions about his age, his marriage status, his skills, his interests, his faith, his education. His whole life on a single sheet of paper. It didn’t take long for him to finish.

When all the papers were collected, Pastor Daniels skimmed each one before coming to a stop.

“Amir Khan?” Pastor Daniels asked, scanning the room. Amir’s stomach lurched like he had been called on in class.

“Yes, Mr. Daniels?” Amir refused to call him his pastor.

“I’ve noticed a few strange discrepancies on your form. Are you being completely honest with me?” Pastor Daniels asked, pointing at the papers. Amir looked around flabbergasted.

“I have nothing to lie about,” Amir answered with a shrug.

“It says here you’re 67, but that can’t be true. You look about 30,” Pastor Daniels said with the voice of a school teacher impatient with childish pranks.

Amir wanted to counter him but suddenly found that he couldn’t. Years were peeling off his face as the seconds clicked by. His wrinkles were receding, his hair was growing and his body was regaining a sense of vitality he hadn’t felt in ages. Across his face, his wispy gray mustache and well-kept beard had faded and become replaced with a dark and luxurious mustache that Amir felt the sweet urge to twirl between his fingers.

“And here, you say that you are unmarried yet you have a gold wedding ring across your finger. Or is that mere jewelry, Mr. Khan?”

A solid gold ring materialized on Amir’s finger and with it a name, Jasleen. Amir had thought they had lost touch after he emigrated to the United States and yet he remembered that they had married, that she had come with him, and that she was young as he was. In fact, they already had a son and there was another child on the way.

“Nope, proudly married. I wrote that as a joke,” Amir said, half-confused as he tried to save face. Everyone gave him looks that varied between pity and annoyance.

“Maybe try to keep such jokes between friends, right, man?” Eric whispered with pleading eyes.

“Yeah, sorry,” Amir said, awkward and dazed. He vaguely remembered Eric Huang as his boss’s unemployable gay adult son but that was impossible. Eric worked as a major consultant for his father’s accounting firm with the hope to inherit it after Mr. Huang’s retirement and he was engaged to a woman. Eric was one of Amir’s closest friends and yet he couldn’t remember the two working together. Did this mean that Amir never worked there?

“Now for what you wrote for interests, you put math puzzles and reading but that doesn’t sound like you at all. Of all I’ve heard from Eric, you only love football, nutrition, and exercise.”

Amir groaned as his whole body ballooned underneath him. His neck widened, his chest expanded, his arms and legs and torso packed on muscle. While never the most unathletic man in the world, Amir had played tennis in college, he felt larger and more powerful than he had ever felt. Memories of tennis soon gave way into football, and Amir suddenly gained a deep and reverent joy in the sport that had never died with age.

Suddenly his small tweed sweater and corduroy pants felt too small for him, too old for a muscular young man such as himself. Before he could focus too hard on his outfit, he found himself in a snug gray crop top, a pair of nylon shorts and sneakers, as if he was in the middle of a run.

“And with faith, you wrote Islam but as a non-pastor you have one of the strongest and loudest senses of devotion to our church. You’re obviously a deeply pious Christian man,” Pastor Daniels pointed out.

For much of his life Amir’s faith had always been a private matter. A relationship that was intimate and quiet, achieved through reflection and reverence. Made all the more quiet, in such a county where his religion was often regarded as a threat.

Yet in that priest’s voice, Amir felt a sense of electrifying zealotry that he never had before. A devotion that could not be contained in quiet contemplation but had to be shared with all the people of the world.

His new faith too, had come with a sense of community Amir had long craved. Every week, if not more, he could go to church and pray among the throngs of the faithful. No longer isolated, Amir could be as open about his faith as he wished and would often find others in town who shared his views.

“I’m a Christian first before anything else, Pastor. I would never write any other faith as being more important than the one we share,” Amir said, raising his eyes to heaven with the passion of a Sunday preacher.

“Right of course, my apologies. You did write ‘Christian’ here. Never should have thought differently, though there is one other complication, Brother Khan,” Pastor Daniels said, pausing for dramatic effect before he went on. The dining hall was silent. A bug buzzed by the window. Kelly Zhao yawned.

“Why did you fill out this sheet at all? You work as a gym teacher and football coach at the local high school. I still don’t know why you even came in here.” Memories writing and rewriting themselves to fit the current situation blurred into Amir’s mind.

“I was carpooling with Eric to the school gym when he got a text to come here to act as co-facilitator from Mr. Huang. So not wanting to be bored in the car, I tagged along and wrote down some information on one of your forms. Wanted to see how far I'd get before you noticed,” Amir said with an impish grin.

“Why were you heading to the school gym?” Mr. Huang sternly asked Eric who shuffled nervously in his seat.

“It's Saturday at midday, I have the keys, and the basketball team doesn’t practice till 6. Figured we’d have the whole place to ourselves,” Amir admitted, idly twirling his mustache.

“Well Eric, while I still need you here, it should be no harm to take a few minutes to drop Mr. Khan off at the school. Please do so before we have another distraction,” Mr. Huang said, hand waving the pair away.

Both of them grunted as they slid up from their seats, their muscular legs were too large to be able to stand up and out of them.

Amir, for all his new personal history that had just become cemented in his head in the last half hour, still marveled at the fact that his knees, still the weakest part of his body, were strong enough to successfully hold up his massive new weight.

Eric let out a sigh of relief as the pair left the dining hall behind.

“Thanks for trying to make my Dad’s team building exercise interesting, Amir. Though probably not the best to make jokes when my Dad’s trying to bring people into the fold,” Eric said politely as Amir swaggered out in his muscular new form.

“You’re welcome, bro. I find that adding humor in discussions of faith, improves everybody’s mood and can help make people more amenable to the word of God,” Amir said, confidently.

“You also work with teenage boys everyday. So what works with them might not work with my co-workers, or my father,” Eric said, dreading the future argument they would have. Eric unlocked the car from a distance.

”You think Pastor Daniels is really going to successfully convert the Sinners back there?” Amir asked, twirling his mustache with deep satisfaction.

In the walk to Eric’s car, Amir noticed an old gray Saturn that felt uncannily familiar. It was a small, old car, seperate from the others, probably abandoned. Amir quickened his pace, unnerved, only satisfied until they reached Eric’s own Jeep.

“He hasn’t failed yet,” Eric answered, getting into the driver’s seat. “Honestly, I have no idea how those pastors at our church do it. It worked on my father and our family, and you know how obstinate he is.”

“They’re really building a new world. God’s heavenly kingdom on Earth and we all get to be a part of it,” Amir said with a grin and a mighty flex of his muscular arm before he got inside the passenger's seat. Eric started the car.

“We’ll have to see about that,” Eric answered quickly, so quickly he hoped Amir didn’t hear. The man didn’t seem to notice, smiling with unaware bliss as he twirled his mustache.

In the coming days and weeks, Amir quickly solidified himself as both a major aid and hindrance of Wentworth Falls Public High School. On one hand, the man was an excellent football coach, encouraging his players to victory in a way they haven’t seen all season. However, Amir was also proving to be a major source of controversy. While once afraid to do so much as pray in public as a Muslim, as a Christian in the United States, Amir was emboldened to invoke Jesus and the Church, even to the point of working to convert some of his students.

While this new Amir had come to lack the eloquence of people like Pastor Daniels or the quiet subtlety of Pastor Agosti, he was able to utilize his position to convert young wayward souls to the Church as Pastor Carter would do once the Church basketball team was set up.

Many in the school’s admin were opposed to such open proselytizing in a public school, and tried to use threats of suspension to force Amir to stop, but certain conservative religious and private interests blocked any real chance of that happening. The influence of Our Lady of Sacred Contentment was growing. It was only just the beginning.

[dumb--babyyy]

Here comes the airplane ✈️✈️