Falling for a Femme Fatale – Ch. 2 (Commission)

Thanks to our Gold-Tier patron PJChloro for commissioning this second chapter!

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Goodness, he's such a cutie!

I'm seeing it all flashing before me as I bustle through the living room, intent on preparing everything I need. That awkward blush on his cheeks. The stammer in his voice when he talks to me. The school-boyish, puppy-dog eyes he turns on me when he musters up enough courage to meet my gaze. And of course, the way his eyes furtively slide down over my hips and generous cleavage – like the horny, naughty, sex-deprived little man he is…

I've never had the most conventional taste in men, you know. But that suits me just fine. See, I don't need a coarse, rough, boorish guy who thinks the entire world should listen to him and his manly wisdom. I don't need a mansplaining ass who'll cheat on me the moment some other girl with bigger boobs walks past. I need…

A sweet, nervous little guy like PJ. An adorable young fellow who will do anything and everything I teach him to. Because who wants to be a quiet, submissive wive when you can be a confident, self-assured nanny-like MILF with an obedient man-child wrapped around her little finger?

The tissues are here, as is the chloroform. It's all I need at the moment to set my dream in motion. That dear little PJ, sitting obediently there in my parlor, is going to be mine in just a matter of minutes. All I need is a bit of determination – and muscle.

Fortunately, I've done my fair share of lifting. And even better, PJ has all the physical fitness of a computer programmer. So when I slip into the room, unnoticed, and clap my arms around him from behind, his frightened, rabbit-like leap of alarm is so easily quelled. "Shh," I murmur soothingly in his ear as I pull the struggling fellow close, shrouding his spluttering face in the heavenly, crinkling softness of the chloroform-soaked tissues. "Hold still and let it happen…"

Because it will happen. There's no question about that, no matter how he kicks and struggles. He will be mine, and he will become the devoted little darling I need him to be.

And oh, how these tissues crinkle and rustle beneath my fingers! How softly they swaddle his panting face! How easily they give off the sweet, stupefying fumes that are sending him down into limp, unconscious submission! I have no idea if PJ knows yet just how how much I love paper handkerchiefs – how beautifully they rustle, how puffy and soft and seductive they are – but he'll find out soon enough.

When he finally sags down, limp and unconscious under the weight of the chloroform, I know it's time to set my dream in motion. He's heavy, but not so heavy that I can't drag him out of the room and down the hall to the special, recently renovated room I've prepared with this very event in mind. You see, when one has the space and the money that I do… well, it's not really a problem to make a few dreams come true.

Into the pastel wonderland of this new nursery I drag him, and across the plush carpet to the oversized crib. It's been made to my exact specifications: sized for a single, plastic-covered mattress;  its four tall sides composed of thick, close-spaced rungs and heavy-duty locks; a roof that prevents any escape and from which dangles a cloud-like mobile; and of course, the webbed straps and metal rings at each corner that will prevent any unwanted movement.

Because, you know, it might take a teensy little while until he learns to enjoy his new life with me.

Not for nothing have I had a few years of medical school – you know, from back when Daddy thought I might need to hold a real job. The same training that has taught me about the proper use of chloroform has also given me the know-how to shear the clothes easily from my unconscious PJ's frame. Goodness, he's paler and even less muscly than I thought! He's got an adorable little pudge around his middle, though, and a couple of soft folds on the thighs and upper arms. Oh my, but he's going to look so sweet once I've fed him up properly and helped develop that baby fat…

The diaper is easy – but I'm not about to give him just a diaper, oh no. Right from the start I'm going to start training him to accept the soft pleasure that my beloved paper tissues bring. So underneath him I slide it – but over the powder and lotion I heap tissue after tissue, swaddling his adorably limp cock and balls in layer after layer of thin cotton. Closed it goes at last, swelling softly with the bulk of the tissues beneath. "Good baby," I whisper, pressing the tapes closed and smiling at the picture he makes. Goodness, he's already stealing my heart – and he hasn't even been my baby for more than ten minutes yet.

"Here, this will keep you nice and warm," I whisper, tugging the thick, baby-blue footed sleeper underneath him. Just as with his diaper, I pile it full of tissues, working handful after handful down the legs, into the arms, and all around the middle. He's not super chubby yet, of course – but this way he can definitely look the part of a roly-roly baby, all while learning to accept and love the delightful, rustling caress of my beloved handkerchiefs on every inch of his body…

When he finally starts to wake, I've just finished securing the last of his four limbs into places and am busily preparing his first feeding. "Whaa- Hhhnnnn-?", he articulates, trying and failing to sit up. His eyelids blink heavily open, and I'm there: beaming down at him, already in love with the confused and helpless look in his brown eyes. "Shh, it's okay, baby," I reassure him, and before he can respond I've slipped the teat of the oversized feeding bottle between his unresisting lips. "Here, this will help you feel all better…"

It will, I know it. He doesn't, though, and that explains why he struggles – in vain – to squirm away from his formula. "Drink up. NOW," I command, and clamp his tossing head down into place with the other hand while I force the nipple once more into his mouth. "You don't want to make your new nanny mad, now, do you? Don't want Miss Amber to get angry?"

Nanny? Miss Amber? The words make me catch my breath in excitement, even as they elicit a wrinkled brow and a look of disgust and dismay from PJ. "Oh, don't worry – I won't be too mean," I reassure him, watching in satisfaction as he finally begins gulping at the milk bottle in my hand. "Listen, PJ: I know you fancy me, don't you? I bet you've already dreamed about me teasing you and playing with you, hmm? Well, you don't need to wait any longer! I'm here, and you're here, and you're going to be my sweet little playtoy from now on…"

He's gazing up with an expression of shock and guilty fear in his eyes, and I can't help but giggle. "That's right, baby! I like to play at being a nanny sometimes, and so you're going to become my sweet little baby boy! All dressed up in your pretty, thick diaper and sleeper… Lying here in your crib learning to make accidents in your pants all over again… Letting me feed you anything and everything I want because I'm your nanny and I know what's best for you…"

"Like right now." He pauses in his gulping, so I give a wry smile and a squeeze of the bottle to squirt more formula into his mouth. "You wouldn't believe the amount of muscle relaxants, and diuretics, and laxatives I've got in this formula. With enough of it, you won't be able to walk properly. You might not be able to hold onto things. And best of all…" I pause and smile at the visible horror growing on his face. "You definitely won't be able to help wetting and messing your diaper."

He's panicking now, spitting the nipple from his mouth. "MMmmoohhh! Nnnooo, I won't! Let me gggmmooo-" Of course I attempt to force it back in, but he's in a frenzy now, and I'm afraid I'll hurt him. "PJ, bad baby!" I scold, but even a flurry of sharp smacks to his naked thigh fails to bring him to senses. "Don't make me do this," I warn – but even when he sees the tissues and chloroform in my hands, he doesn't stop struggling…

Well, at least not right away. I manage to stuff his spluttering mouth with a generous wad of paper handkerchiefs, muting his wails down into a peevish gurgle of discontent. It takes another good minute of clamping another thick, soft cloud of chloroform-soaked handkerchiefs over his snot-nosed and blubbering face until he finally gives a final, muffled moan and sags back down into unconscious submission.

What little brats baby boys can be sometimes, huh?

When he finally wakes the second time – shuddering, gulping, writhing and twisting in his bonds like the disgruntled little baby I now know him to be – I'm ready for him. In my hand is a replenished bottle of medicated formula. And in my mind is the new persuasive method that I suspect will do the trick.

"Now, listen: we can do this two ways, baby," I assert, and he gulps and gazes nervously up at me while I pry the soggy handkerchiefs from his parted lips. "We can do this the hard way. I've trained as a nurse, you see, so it's no problem for me to insert a lovely little feeding tube right into your nose and down your throat. Just imagine it, baby: a perfect little pipeline into your belly. Oh, the things I could feed you – not only every hour of the day, but all through the night. Even in your sleep!"

"Or…" I pause once more, running my hand suggestively over my lingerie-clad curves and relishing the look of horror on his messy face. "Or I can persuade you." I reach for another couple of paper hankies and crumple them delightedly in my hand, then press them over his snotty nose. "Blow, baby. Blow for Miss Amber." Which, of course, he does – showing me that he's already beginning to accept the control I have over him.

"See, I've seen the way you look at me, honey," I smile, wadding the tissues and tossing them into the nearby wastebin. "So here's a deal: if you promise to drink up all of your formula from now on like a good baby, I'll let you see Miss Amber without her pretty bra. You'd love to see your pretty new nanny's boobies, wouldn't you, baby?"

Of course he would. He may be destined to become my helpless little baby, but right now he's still very much a man. And so… he nods. Shamefully. Opening reluctantly for the teat that I smilingly press once more into his waiting mouth.

"Besides," I giggle, watching in amusement he gulps once more at the creamy, medicated formula that will thrust him even deeper into helpless babyhood. "When it comes right down to it, there's no way you'll be able to help drinking whatever I want to feed you, baby! Your new nanny knows exactly how to force medicine down into the tummy of even the most naughty little baby boy, whether they like it or not. So why not be a good, obedient baby and have some fun at the same time?"

Has he even begun to comprehend what I've got in store for him? He surely can't have accepted it all so quickly… can he? He's no longer struggling. He's simply lying here, gazing up over the bottle, his eyes flickering nervously over at my fingers as they run teasingly up and down my brassiere. "Just think, baby," I soothe, noting with satisfaction that the bottle is already over half empty. "Just think of how much fun it would be to suck on Nanny's boobies. She'd be so soft, so nice, so very good to her hungry little man-baby…"

Oh, he's thinking about it. Even through the thick wads of cotton fluff and the night-weight disposable diaper, I can feel his erection beneath my hand, straining impotently upward within its prison. "Good baby," I soothe – rubbing firmly and watching his eyes slip closed in mute, shameful pleasure. "Nanny will let you do that someday. But for now, you're going to have to be content with looking…"

And so he does. For when the final drops of creamy, regressive formula have trickled down into the gasping, collapsing rubber teat, I beam and reach behind me, undoing the clasp and letting my bra drop unheeded to the nursery floor. "Good baby," I repeat, leaning closer and purposely letting my heavy, double-D breasts sway provocatively before his eyes. "Oh, you're going to love cuddling with me… letting me nurse you… letting your entire adult life go bye-bye. You're going to be such a good, submissive little baby for Nanny Amber, aren't you? "

Oh, he is. I can already see it in his eyes. He's helpless before me: before my feminine charms, and before the regressive power of my new nursery. He might need a bit of time to fully accept that fact, of course. But you know…

I can wait. Because the harder he struggles, the more delightful the process will be.