Learning the Hard Way - Chapter Three (Commission)

Thanks and a big shout-out to our great Gold-Tier Patron Bondagediaperlover93 for commissioning this one!

***

Well, here goes! Another new day in the ward… another opportunity to polish my skills and show everyone that I – Nurse Laura McCormick – have got what it takes. And as it so happens, it's also another chance to work with this strange patient of ours down in room 212.

I'm thinking back over the past few days as I sip at my coffee and give a final tug at my scrubs in preparation. This fellow Steven had been an absolute asshole ever since he arrived a few days ago – had being the key word here. I honestly don't know if it was his atrocious behavior – cursing, catcalling, lewd suggestions, you name it – or whether it was something else entirely that led Dr. Harper to prescribe such drastic and unorthodox measures as we saw yesterday. But here we are.

"Oh my god, really? We're supposed to do… all that?!" Amy's peering over my shoulder at the clipboard now, and I give a bemused shrug. "I mean, you're seeing what I'm seeing, girl. Not much we could do about it even if we wanted do. And honestly, you think that cretin deserves any better?" Maybe I'm just salty over his humiliating words to me that first day, when he'd called my pretty pink hair "butt-ugly." But I'll be damned if I'm not going to carry out every single one of the orders listed on this innocent-looking little clipboard…

"Okay, the new clothes are over in linens, apparently. And all the other supplies have already been delivered to 212. So whaddya say we head on in there and get to work?" To which Amy only blushes and gives me a saucy grin before slipping on her mask. "Hey. I'm game if you are!"

The guy's still fast asleep when we get there, clearly knocked out from whatever sedatives they fed him during last night's feeding. He looks so silly and pathetic there in his blue gown and puffed-out, swollen adult diaper that it's hard to believe he could even imagine himself a tough, strong guy at all. Not to mention that inflatable gag puffs out his cheeks and makes him look like some comical, medicated chipmunk…

"Okay, you prep his feeding, okay? I'll take care of changing him." "You mean her," Amy corrects with a tiny giggle. "Didn't you see at the top of the form? Change in preferred pronouns and name: from he/him to she/her, and from Steven to Stephanie." I shake my head in quiet amusement and get to work, smiling to myself at the thought of just how incredibly, deservedly humiliating this is all going to be for such a guy.

As if his small penis and pee-soaked diaper weren't already cause enough for him to be mortified.

"Good. Now don't start feeding until I'm done here, okay?" I'm focused now, mentally reviewing my checklist and the procedures I've been taught. Foley catheters are nothing new for me, of course, but naturally I want to make sure I'm doing it exactly right… And then the thing is in, a fresh spurt of urine already welling from the tube end as my gloved fingers direct it down into the fresh – and loudly pink – diaper beneath him. "Great. Now where is that cage again?"

Amy's openly giggling as I slip the stainless steel chastity cage over the flaccid and catheterized penis, then click it firmly into place and begin delicately arranging the catheter tube within the fresh diaper. "It's all meant to make sure the tube doesn't kink or get contaminated," I explain softly, pulling the diaper closed at last and taping it deftly shut. "Though with as much liquid as he's been prescribed, he'll be pissing round the clock anyway, so I don't think infections will be much of a problem regardless…"

Oh, the look on Steve- no, Stephanie's face as she wakes groggily and finds herself still strapped down to the bed is beautiful to see. "Time for breakfast, baby," Amy giggles – and then the tube is full, that thick, chalky cocktail of formula, diuretics, and laxatives coursing irresistibly down and into the patient's gulping mouth. "Good, good – drink up your nummy-nummy formula for us! And while you eat, Stephanie, why don't we show you the pretty new outfit we've got for you today?"

Amy's already seen it, you see. And even I can't help but burst into snickers once she holds it up and begins cooing to the mute but wide-eyed, struggling patient about how adorable it's going to look on her.

It's a dress – but not just any dress. A pink dress. A frilly dress. A dress resembling nothing so much as an oversized toddler's party dress, complete with frilled, lacy diaper cover, wide lacy collar, puffy sleeves, and a hem that I'm quite sure will fall somewhere between the bottom of the patient's bulky diaper and their knees. A dress that even I in my lolita phase wouldn't have been caught dead in – and that, for a macho guy like Steven-turned-Stephanie, must hold nothing but absolute, unmitigated terror.

***

"Aww, aren't you just the most adorable little thing? Goodness me, you're a picture-perfect angel now, aren't you, Stephanie?"

It's been a few hours now already, and yet even I must confess that this whole thing isn't anywhere close to getting old. Amy and I are leading the patient, waddling and moaning softly behind her gag, through the half-deserted ward, greeting our fellow nurses who are either staring, wide-eyed with shock, or dissolving into fits of laughter at the pathetic sight before them. Everyone's heard of this fellow's horrific behavior, after all, and coupled with the whispered knowledge that Dr. Harper herself has ordered it and that he actually agreed to it in writing, they can only smirk and let it go as acceptable. Weird as hell, of course, but acceptable.

"What a cute baby! Aww, I do hope you're being a good girl and wearing your diapers so you don't make a mess on our floors. We can't have that!" "Ooh, such a pretty dress, baby! Where did you get it, I wonder? Did your mommy or your big sisters pick it out for you? Now just make sure you don't dribble on it when you're eating! Wouldn't want to spoil such a pretty party dress…"

I'm grinning as I hear my fellow nurse's sarcastic comments, and I can't resist rubbing it in a bit more. "Oh, no worries! She's far too little to eat real food, you know. Little Stephanie here wants nothing but nice big ba-ba's to drink. Drink and wet, drink and wet, that's all she ever seems to do…"

Maybe I should have expected it, that sudden slamming of a frill-covered shoulder into my side. Maybe I should have anticipated how the red-faced, wild-eyed, pink-clad figure would bolt for freedom, making a desperate rush down the hall away from our gloved hands and condescending stares and sardonic laughter…

Not that it lasts long, of course. "Hey, grab her!" "Yeah, got her." "Here, hang on-" No, no! Quit struggling, baby!" "Stand back, I got this-" And then the frilled pink sissy is whimpering, writhing on the floor, her bulging diapers on display for all to see as the shock of a stun gun once more ripples through her body.

"Bad baby!" I scold, tugging the patient back off the floor and giving a short laugh of amazement. "Come on, let's get back to your room now. I think you've had far too much exercise already – and besides, we need to make damn sure you don't try that stupid little stunt again…"

Did I mention that I can already smell how that, probably thanks to Amy's stun gun, the hapless sissy seems to have finally lost control of her bowels?

Of course the cuffs come back on just as soon as we get back to 212. "Can't be trusted at all," Amy reprimands as she tightens them, snug and unyielding, around each desperately flailing wrist. "Might as well be dealing with a freaking lunatic…" "I know, right?" And then we're forcing our sissy down onto their bed, face-down this time, and slipping the restraints back into place despite her last-ditch struggles to get free. "No, bad sissies need to be punished!" I exhort, inwardly wondering if, after today, I might as well not start a side job now as a dominatrix. "Come on, show me that stinky, naughty little ass, baby. You know what you deserve now, don't you?"

Weirdly, the spanking is even more fun than I would ever have imagined: the slap of paddle on saturated plastic, the muted whimper of the patient, the jerks and struggles that slowly subside as the sissy succumbs to the pain and tears that blow after blow finally brings… And when it's finally done, I turn to Amy and give a sweaty, exhilarated grin behind my mask. "Now, then! Why don't we clean this little stinker up and prep them for early bedtime? Bad little babies deserve nothing less, don't you agree?"

Oh, it's simply beautiful to see the captive Stephanie whimper and moan as we change her filthy and sagging diaper, as we hook up another massive feeding bag to her gagged mouth and force ever more formula down her pathetically gulping throat. "You're going to learn to be a good baby one way or another," I murmur in her ear as I test the straps to ensure that she's not about to go anywhere tonight. "You've been nothing but a little shit since you got here – and you know what? I think you deserve every little bit of what we've been doing to you today. Of what we're going to keep on doing for as long as you're here…"

My shift is ending now, like it or not – though honestly there's not much left to see now besides a wide-eyed, captive little sissy being drugged unwillingly down into medicated stupor for the night. But as I head out the door and toward the exit, I grin softly to myself. Sure, this may be more than a bit unorthodox. But I'd like to think we're giving this person not just what they deserve, but an education that will ensure they never again act like the assholes they were before.

Though to be fair, a return to their old selves might not be possible anyway. I'm genuinely curious to see just what sorts of long-lasting effects all those medicines – to say nothing of the catheter – are going to do to the patient's muscle control…

Hmm. Guess we'll just have to see, won't we?