Bottle Half Full (Tumblr Original)

I eye the baby bottle beside me warily. God, I’m so full already! My stomach feels absolutely bloated from the three other sizable bottles I’ve downed in the last hours, and I really don’t know anymore if I can keep this up. How on earth will this be even possible? The milky contents taunt me, mocking me, reminding me of Mommy’s words from last night, of how I’ve actually agreed to this…

I’d been nestled beside Mommy in bed, wearing nothing but my now-customary nighttime diaper. Oh, it had been so wonderful, feeling her one strong arm encircling me and pulling me closer to nuzzle between her bare breasts, while the other had expertly wielded the insistently buzzing wand and urged me ever closer to the orgasmic bliss I yearned for. “Listen, honey, we really need to kick your diaper training into high gear,” she had whispered in that incredible, husky voice I knew so well. “You do want to make Mommy happy, don’t you? Don’t you want to become her happy little diaper baby?” I had moaned in agreement. “Yes, Mommy, yes,” I vaguely remember babbling as I was grinding and whining in a horny rapture, inching further toward climax as I had imagined how helpless I would become for her, how I would give up so much control… 

“So, then,” she had murmured softly in my ear. “Mommy has decided that you still have far too much control over your pottying. You still seem to think that you are a big girl, that you can decide exactly where and when to potty in your pants.” I gasped as the wand thrust particularly close home - and as my trembling lips closed, found that Mommy was slipping one of her deliciously warm nipples between my lips. “Hush, baby,” she had commanded in a low voice, firmly pulling me closer into her softly yielding breast. “Be quiet and listen while I tell you what you’re going to do for me tomorrow.” I’d gulped and suckled my Mommy’s breast, dizzy with anticipation, feeling myself drawing ever closer to the edge of pure bliss. Oh, Mommy was so amazing!

“You’re going to become my soggy, leaky little faucet starting tomorrow,” she’d cooed maternally, her fingertips tracing a tiny pattern on my bare back. “Mommy is going to portion out twelve nice big bottles for you, and you’re going to drink one every hour, baby.” I had shivered in a rush of mingled delight and horror as I began to understand where this was going. “Every hour, another bottle - of juice or milk or castor oil or whatever Mommy decides you deserve. And you’re going to drink those, baby - every single one.” I’d nodded blindly, suckling, grinding helplessly against the steadily buzzing wand, whimpering with anticipation, longing for just a little more, a little more… And the smile in Mommy’s voice had been unmistakable. “Somehow I suspect my little baby is going to be dribbling nonstop by the end of the day, don’t you? Which is exactly what Mommy wants… Exactly what her little baby wants, too… Exactly what her horny, soggy little baby deserves!”

And with a tingling, unstoppable rush of pleasure, I had lost it - swept over the edge, falling steeply down into the blind, uncontrollable orgasmic bliss I’d been craving. Oh, I’d wanted it all so badly in that moment. I had yearned for Mommy to do exactly that -  to take control, to turn me into nothing more than a pee factory, taking bottle after bottle in and helplessly dribbling it out like a brainless little Betsy Wetsy doll. I couldn’t have explained it, really, but I’d known - as I still do - that somehow this loss of control will always move me and turn me on in a way that little else does…

And now, here I sit, my double-boosted diaper already swollen beneath me thanks to the dozens of spurts of pee that are beginning to flow out of me with ever-increasing frequency. My bloated little belly recoils at the idea of yet another bottle, and I see the clock hands ticking steadily onward toward the hour mark. God, I still have to finish this before the hour was up. I can’t fall behind, or Mommy might punish me… I pick up the bottle shakily, feeling another warm rush between my legs as I do so. Just a little more to go. It’s still half full, of course… But then again, one can say that it is half empty, too, can’t they? I’ve come so far. Surely I can do just a bit more, gulp down a bit more…

I am a good baby, I tell myself, resolutely slipping the bottle nipple between my lips. I’ve begged for this, for Mommy to take charge, to train me, to remove my control. And so, I’m not going to back down now. Mommy is training me, and I am going to obey, no matter what. And as I begin gulping once more, I feel a faint tingle down between my legs, down there in the warm, soggy mass that demonstrates the true extent of my babyish loss of control. It may be tough sometimes, I muse as I emit a milky burp, then gamely resume my babyish gulping. But oh, it’s also so incredibly, wonderfully satisfying when I feel that sweet humiliation wash over me, when I look up and see Mommy’s warm, amused smile at just how well her baby is obeying…