Work It, Baby - Part Three

She's a feisty one, this new model. I'm not quite sure what the director sees in her, but who am I to object? I'm just the photo boy, the shutterbug, the professional perv who gets paid to snap pictures of pretty young women in all sorts of compromising situations. And if they want to sign on someone as foul-mouthed and resistant as this, well, that's none of my business. Though it really does make me wonder why she even signed the contract. Didn't she used to be a super-smart CEO or something?

Fortunately the others have got her handled just fine without me even needing to get involved. Our girl Terri receives a slap across the cheek and Nora gets a knee in the ribs in the process, but three against one aren't great odds for anyone - least of all a whiny, matcha latte-fed business executive like Allison. And so, within maybe three minutes, that shrieking banshee has been stripped of every bit of clothing she brought in, leaving her naked as the day she was born. Hah - she's really putting on an act, isn't she? Cringing and wailing as if we'd taken all her dignity - standing there desperately trying to cover herself...

Click. Christ, you'd think she didn't even know what we do here.

"Hey, shut your goddamn mouth!" Nora finally snaps, clearly sick of Allison's profane and increasingly inarticulate wails. "Terri, hand me her panties, will you?" "What the- No, wait, you wouldn't dare- You bitch, you a-hmmmmm!!" I snort in quiet amusement as Nora deftly stuffs those boring white granny panties of hers deeper and deeper into the squirming woman's mouth, silencing her inane babble at last. Hilarious. Her hands are flying up to push Nora's strong arms away, but then she realizes she's leaving herself all exposed - and they dart back down again...

My photographer's eye sees great potential here for a hot little scene. And click goes the shutter again.

I also note in passing that the new girl isn't entirely well-groomed down there. Still pretty hairy. Hmm - I bet the girls will see to that. Not a huge market for furry pussies out there, from what I can tell. But hey - nothing that a bit of Nair or a razor can't fix, right?

And then Annette's finally here. "Hel-loo," she warbles cheerily, bustling in with an armful of pastel cloth. "Aww, hello there, baby! You must be the new girl, hmm?" She playfully tweaks Allison's nose, prompting a muffled protest of anger. "You know, I heard you're a bit of a handful - and it looks as though they weren't lying, were they?" Annette chuckles and deposits her mass of pastels on the chair our director has so recently vacated. "Now, let's see about getting a few measurements..."

And I guess they do. Hey, don't ask me - I'm just the photographer. All I know is they spin her and turn her and wrap their tape measures around her in all sorts of odd angles. It's not terribly photogenic, so I don't really pay attention. But it clearly means something to them, for it isn't long before Annette proclaims that a medium will likely do the trick.

"Of course her measurements are basically a large," she explains to no one in particular, beginning to rummage briskly under the counter. "But I think a medium will show off that body a little better..." She straightens up, two folded squares of white cotton in her hands. "Now, let's get our sweet little diva all dressed up, shall we?"

The look in Allison's eyes as they begin pushing her flat onto the table is priceless. I snap a few more photos of her wide-eyed struggles - futile, of course - as they relentlessly pull the naked woman backward and down as if for a very intimate medical examination. "My, my," Annette clucks, her fingers brushing gently over the woman's unshaven mound. "We'll have to take care of that later, now, won't we?"

And then the fun begins, as Annette unfolds the first diaper before her victim's bulging eyes.

"Oh, what?" Terri coos, her hands firmly around Allison's vainly tugging left wrist. "You don't want to get dressed in your pretty new diapers? But you're going to look so cute in them, baby!" Annette laughs and deftly slides the flannel beneath Allison's bare, recoiling ass. "Of course you will, honey! Remember, you didn't really have much in the way of big girl talents, from what I heard. No singing, no dancing, no painting, right?"

She tugs the cloth expertly between the woman's splayed legs and smiles down, unperturbed by Allison's frantic - and still very muffled - pleas. "Then frankly, honey, there's not much else to give you besides a couple of infant roles! But don't worry," Annette consoles, producing a pair of oversized pink safety pins from her apron pocket. "I'm sure you're going to play the part beautifully - certainly once we're done with you here..."

As I watch, they secure the first diaper on their squirming victim, and then a second. "Gotta size for bulk," Annette explains once more. "Can't have her little onesie popping open every time she fills her pants!" "Bhmmmm?!" Allison is shaking now, her bare shoulders heaving with muffled sobs, and I'm not so sure it's even acting anymore. If that's pure headspace, then damn, she's gonna be one hell of a good model.

Of course the others pay no mind. They're having far too much fun turning this woman into an infant, after all.

"And now for dress up!" Terri crows once the diapers have been snugly secured. "Annette, which one should we try first?" They select a onesie, apparently because it will help gauge sizing better. Allison is openly sobbing, tears dripping silently onto the cotton and flannel of what I'm guessing is her first onesie since she was three. It looks a bit snug, of course, particularly around the chest, but that's only to our advantage. "She's got a short torso, thank god, so there's always gonna be plenty of room in the seat for those diapers," Annette observes, standing back to admire her handiwork. "Aww, isn't she just too precious?"

Allison, her face a smear of tears and mascara, refuses to look up - but that's no problem for me and my camera. She is precious - and her abject humiliation at this infantile treatment is palpable. So click goes the shutter, and click again, as I catch those tears streaming down the contorting face of a woman who has finally understood that her future has now been transformed... into an infantile world of cotton, and lace, and helpless humiliation at the hands of others.

I can't help but smile as I flip through the last few photos and catch a glimpse of her tear-stained face silhouetted against the baby pink of her new onesie. Oh, yeah. This one's gonna be a keeper.

(To be continued!)