I am reading in the bedroom when she comes in, with that dress. I know what time it is, and I rise up from the bed, turning her around so that she is with her back to me. Slowly, at first, I tie the bow on the back of the short dress, fluffing the petticoat and marvelling at the multiple layers and the poofy sleeves. It looks great on her. It appears just too short, but it was made that way, to leave no way to hide the fact that under the white tights she’s wearing her diaper, a simple ‘Dry Nite’ pull-up that we bought in the supermarket just down the road. The reason I indulge her is because she needs it. Her busy life, her important job, the fact that she is just one woman in a man’s world. Not tonight. Tonight she is my girl. My baby girl.

Now that the bow is tied the outfit is complete, and I turn her back towards me. She is only wearing a hint of make-up, as she usually does when she is in ‘this’ mood. I kiss her lightly, and kneel before her, both to place a kiss on the teddybear print on her abdomen as to grab the box beneath the bed that holds the items that we simply do not talk about in our ‘adult’ lives.

It took a long time for her to trust me like this, and I take care not to harm that trust in any way. She has specific ways she likes this, and specific ways in which I should act in order for her to get what she needs. I open the box first, and everything is packed in there as it should, folded and placed with care and control. So like her.

First are the mittens, though the word is too crude for the beautiful lace gloves that fit her hands. Made to her specifications they are quite delicate, and I carefully tie the ribbon around each one, encasing her hands in the silk. Next is another silk ribbon, which I use to tie her hands lightly together; she knows she can get free with a simple tug, but it is the idea that matters, the reason for the dress up.

With a gentle motion I sit her down on the bed and get the next item, a small box with hear-ornaments. Carefully I brush her shoulder length hair, freshly dry from a good long shower, into two bundles, and add the ‘Hello Kitty’ ribbons to make her pigtails, taking years of her age. Her shoulders relax, the tension drains, only to be replaced by our good mutual friend anticipation.

I caress her tummy and her face, noticing for the first time tonight they are a bit flushed. I reach down and get the next item without even seeing it. Leaving her on the side of the bed I walk to the small refrigerator in the bedroom and get the bottle of limonade, bypassing the sodas, munchies and one bottle of white wine that we honestly have not touched in over a year.

I fill the baby bottle with the limonade and get on the bed, motioning for her to come lie against me, and with practised easy she settles on my chest, a small sigh escaping her as I bring the bottle closer to her mouth. She takes it contedly and starts drinking, relaxing even more as I place my hand on her tummy. She had always loved that most of all, and I start lightly rubbing her entire abdomen.

As the bottle start emptying she is ready for what is the final act of our story and without stopping to rub her tummy I put the bottle next to the bed and reach down for the final item of her private litt le box. It was added only recently. The small-ish pink ballgag with see-through straps is undoubtedly the most ‘naughty’ item of our entire collection, but also critical to her transformation to her ‘baby’ self, and I put it next to me on the bed as I motion her to sit up a bit straighter. I move my other hand a bit further down to her crotch and I feel her tense a bit, so I move my hand back up, first towards her breasts and then her neck. It is time for the ballgag, when she surrenders complete control in our make-believe; I take it in both hands, bringing it up to her mouth. She hesitates a moment, as she always does, but after a second or two she opens her mouth and allows me to gently place it there. I stroke her lips to assure it is in correctly and I lock the strap on the fourth hole, knowing that it is neither too tight or too loose. I would not dream of hurting her.

I bring my hand to her chest and bring her head to rest on my shoulder, next to mine, as I place a light kiss in her neck. I slowly bring my hand to her crotch again, and this time she softly mumbles a bit. I start rubbing slowly, taking my queues from her subtle movements and mumbling, and the slow buildup of our routine has done its work. Without minutes I feel a bit of wetness spreading, and feeling the slight tensing that indicates she’s having a series of small orgasms. I move from full hand to just a finger and go to that place that I know she really likes, and seconds later she sharply inhales and shudders a bit, almost slumping against me. She has had her fill for now.

It takes almost fifteen more minutes for her to fall asleep, and I carefully place her on her own spot in the bed under he covers, where except for the scale of the bed and the almost impercaptable gag she now looks like any toddler who has fallen asleep in her parents’ bed. I hit the showers and finish my own reading in the computer room before turning in myself and crawl up against her. I think she mmmphs another ‘I love you’ as I kiss her neck and I fall asleep myself.

The next morning I wake up as she kisses me, and I open my eyes to the beautifull woman once more as she finishes putting her hair up. She looks amazing in her sharply cut grey business suit and mouthes a silent ‘thank you’ as she closes the door behind her to leave me to awake in peace. I get out of bed for my own dayjob just as her car pulls out of the driveway, on her way to work. I don’t even have to look to know that the box is back under the bed with everything folded neatly away, that the dress and tights are back in the guest-room closet and that the diaper is with the garbage that is being hauled away with the morning truck. I walk down to find that she turned on the coffee and that the paper is on the breakfast table with a small yellow post-it attached.

“Your turn tonight.”

Can’t wait.