Miley Gets Regressed Part Five (Patreon)

“Come along, young lady,” said Ms. Smythe sweetly, dragging Miley across the room by her hand. Miley tried to keep up as best she could with her butt-cheeks tensed together behind her. Inside her, the suppository was melting rapidly, and a corresponding uncomfortable pressure was building in her colon, but it wasn’t too bad… at least not yet.  

     From a nearby cupboard, Alice removed and unfolded a wheelchair converted into an adult-sized stroller. Looking at her expectantly, she pointed and sternly instructed Miley to “get in.”

Slowly, gently, the urge in her bowels growing stronger with every passing moment, Miley eased herself into the cushy seat with a sigh… at least she had something to help hold her mess in-- for the moment, anyway. She was less thrilled, however, when the head matron pulled a thick strap across her chest and buckled it in with an ominous snap, and Miley could tell by Ms. Smythe’s grin that she was now locked into place. Her suspicions were confirmed when her wrists were strapped to the arm-rests with a pair of soft but unbreakable restraints. The process was repeated on her ankles, and before she knew what was happening, Miley was thoroughly bound into place.  

     “Open your mouth,” Alice commanded. The nipple of a pacifier was popped into her mouth and buckled in behind her head, effectively gagging her. Miley was almost impressed… within a few seconds, the head matron had her bound, immobilize, and ready to roll. “Ready to go, sweetie?” She asked sarcastically, earning her a glare from Miley, who made an irritated noise behind her pacifier. “Let me know if these restraints are too tight,” Alice said, spitefully pulling the belt across Miley’s front even tighter, putting pressure on her passenger’s tummy. Miley struggled and squirmed against her bonds, complaining emphatically from behind her pacifier-gag.

     “No? OK, let’s go!” Ms. Smythe said brightly, and before she knew it, Miley was rolling out of the room and down the hall, squirming and struggling the whole way.  

     “We offer both scholastic classes and courses on etiquette, but of course, you’re far too small to worry about any of that right now,” Ms Smythe said condescendingly. Miley huffed in annoyance, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it now. A bell rang, and the hallway began filling up with women, their ages ranging from late teens to late thirties… but all of them were clad in a traditional schoolgirl uniform straight out of a posh English boarding school. Miley looked at their tartan skirts and blouses longingly, envious of a dorky school uniform for the first time in her life.

     “At your age status,” Alice began, smoothly maneuvering the stroller through the crowd, “the expectations placed on you are limited. You will attend playtime and storytime, under the supervision of our staff and some of the more advanced students.” Miley cringed… as bad as it was to find herself under the paid care of a professional babysitter, being under the thumb of another ‘inmate’ seemed much worse. “Of course, you’re far to little for swimming or tennis… although I would love to see you waddling around the court with a thickly swollen diaper bottom,” she confessed with a chuckle. “However, you will have access to the playground, and you’re allowed to play on the lawns-- under proper supervision, of course.”

The head matron smoothly maneuvered the stroller through a set of double doors… Miley saw white tiles, and the air was filled with a strong antiseptic smell that was not quite covering the distant scent of pee and poop. Crinkling her nose, Miley drank in the surroundings as Ms. Smythe pushed her inside. Miley gasped at what she saw.

They were standing inside a large room that was apparently dedicated to potty training… for grown women, Miley realized, blushing eight shades of red when she saw one of her fellow students perched on an over-sized potty chair, tinkling away under the superior smirk of a crisply dressed nurse.

     “You will be expected to ask to be taken to the potty… but don’t worry unduly, dear-- I know how hard it can be for a girl your age to be expected to control herself,” she said with an amused chuckle, making Miley fume. Inside, her bowels were starting to percolate, bubbling forcefully, the uncomfortable pressure in her rump building.  

The door creaked open. A girl of about 19 entered wearing a schoolgirl uniform better suited for someone ten years younger. Behind her, she was pulling another woman, who, although she appeared to be several years older than her companion, was wearing an infantile little party dress, all pink and white and frilly with her long hair banded up in pig tails… Miley had her “age status” pegged at around four or five.

     “Oh, hello, Ms. Smythe,” the first girl said cheerfully. She turned to her charge, looking at her expectantly. “What do you say?” she prompted the woman with a squeeze of her hand.

     “Hello, ma’am,” the woman mumbled reluctantly, curtsying cutely with her swishing petticoats.

     “Good morning, girls,” Alice said with a small smile, watching the pair make a bee line for the nearest unoccupied potty. “Watch carefully,” she instructed Miley, who sucked her pacifier unconsciously, watching with round, horrified eyes as the girl reached up her companion’s frilly petticoats and tugged down her thick, padded training panties.  

     “OK, sweetie,” the schoolgirl said, a malicious grin on her face, “time to potty like a big girl!”

     Miley watched, fascinated, horrified. Is she really going to…?

     Before she could even finish her thought, the woman hiked up her dress and petticoats before plopping herself down on the potty heavily. Seconds later, her butt exploded, a blast of flatulence propelling a mushy gush of thick brown poopy that spattered into the plastic bowl beneath her, accompanied by an anguished grunt.

     “Oh my,” said Ms. Smythe, grinning condescendingly at the blushing woman who was perched on the potty. “She did have to go, didn’t she?”

     “Yes, ma’am,” the ‘older’ girl said cheerfully. “We just got finished in the lunchroom.”

     “In that case, I imagine you’ll be making a dash for the potty yourself before long,” the head matron said with a superior smirk, her eyes flickering wickedly when the girl blushed and looked away. “Make sure you keep those little white panties clean,” Alice warned teasingly, “or you’re going to be back in diapers like my little friend here,” she threatened, gesturing to the stroller and it’s passenger. The schoolgirl eyed Miley and gulped nervously.

     “And what about you, sweetie?” Ms. Smythe asked, squatting in her high heels to look Miley in the eyes. “Do you have to use the potty?” she asked sarcastically, grinning like a cat looking a canary.

Will Miley ask to use the potty? Click here to take the poll.