Regression Crisis Issue Ten (Patreon)

This just kept getting longer and longer, so I decided to cut it off at about the half way point and split it into two... so this is a special, non-voting installment of the story. The next installment (and the next poll) will be arriving early next week. I'm sorry if anyone's disappointed, but between the increasing length of the story and my injury, I was just not physically capable of finishing it up in time.

As always, thank you all for your continued support. If you're enjoying the story and you'd like to see more like it then don't forget to leave a comment and hit the like button below.

Strapped securely to the plushly padded chair, the machinery humming around them, Harley Quinn looked up at Wolfe, her eyes flickering with mischief and desire. “I’ve only got two requests, Big Daddy.”

     “Oh?” Wolfe couldn’t help smiling. Like Poison Ivy, he had no idea if this was a ruse or not, but he was certainly enjoying it either way. “Such as...?”

     “Don’t take me down completely,” Harley begged in a husky whisper, her voice dripping with anticipation. “I want to know what it feels like to be a woman forced to behave like an infant... I want to be aware of who I was-- and what I’ve lost,” she said with a flirty flicker in her eyes.

     As Ivy gaped at her friend disbelievingly, Wolfe couldn’t help feeling a stirring in his loins, but he maintained a professional facade. “I think I can accommodate you... to a point, anyway. What’s your other request?”

     Harley turned and looked at Ivy, her expression sexy and teasing, filling Dr. Isley with dread. “Do her first,” Harley said lustily. “I want to watch... I want to see what I’m in for. And I want to see what Miss Bossy Britches looks like crawling around in a big diaper!”

     “Harley!” Ivy hissed. She knew her friend was crazy, knew that their relationship was often strained, but she couldn’t believe her friend and lover would sell her out like this... and to a maniac like Wolfe, no less!

     “Sorry, Red,” Harley said, turning to look at her apologetically. “I do like you... it’s just that you’re such a fussy britches sometimes and, well, I am a clown, after all... the idea is just too funny to turn down!”

     “You Bitch!” Ivy cried, still not sure if her former partner-in-crime had an ace up her sleeve or if the cackling buffoon was genuinely selling her out.

     Wolfe wasn’t going to waste the opportunity either way. “Very well, Dr. Quinzel... I’d be delighted to show you what the technology has to offer.”

     “Wolfe,” Ivy said, trying to keep her voice calm, “Listen to me... it’s not too late-- I can still be useful to yo--”

     “If you’ll turn the attention to the screen, “Wolfe interrupted, already punching commands into his keyboard, “you’ll notice the indicator marked ‘coordination...’ now, watch as I make my adjustments.”

     “Now wait a minute, Wolfe,” Ivy said, trying to sound as forceful as possible when she was strapped naked to a glorified dentist chair. “Don’t be hasty... you don’t want to do anything you’ll regret--”

     She hadn’t even finished speaking before the onscreen indicator began dipping, one bar at a time, slowly at first, then picking up speed.

     “OOOOOEEEEEE!” Ivy cried, going rigid in her chair and tensing against her bonds, strange new sensations of both mind and body consuming her.

     “Is she in pain?” Harley asked, for the first time feeling a little guilty for her funny joke.

     “Quite the opposite,” he assured. “I’ve designed the process to be as pleasurable as possible.”

     Harley was skeptical at first, but the more she listened the more she was sure she recognized Ivy’s cries of ecstasy, though she’d never heard them more intense and unrestrained before.

     In the chair, Ivy continued emitting a howl that was somewhere between outrage and orgasm. Watching the coordination meter on the screen dropping lower one bar at a time, a curious thing happened... inside Poison Ivy’s mind, the various physical skills, little things most adults took for granted were disappearing from her mind at a rapid clip. First small things, like how to use a fork and knife and shuffle a deck of cards, working it’s way up to bigger things like knowing how to walk or write.  

     At the same time, Ivy could feel her body growing weaker, her limbs losing their decades of accumulated strength in a matter of moments, and soon she realized that even if she did remember how to walk, she no longer possessed the necessary strength to do so.  

     “We’ve now lowered her locomotive capabilities and fine motor skills down to around the two year old range,” Wolfe said, studying the few remaining bars on the display. “The physical threat is now neutralized... Ms Harding?”

     “Yes sir?” The Paddler responded with her usual military precision. She’d been watching the proceedings with interest, and was happy to get in on the action.

     “Would you mind putting a diaper on Dr. Isley, please?”

     “With pleasure,” Ava responded, stalking over to Poison Ivy with a broad smile.

     “Hey! Whoa! Don’t!” Ivy squealed, struggling against her bonds, her beautiful tits wobbling in time with her feeble struggles. Wolfe’s treatment had worked exactly as intended... she was as weak and helpless as a newborn babe.

      “Just lay still, darling,” The Paddler said sweetly, taking the supplies out of her kit. “We’ll have you all safe and diapered up in no time!”

     “Stay away from me you bitc—MMMmmph!” Ivy’s protests were cut off by the fat rubber nipple of a pacifier being pushed into her mouth. Ava took the loop of ribbon tied to the soother and draped it around Ivy’s neck so she wouldn’t lose it.  

     Her feet were unstrapped, and The Paddler was able to grasp her ankles in one powerful hand, effortlessly lifting her legs into the air, the pale plump heart of her bottom revealed to the room. With expertise born of hours of practice, Ava soon had the squirming villainess powdered and pampered, her privates wrapped up tight in thick, crinkly plastic.  

     “Don’t you look cute!” The Paddler teased, tickling Ivy under her chin. Unable do more than squirm weakly on her back, Ivy scowled up at her tormentor from behind her pacifier, glaring daggers, fantasizing about what she would do to the smirking blonde bully if only she could get free.

     Ivy spat out the pacifier, which hung loosely around her neck. “You bastards!” She growled, squirming and straining against her bonds. “I’ll get even with all of you! You’d better watch your backs, because when I’m done with you...”

     But Wolfe wasn’t listening-- he was typing away on his keyboard, and Harley watched, fascinated, as Ivy tensed once more, emitting a shocked squeal as Wolfe’s machine activated once again. On screen, she noticed the meter marked ‘continence’ beginning to dip, slowly disappearing bar by bar.

      Ivy saw it too, but there was nothing she could do... strapped down firmly and locked in a state of semi-orgasmic paralysis, she could only watch the meter get lower and lower, powerless to prevent Wolfe from draining her continence away to almost nothing. Watching the last few bars vanish before her eyes, she felt her bladder slacken, a powerful stream of urine gushing out of her uncontrollably, the diaper between her thighs growing wet and swollen. Unable to stop herself from shuddering and squirming, Ivy felt the pamper squishing wetly against her ass and pussy as she watched the last of her control of her bodily functions dwindle away to nothing.

     She was outraged when she heard Harley giggling, turning and shooting her an angry glance. Poison Ivy seethed when her angry stare was met with more derisive laughter from the cackling clown. “Pammy pissed her pampers!” Harley said, howling with hilarity at the sight of her proud partner-in-crime and occasional lover squirming in a pair of soggy diapers.

     “You sick, twisted assholes!” Ivy cursed, straining against her bonds, the soppy squishing of her soggy pamper under her butt making her stomach roll. “You think this is funny?! I’m going to--”

     “I’m sure you’ll agree,” Wolfe said to Harley, ignoring Ivy entirely, “that Dr. Isley’s primary threat comes from her formidable intelligence, so I think that’s the next thing we need to neutralize...”

     “NNNNOOOO!” Ivy shrieked, the concept of being robbed of her intellect, her most prized attribute, filled her with terror, her stomach bubbling with fear and horror at the idea of losing the thing that defined her the most.

     But Wolfe’s response came in the form of activating the machine once more, and Ivy let of a shrill, piercing cry, the indicator marked ‘intelligence’ beginning to drop one bar at a time. Her eyes crossed, her revulsion and anger dissolving into ignorance and a slow building arousal.

     In the next seat Harley watched the proceedings with interest. The sensation of horror she felt at literally watching her friend’s intellect dwindle to nothing in front of her eyes were slowly being subsumed by a powerful lust.

       “Uuuu-hhuuhh-hhhummmm...” she groaned stupidly, a line of drool trickling out of her mouth and down her chin. She wanted to speak, but the words seemed to be vanishing from her brain the moment she tried to speak them. On screen, the meter dipped lower one bar at a time, Ivy’s mind growing cloudier by the second. It was like the knowledge was still there, but her access to it was limited. Her thoughts grew cloudy, and although she could remember all the details of her life up to this point, she was having trouble making sense of it.

     Harley watched the bar dipping with a sick sort of thrill, the process of watching Poison Ivy, as dangerous as she was beautiful, being slowly transformed from a brilliant villainess into a drooling, diaper clad moron filled her with dread... and an appalling lust at the thought of the helpless creature she’d be when it was finished.