Regression Crisis Issue Twenty Six (Patreon)

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With her trademark star-spangled briefs stained a deep, muddy brown across the seat and a pair of dark, fudgy smears trailing down the back of her thighs, Wonder woman toddled down the hall behind her tormentor as quickly as the weakened muscles in her legs would allow her. Dazed from her defeat, her mind fuzzy from the adjustments that were still being made to her brain, the disgraced Amazon Princess wasn’t too out of it to listen to the sneering commentary from the obnoxious Angela Chen:

     “For those of you just joining us, the events of the past twenty minutes have been filled with one shock after another. After first making a mockery of some of the worlds most powerful heroines, industrialist and philanthropist John Wolfe has soundly defeated the vastly overrated Wonder Woman, first shaming her with a richly deserved public spanking before systemically stripping her of every vestige of her adult hood. As you can see,” she said, indicating to her cameraman to get a shot of the superheroine’s messy booty, “in the space of mere minutes, the cunning, handsome and brave Mr. Wolfe has taken this quote/unquote heroine from spoiled to soiled!”

     The camera zoomed in, until the brown stained seat of the disgraced heroine’s bloomers filled the screen, the load all flattened and smushed against her cheeks and up her buttcrack. Diana waddled bowlegged, desperately trying to avoid squishing the load against herself any further, fuming angrily as Angela heaped sneering scorn onto her-- in front of a live television audience, no less! The thought of losing in such humiliating fashion in front of the entire world made her want to curl up into a ball and whimper... but her proud, Amazonian heritage forced her to straighten her spine and glower angrily at her tormentors, to accept her humiliations as stoically as possible... and wait for her opportunity to strike back.

     “The smell is indescribable, ladies and gentlemen,” Angela reported with maximum snark, crinkling her cute little nose for emphasis, “but I will persevere to bring you, our loyal viewers, the closest, most detailed picture and commentary of these unfolding events as possible.”

Pompous, sneering bitch! Diana fumed, waddling behind Wolfe, struggling to keep up when he took a sudden turn into one of the rooms.

     “We have got to get you cleaned up,” Wolfe said, dragging her into the center of the room and turning to face her. “But first thing’s first.”

     Almost quicker then she could detect it, he had her Golden Lariat removed from it’s spot on her hip. Diana gasped and twisted, but he was still able to get one of her unbreakable bracelets off before she realized it.

     “STOP!” she commanded, but even struggling with all her might, she was neither strong or quick enough to prevent him from disarming her, leaving the once fearsome warrior princess helpless and vulnerable. She watched, scowling, as he placed the items into a metal container, locked it shut, and slid it through a slot in the wall to be secured safely.

     “Come here young woman,” he said, grabbing her by the hand in spite of her attempts at twisting away, “it’s time to get you cleaned up... you STINK, girly!”

     “Oooooohhhh!” she cried furiously, struggling the whole time as he pulled her across the room and forced her to bend over the changing table, her soiled backside stuck out prominently behind her (once again, Angela gestured to her cameraman, encouraging him to get a shot of the muddy brown stain on the seat of her bloomers.)

     “You be a good girl: hold still and don’t move,” he said sternly. Diana scoffed, ready to start fighting back as best she could, but a funny thing happened-- instead of resisting like she knew she should, Wonder Woman found herself rooted to the spot, unable to even straighten out, leaving her bent over with her booty thrust out obscenely behind her (she bristled with anger when she saw the cameraman squat down out of the corner of her eye, ensuring that her humiliating accident was covered from every possible angle for the viewers at home.)  

     She listened to him gathering the supplies he’d need to clean her up... just like a good little girl, she seethed. At last, she felt him come up behind her, and the amazon warrior could do nothing but chew her lip, waiting for him to make his move.

     “Let’s get these messy things off, darling,” he said firmly, and Diana went numb when she felt him take the waistband of her bloomers, peel them off her mucky backside, revealing the entirety of her round, naked bottom, the mess caked onto her buttocks and up her crack all thick and chunky, like she’d sat her bare ass down on a pan of peanut butter fudge brownies.

     “Ladies and gentleman,” Angela asked of her viewing audience, barely containing a retch, “I ask you: is this what a superheroine looks like? Bent over, about to have her poopy rear-end wiped like a two year old struggling to get the hang of using the potty? Well, it might not be a popular position, but if you ask me, Mr. Wolfe is simply doing what should have been done a long time ago and putting this preening little fraud where she belongs-- back in pampers!”

     The Amazonian Princess clenched her fists tightly, enraged by the humiliating reporting-- just who did this little bimbo think she was?! But held as she was under the influence of the nanites, all she could do was meekly comply with Wolfe’s orders, allowing him to pull the bloomers down her legs, carefully stepping out of them one foot at a time when prompted. The heavily soiled garment was dropped into a nearby container, the heavy thud making the disgraced superheroine cringe.

     She heard the wet wipes tugged from the container, gasping seconds later when the cool cloth hit the warm skin of her plump, rounded backside. First, he cleaned up the bit that had smudged down the back of her thigh, then worked his way up, changing cloths and then going to work cleaning the thick brown mess from her buttcheeks, gradually working his way inward, taking a new cloth when he needed to. When he’d gotten her buns clean and white once more, he went to work on the crack. Diana couldn’t suppress a little squeal as he passed the cloth up the deep cleft between her buttocks, happily turning to show the thick brown smear on it’s clean white surface to the camera before depositing the wipe into the trash.

     He made a second pass between the humiliated superheroine’s buttocks, making her shiver and chew her lip, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of another outburst. The baby wipe was discarded, another one plucked and put to use, and this time he payed very close attention to her little pink asshole.

     “Get up on the table,” he instructed once he’d finished. “Now young lady,” he said, firmly patting her bare bottom for emphasis. The now bottomless Wonder Woman reluctantly complied, clumsily climbing up onto the table as quickly as her vastly weakened muscles would allow, unintentionally flashing Wolfe (as well as the viewers at home) an explicit shot of her bare ass and naked pussy.

     “Darling-- enter Alpha Mode for me, please,” he said, softly but significantly once she’d turned over on her back.

     No sooner had she heard the command then Diana began feeling funny. A newfound weakness entered her limbs, even more than before. She tried to speak, found herself able only to coo and gurgle babyishly. The words were all still there in her mind, she could see, spell, and pronounce them perfectly... but when it came time to speak them, all she could do was babble and drool.

     Her limbs weighed a thousand pounds, her hands nearly impossible to lift from their position on ether side of her head, the bottom of her feet coming together, thighs spread open wide, her naked privates on full display to anyone who cared to look-- perfectly adopting the pose of an infant awaiting a diaper change!

     “Come closer, Ms. Chen,” Wolfe said, beckoning fto her. “You’ll find this interesting. Thanks to my nanites, Wonder Woman now has three basic behavioural modes that I can switch between via simple voice command, as I just demonstrated. There’s Delta mode,” he explained clinically, “which is what you saw when we were entering the building: a toddler mode, if you would, where she can walk, talk, and use her motor skills, although at greatly diminished capacity. Then there’s Beta, or ‘Baby’ Mode, where her mobility is reduced to crawling, her vocal skills are reduced to only the most basic type of communication, and her motor skills are limited to what you would find in the average two year old.

     “Which brings us to Alpha Mode,” he said with a sinister grin, making the half naked superheroine cringe and squirm on the changing table...